Fifty years ago I was 19 and drafted into the Army. Some dodged the draft and fled to Canada, but I felt obligated to do my patriotic duty. When we made the bus trip from Ohio to Fort Knox, Ky., I found out in a hurry that my patriotism wasn’t appreciated. I was cursed at severely when I got off the bus; my crime was that I happened to be the last one to exit. When we trained in the barracks one day because it had snowed about a foot, our good drill sergeant wasn’t there. We got stuck with Master Sgt. Shannon, a power-hungry little hothead. Well, I didn’t have my rifle positioned exactly halfway between my shoulder and my neck, according to him. His solution was to “rabbit-chop” me on the shoulder and then on the neck. I was not a screw-up; I passed EVERY physical and mental test and was named the “outstanding trainee.”