The Irish Patient
The vast majority of my friends firmly believe that I am “lucky”. Not just lucky, but unusually so. I believe it, myself.
How many kids grow up with six older brothers to guide them along life’s journey and to straighten out wannabe tough guys? Have loving parents possessed of moral compasses that unerringly pointed True North and core beliefs in an immigrant ethos that valued hard work and resolute tenacity?
In adolescence, when we were not playing ball, my friends and I passed the time playing cards – pinochle, hearts, poker. To my friends, it seemed as though I was always shooting the moon – taking every point – which is locally known as “pulling a schnitzer”, or filling inside straights. It seemed that way to me, too.
Then I got drafted into the Army during war time, went to OCS and got commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Field Artillery. Half of my class went to Vietnam, the other half went to Korea. I went to Korea. We had a month’s leave before reporting for duty but I decided to report early and ended up with a relatively cushy assignment as Executive Officer of a Headquarters Company in a Support Command. There wasn’t an artillery piece within ten thousand meters. My CO and I were the only two combat arms officers in the entire command.
(more…)