In the blink of an eye, the year of 1969 came to an end. Autumn in Richmond, Virginia had yet again brought the colors of red and orange to our oak trees. I had just had my 19th birthday back in August and it was about time for me to begin the new stage of adulthood. I had recently graduated from B. Tucker Highschool with no plans of acquiring secondary education. Although I aspired of becoming an automobile mechanic, my father had suggested that I join a branch of the military. I truly didn’t think much about it. I certainly didn’t think of myself as physically or mentally capable of being a soldier. There was no way a gawky teenager like myself was cut out for war.
​
My folks surely couldn’t afford to send me off to college nor did I want to go straight into the workforce. My overly exploited father had recently lost his full-time job as a carpenter which led to financial trouble and my mother was too overwhelmed with my younger brother Anthony. Times were not only tough within my family’s household but also within America. The situation in Vietnam progressively became worse. As the weeks tallied up, countless uprisings followed with increased hysteria regarding the War in Vietnam. Although the nation was clearly not in favor of the decision to intervene in the War, President Nixon constantly requested for citizens approval of his policies. Not only did he discuss reasons to justify his decision to intervene, but he also introduced the idea of drafting young men, like myself, into War. Apparently, there was a need for more brave soldiers to join the fight against communism in Vietnam and I was assured that I did not fall into that category of being brave in any way. Not only had I not had any physical or martial arts training of any sort in the past, but I was significantly out of shape and lacked in muscle tone. The fact that this idea was about to be employed by the government sent an uncanny sensation straight down my spine. I shoot down any thought of it occurring to me. The odds were in my favor, right? The last thing I truly anticipated was being drafted into this gruesome war.
​
In order to determine who was selected to be drafted into the war, two lotteries were conducted by the Selective Service System in early December of 1969. Men born between the years of 1944-1950 were placed into this lottery system and those chosen were to be notified the next calendar year. The method consisted of drawing slips of paper with a number in the range of 1 - 365 written on each slip corresponding to a specific day of the calendar year. For example, I was born August 4th, 1945 which corresponded to the number 216. As it would be expected, this system led to an outcry of complaints regarding its validity and fairness. But, this was how it was done and there were no exceptions!
​
On a rainy afternoon in late January of 1970, I received my draft letter in the mail. It was sealed inside an envelope sent to me by the Selective Service System. It was faint yellow in color and stated, “Johnathan Stewart, you herby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination on March 15th” and contained my assigned selective service number. I could not believe what was in front of my eyes. I felt my heart rate increase as I felt the anxiety rush through my body. Clenching the letter, I looked up to see my mother planting the tulips in the yard. She looked up and met her eyes with mine. I knew she could see the fear in my eyes and she knew. She threw the garden hoe on the ground and ran towards me with her arms wide reaching for a hug. My father walked out of our home moments later and I handed him the note timidly. He briefly analyzed the contents of the letter and let out a sigh of uncertainty. Looking into my eyes, he told me “Son, you have been honorably selected. It is your duty as an American citizen to do as you’re told and report for duty”. He handed me back the faint yellow letter and I quickly sprinted back inside to contemplate more about what had just occurred. Thinking to myself, I thought about the appalling images of wounded soldiers that I had observed on the news and how belligerent the environment was in Vietnam. Was I really selected as a draftee into this war? Why me? I had my whole life ahead of me with no anticipation of this.
​
After months passed, I began this new stage of my life as a soldier. My fellow draftees and I worked vigorously through training for war. Now, the time had come, we were picked up from our training and conditioning camp by large buses that transferred us to the nearby Air Base. Once we were in route Vietnam, I began to feel the reality set in. Every inch of my body was filled with anxiety and nerves about what awaited me. On the plane ride to Vietnam, a man next to me had been staring at me. I tried to avoid it at first, but I couldn’t help but feel the itching irritation of his stare. I finally called out the man rather aggressively “What are you lookin’ at? Do ya mind?” The man was an African American who appeared to look even more petrified than I was, but maybe I was just better at hiding it. I felt bad for the way I harshly spoke and quickly reciprocated an apology. “Sorry man, I’m just pretty nervous. It’s a big day for us you know.” The man shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Aye, I suppose so. I’m more concerned on what I’m missin’ back home than what lies ahead. You see, my mama relies on me to take care of her, and with me here and her back home, I can’t provide. I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself if I’m not around. But hey, that’s my problem. I don’t mean to worry you now boy.” Intrigued, I continued to engage in conversation with the man by the name of Peter Harper. The fellow was quite passionate and easy to talk to. He shared to me personal stories about his life in the South. Talking with Peter made me forget about the terrifying reality that awaited me. As men, were always told, “man up and be tough”. It’s comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one with fear on my mind.
The flight seemed to go by quick after talking with my new friend Peter, but finally we had arrived at Da Nang Air Base in southern Vietnam. I remember my first step out on to Vietnam soil. The air smelt musty and the sun beat down on my back. Sergeant Reynolds directed us from the plane to the campsite. We marched in unison and didn’t speak a word to one another. I think every man was simply just trying to avoid drawing any kind of attention. Likewise, my father had told me to keep my head down, stay out of trouble, and to stay close with my fellow soldiers. I planned on doing just this.
