I was drafted in February 1967, and I was right off the farm. About the third week of basic, the sergeant asked if anyone wanted to be a police officer. I raised my hand.

"Okay," he said. "Take this bag and police up this area, and make sure you get all the cigarette butts."

I never volunteered for anything else.

After advanced infantry training at Fort Polk, La., they sent the entire company to Vietnam except the four of us who had brothers over there. They didn't know what to do with us, so we picked up trash for two weeks.

I was then sent to Fort Hood, Texas; at that time it was all armory, and they didn't need anyone with an infantry military occupational specialty (MOS), so I picked up trash at the golf course for six months.

The Army then sent me to Korea. They filled the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) area first and started with the alphabet. My last name starts with a "W," and they didn't need anymore infantry, so I picked up trash for about two weeks.

Then they changed my MOS to "shoe repairman" and sent me to a service unit. The sergeant told me to get to work

"My MOS just got changed yesterday and I didn't know a thing about shoe repair," I said.

The sergeant said he couldn't use me and sent me to headquarters. I picked up trash for about two weeks until the captain found out I could type. Not many men could type in the sixties, so my Army career was smooth sailing after that.