Louis Larson, CTMC, USN Retired (31 Jul 1988) Some of the elements of my story are common to many others, some not so … It was May or June of 1968, a tumultuous time in our country. The Vietnam War (yes, “war” – although not formally declared, nonetheless an actual, hellish war with people dying and things being broken and destroyed) was in full tilt. With two years of college behind me, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, and thus had lost my precious student deferment. I’d no desire whatsoever to die in that war that we weren’t really fighting to win, so the Marines and Army were definitely off the table. Definitely wasn’t going to flee to Canada, as many did. The Air Force had a long waiting list in Los Angeles. Hadn’t considered the Coast Guard. The Navy looked pretty good. The Navy recruiter in town signed me up for a 90-day delayed entry program. I was safe from the evil clutches of the local draft board, but they hadn’t gotten the word – I got a “Greetings from the President” letter, which I ignored. I later became friends with a fellow instructor Ken Wallace who had talked with his recruiter but hadn’t signed anything, and shortly thereafter received his draft notice. He frantically went back to the recruiter and asked whether anything could be done. The recruiter wanted him so badly that he back-dated his paperwork, so that Wally could be enlisted rather than be drafted. My parents were both out of town in the last week of July 1968, visiting my mother’s elder brother Harry in connection with his quadruple bypass heart surgery in Vancouver B.C. Canada. My recruiter called out of the blue, “An opening just became available – would you like to enter the Navy two months earlier … tomorrow? This was one of those life changing moments. I didn’t have any other commitments, so fine, here we go. Next morning, my younger sister Kris drove me down to the Armed Forces Entrance and Examining Station (AFEES) in downtown Los Angeles. Amidst the organized chaos at AFEES, one point to civilian life stands out after all these years. The Salvation Army provided “welcome aboard, thanks for your service” packets to us newly-being-minted GIs (“Government Issue” – goes back to at least WW2). My paternal grandfather was an active volunteer in that organization. It has a very high ratio of donations to benefits to those it serves. After having been sufficiently poked and prodded, I was pronounced suitable for government military service and grouped with others destined for the Navy and Marine Corps boot camps at San Diego. We were bussed out in the afternoon, and arrived about two hours later at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) San Diego. A very professional appearing Sergeant boarded the bus. “Fall out when I call your name.” Then, he bellowed, “YOU’D BETTER BE MOVING WHEN YOU HIT THE GROUND!” I was glad I hadn’t joined that outfit. We Navy recruits were dumped off within the hour at the Recruit Command in the Naval Training Center, off Rosecrans Avenue in San Diego. After being formed in recruit companies (mine was 535) the next day, we signed enlistment documents (“YOU DON’T HAVE TIME TO READ THOSE!”) and were administered the oath of service, were issued uniforms and stenciled them with our names and service numbers, boxed up our civilian clothes for mailing back home (“YOU WON’T NEED THOSE HERE!”), got shots with an air gun (“DON’T MOVE WHEN YOU’RE GETTING THE SHOTS, OR IT’LL LEAVE A TRACK ACROSS YOUR ARM!”), we marched across Recruit Bridge to the “recruit side” nearest the San Diego International Airport. We spent the next four weeks there, within sight of normal civilian life, nevertheless totally unreachable,. Soon, we were instructed in the different ratings (job fields), and were sent through Classification to designated which rating(s) we wanted. No guarantees, but at least we got to express our preferences – a rare thing indeed in boot camp. Somewhere along the line, I was asked, “Do you want electronics? It’ll cost you two more years (I had enlisted for four years). Having no wife or kids, and no expectations in life, I signed up. Further down the line, “Do you wanna be a CT?” “What’s that?” “They do secret stuff, was the verbatim reply.” “Sounds good to me.” Some days later, our company commander told me to report to “the security guy” at Classification. After finding his office, I went in. There was a small lounge with a couch and padded armchair. A civilian in a white shirt and tie came out. “I’m still interviewing somebody else. Please sit down and relax.” Well, this was the first breath of civilized life since entering boot camp. They even had current magazines to read. This was an oasis of calm. Shortly thereafter, the civilian asked me in, showed me his credentials, gave me an introduction to the world of security, and gave me forms to fill out. He thanked me for my time, and sent me to my company. I mailed the forms home for much of the information I needed (personal information about family, friends, and personal references). After the forms were completed and mailed in, I began hearing from people back home. “Hey, Louie, some government investigators have been asking all kinds of questions about you.” This produced a feeling of surety in my mind … whereas the other guys in my company had no idea of the ratings to which they would be assigned, and wouldn’t know until after we graduated from boot camp, I knew that I was going to be a CTM (Communications Technician, Maintenance branch). Nice feeling. Louie Louis Larson, CTMC, USN Retired (31 Jul 1988)