​
It was difficult to become accustomed to this new and unusual environment. The landscape of Southern Vietnam was nothing like I expected it to be. It was full of hills, densely forested highlands, and had many rivers. As we arrived at the campsite, we walked through tents filled with other infantry men. The campsite was surrounded by many trees and was well hidden from outsiders.
We were first introduced to Lieutenant Andrews, a man who held his dignity and legacy on a pedestal. He shook each of our hands with his clammy, dirty hands, but still greeted us promptly. Lieutenant Andrews was in charge of overseeing our daily routines, training and field combat. His demeanor was stern and intimidating. Infantry men, including myself, knew not to be humorous around this fellow unless they were willing to face grave consequences. If there was one concept that Lieutenant Andrews had taught us, it was the definitely art of discipline. This had been a foreign concept to me before I had met this man. Lieutenant Andrews commanded that we either select a bunkmate immediately or that we would have a bunkmate selected for us in the next 5 minutes. We all scurried around the room like rabbits looking for a bunkmate. I instantly made eye contact with Peter Harper, the man that I had met on the airplane. He walked towards me and I had walked towards him. We both pointed out to the first bunk we saw and threw our stuff on our beds.
​
That first night in the camp was a silent one. Nobody hardly knew each other, and the smell of fear was the only thing in the room. Next thing I know, I heard the sound of someone going “Pst… Pst…” I tried to shut my eyes after a few minutes, but the whispering continued. I then realized that it was Peter whispering to me underneath my bunk. “Hey, hey Johnathan. Are you asleep?” I was almost not going to reply to Peter because I was incredibly tired, but I figured a quick hello wouldn’t hurt. “Uh yeah, Hi Peter. I’m awake now.” Peter chuckled softly underneath his breath “Ah, okay good. I never got to ask before, where are you from Mr. Johnny boy?” No one had ever called me “Johnny boy” before, but I just rolled it over my shoulder and continued on with the conversation. “I’m from Richmond Virginia, and you?” Peter sighed as he spoke “Well, I was born back in Georgia and planned to eventually make my way to the west coast, California. I always had a dream of swimmin’ with the dolphins out there on the west coast. I had just purchased a plane ticket to head that way just before I was drafted. I saved up the funds for months to buy that ticket and the flight was going to leave tomorrow. Funny how bad luck bites ya right where it hurts.”I chuckled a bit, “You wanted to swim with dolphins? Sounds like a dream for a kid.” Peter sighed again as he spoke, “Son, no dream is just for a kid. My mama always taught me to dream big or go home.” Next thing I knew, I heard the sounds of our fellow infantry men whisper “Shhh!” to us. Peter replied back confidently, “OK, we are hushin’ up!” I knew then that it was time for me to prepare myself mentally for what the future held in store for me in Vietnam.
The first few weeks of living my new life as a soldier was full of agony and stress. I had never been forced to work so hard in my entire life. The things they expected of us were near impossible, and the long hours were filled with periods of turmoil. Many times, during the day, the only water I had left to drink was the sweat dripping down my face. I found myself falling behind the other soldiers physically and kept trying to push myself to new boundaries. Peter appeared to have the same problem as me often times. However, it seemed as if the Lieutenant was stricter on Peter than he was on me. I pitied Peter at times when I saw him submitting to each and every nasty slang term the Lieutenant could draw up. The late-night conversations under my bunk bed turned to weekly, then monthly, then eventually went away all together.
​
Although Peter and I remained close, we still drifted from how we were the first few weeks. I found myself often alone at the camp sometimes. I typically ate my meals alone and minded my own business. I kept myself out of the loop and reminded myself of the advice my father had given me: “keep your head down, stay out of trouble and stay close with my fellow soldiers.” Despite not fulfilling the last aspect of the advice, at least I was holding up to the first two parts.
It seemed as if it were going to be another day in the field, just like any other. Our platoon set foot towards an enemy post that we had detected the night prior. We made our way down the coordinated route and approached slowly. Suddenly, Lieutenant Andrews propped up his hand high in the air. He was calling a sudden halt. We all paused in our tracks in dead silence. Next thing I knew, I heard Lieutenant Andrews scream “Take cover!” The shattering of his voice didn’t compare to the bombs that followed. One bomb came after the other. Bullets came flying directly towards our platoon from every direction. Vietnamese combatants had arisen from hidden positions in the landscape and ambushed us. I began to fire off round after round from my M1 rifle towards the direction where I heard the enemy gunfire. The piercing sounds of gunfire, exploding bombs, and men screaming from agonizing pain caused my ears to ring intensely. My vision was blurred from the overwhelming sight of smoke and the air around me smelled like something had been smoldered inside of an oven. I tried looking around everywhere for a place to take cover. I searched for Lieutenant Andrews and the rest of my platoon. I spotted a few members on the side of the closest tree where they appeared injured. I made my way towards the tree until I was consumed with an unimaginable pain. I had just been shot three times in the left leg. I struggled to limp and found myself plummeting to the ground. I cried out in agony and felt myself losing blood quickly. I had a complete loss of energy to continue on. I saw the same soldiers I had seen before ahead of me but couldn’t make my way towards them. I laid on the ground in suffering. I still heard the faint sound of the bombing and shots being fired in the background, and I felt myself dozing off. As I dozed off, I thought to myself about what had just occurred in such a short time. Had I really just been shot? What was going to happen to me? Was I going to make it out of this alive? I was just a young soldier doing my assigned duty. This wasn’t fair!
