fshflys wrote:...got a # in 1970 but was never called....
Same boat. My timing was such that many of my classmates in grad school were returning vets, many of them also disabled in one way or another.
There were Berle and Marty who couldn't finish the statistics classes because the rattle of the old Olivetti calculators (remember those, before electronic calculators?) exactly matched the pace of the Chinese equivalent of a 50 caliber machine gun.
There were John and Jim, twin brothers who flew from carriers. When John's plane blew apart around him, his parachute landed him in rice paddies north of the border where he got a little too acquainted with the sound of AK 47's, whistles and the sound of the first dustoff helicopter being stuck by an RPG. Guy dropped a book off his desk, and John had to have stitches where his head hit the floor going under his desk.
Two days later Jim's parachute landed him in the Tonkin Gulf, apparently none the worse for wear until recurring headaches revealed just how close he'd come. Hypothesis is that he'd hit his head ejecting (evidenced by his crushed helmet), but only in graduate school did xrays reveal a floating chard of bone in his neck that could have paralyzed or killed him at any time if it had shifted so much as a millimeter.
Lyle imposed on the VA to provide him with specially * waders and hip boots (we were fisheries majors) with a steel shank through the arch of each left boot, machined perfectly so he could wear his leg brace on the outside of the waders and get on with life. He lost all lifting motion in the left foot when a machinegun bullet passed up through the floor of the helicopter he was commanding, striking his leg, then continuing on up to shatter his copilot's arm. They flew back to base with him running the hand controls while his copilot ran the pedals.
One more worth mentioning, because he's still in my life. A full tour of forward patrols left Frank dingier than a pet racoon for many years, but his life dependency on alertness in the woods has made him one of the top hunting guides (and my favorite hunting pardner) in Alaska today.
I honor those guys each day in remembrance of the personal price each paid when they came home, not to mention the things they did while serving on our behalf. Geezers all, we don't talk about it much any more. But that doesn't diminish it one bit.