The year was 1970. I had been drafted into the army and I was looking for a way to keep my ass out of Vietnam short of going to jail or trying to convince the military that I was queer.
Stinnet was a country boy, from Kentucky I think. He was a quiet guy, sort of likable, and he always had a plug of tobacco in his cheek. After six weeks of basic training, he and I ended up in the same Advanced Individual Training platoon in the mortar squad.
On the first day of AIT, we were sent for a preliminary coordination test to see if we could adjust the cant of the mortar tube by rotating a sleeve on the bi-pod while turning a crank with our right hand to zero in on a target. Unless you had some sort of severe brain dysfunction, it was a pretty simple test.
After the test, each trainee went over to a desk where the Lieutenant would ask a series of questions. "You wanna to be a mortar man?"
Of course, the answer was always, "No." Nobody in his right mind wanted to go into combat.
The Lieutenant would then offer an option. "Well, we could always assign you to a rifle platoon if you'd rather." Hell of a choice this was. At least a mortar man could take up position three miles behind the lines and plunk some ammo into the enemy's location. The maximum effective range of an M-16 rifle was around 400 meters.
So Stinnet passes his coordination test and walks over to visit with the Lieutenant. "You wanna be a mortar man?"
"No Sir."
"Would you rather be a rifleman?"
"No, I don't want to do that either."
"Why don't you want to be a mortar man?"
Stinnet started shaking. His face turned red and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I just don't think I could kill anyone." He broke down right there in front of everyone.
"Now just take it easy there, son. We're going to handle this for you. Everything's going to be okay."
Shit! They're going to make him a conscientious objector. He did it. He beat the system. Two years behind a desk and he's home free.
I was next. I had the basic coordination. My mind was spinning as I approached the Lieutenant. It worked for the country boy. Could I pull it off? I knew I couldn't – not after an Oscar-winning performance like that.
"You wanna be a mortar man?"
"Yes Sir. I wanna kill," I said in my best South Carolina accent.
The Lieutenant smiled. "Next!"