​
The next thing that I knew, I had been awakened by a bright light inside of an outdoor facility that had appeared to be located back at the Air Base in Da Nang. A man wearing what had appeared to be a scrub had come to me and offered me a glass of water. He told me that he was going to explain to me the circumstances of the injury that I had experienced back at the war field in Vietnam. At that moment, I had come to realization that the occurrences that day on the field wasn’t just a terrible nightmare that I had endured. It was much more. IT WAS REAL.
I felt myself fall into a panic. What had happened? How did I get back to base? Where were the other soldiers? Where was Peter? The doctor sat down quietly next to me. I could tell that the doctor was trying to keep himself well composed, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The doctor began to speak: “Your injuries were severe Johnathan. You loss a significant amount of blood and we weren’t able to reach you immediately after you received your injuries. You were shot three times in your left leg, this rose the most concern to us. Due to the excessive loss of blood flow in your left leg, we had to amputate.”Suddenly, time had frozen. I felt nauseous and overwhelmed with intense emotions that I had never experienced before. I lifted up my sheets to notice that my left leg had been completely amputated. I cried out and screamed. The nurse walked in and kindly tried to ease my reaction, but I was in no place to stop screaming. I was devastated. I kept imagining my future flash before my eyes, showing me all the things I planned to do with my life and now couldn’t accomplish. I leaned to the side of my bed and vomited. I vomited from the intense distress from seeing my leg rather than anything else. I didn’t want to believe this was happening to me. Just like that, my life was flipped upside down. The nurse had asked me if she could “do anything for me”. My one request was to be sent home as soon as possible. I was ready to leave that terrible place. Vietnam ruined my life and I didn’t want to spend another second there.
​
After a prolonged week in the infirmary had passed, it was time for the group of injured infantry men that had been injured around a similar time as me to head back home. Spending a week in the infirmary exposed me to horrific sights of wartime injuries, chaos, and distress that other soldiers had experienced. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there.
​
The trip home was silent and filled misery. Nobody said a word to one another. Everyone starred straight down at their feet. Some men, like myself, didn’t have both to stare at. I’ve never been around such a sorrowful group of grown men before. I had appeared to be one of the youngest out of the group. I tried to enlighten my mood by acknowledging that at least I wasn’t the only solider who didn’t make it out in one piece. At least I was alive. Unfortunately, the dreadful thoughts about how my daily life’s routine was going to change significantly stood in the way of any positivity that I could have thought about at the time. Losing a limb really does input many difficulties onto your life. Adjusting to this unprecedented circumstance in life wasn’t going to be an easy task to accomplish.
​
I had finally arrived back to Richmond, Virginia where my parents were anxiously awaiting my arrival. They had been notified about my unfortunate injury and as I approached them for the first time in months, they welcomed me back home. I was able to feel their pity towards me, especially through the sadness in my mother’s eyes.As I walked inside of my home, I wheeled my wheelchair back into my room where I asked to be alone. I laid in my bed, drowning in my thoughts. I reminisced on my trophies in the far-left corner of my room. It was devasting to realize that all those moments in my life were over. The thrill of running, the pleasure of swimming, quiet walks alone, were over. In this moment, I had almost wished myself dead. I felt myself hitting a new kind of low that I had never experienced before. My mom softly tapped on my door. I could tell she was trying to cheer me up, but I hesitated to engage. My mom then told me something I would never forget: “Johnathan, you are an incredible man. Incredible men don’t just let themselves crumble when life throws them a curve ball. Incredible men grab that curve ball with their bare hands and throw it right back at them. Don’t let yourself forget how incredible you are from one curve ball. Live through this trial and thrive like you never have before. I believe in you my boy.” Although I didn’t want to heed to my mother’s advice, I knew she was right. I couldn’t let myself become anything less than incredible just when life threw me a curve ball. I planned to embrace this new life in the best that I could and live it to the absolute fullest.
​
Just over a decade has passed since this moment, I have lived out my life to the fullest and plan to marry the love of my life today. I couldn’t be more thankful that my injury allowed me to meet my soon to be wife, Melanie. I had first met Melanie at a support group session for men who had lost a limb in combat. I knew that Melanie was an angel sent from heaven the moment I had first laid my eyes on her. Melanie helped me through the highs and lows in my journey, and now has brought me to my highest moment in life. No matter what life could ever throw at me, I know I would always be prepared with my beautiful wife by my side. As I stood by the alter waiting for Melanie to walk down the aisle, I had my best man Peter Harper by my side. Peter had just gotten back from California where we swam the west coast with all the dolphins he could ever dream of. Although the Vietnam War brought trauma and change into my life, I can truly say that the war made me become the man I am today. I am now a man I’m proud to be.
