When we remember
those who served our nation in the military, we tend to think only of those who
fought in the wars. What we forget are those who served while the nation wasn't
in conflict, who served to keep the nation's forces at their needed level.
These men and their families were vital to the maintenance of our defense
system, and they had to endure several years away from the normalcy of American
society. The following story is based on the experiences of such a draftee,
Donald Corkum from Hartford, Connecticut, who was drafted out of the Army
Reserve into the US Army in December of 1956, and
served at Fort Huachuca
in Arizona until 1958. He worked in data processing and installation at the
fort's Army Electronic Proving Ground, and he finished his service as a
Specialist Second Class. Mr. Corkum now lives in Canton with his wife, Kathy.
This story is inspired by a particular day in Mr. Corkum's service, one that
not many draftees had the opportunity to experience.
He was 24 years old. Most
guys his age were living the easy life --
working their eight hours
a day, marrying their sweethearts, living in nice apartments, free to do
whatever they wanted when they wanted. It was a life he had been living
himself, until the draft came. Yep, he had been drafted.
There wasn't a war,
but there was a draft nonetheless. So he was sent here, in Fort Huachuca,
Arizona, in the middle of the desert, just to keep US forces as strong as
possible. His wife, Kathy, had flown in from across the states, and while she
spent her days at their apartment, he worked at the base in front of a
computer, data processing they called it. Same thing he had been doing before
he was drafted, but now for the government. He still had a very pleasant social
life, lots of friends, and plenty to eat. The only thing he missed was his
freedom. But then again, you can't expect much freedom on a military base.
And he certainly never
expected to be sitting in the base hospital on a warm Saturday morning in
September either, let alone with excited
anticipation. It was the
kind of anticipation that pounds in your chest,
right before you make a
speech, or as you open the acceptance letter from your top-choice college. It just keeps pounding, and your breath
gets heavier, and things just seem to get all blurry and...
He slapped himself in the
face. "Knock it off,
Corkum," he told himself, "Pull yourself together. It's gonna be
fine." He just wished it didn't take so long. He hoped Kathy was all right
-- with all he knew about megabytes and data-links, he surely didn't know much
about labor or babies. But he knew he wanted everything to go as smoothly as a
military hospital would allow. There certainly weren't any frills -- heck, it
was a treat if a nurse came out every hour to let him know Kathy was still
alive. The adrenaline was high, and patience was low, but he knew it'd be worth
it.
Their small apartment out
in Tombstone was a good size. Perfect for a young couple and a newborn. He had
seen the other guys and their new families, and he couldn't wait to have his own.
Couldn't wait for Kathy to join the other women in the weekly trip to the post
office to weigh the babies on the scale. Couldn't wait to move back to
Connecticut, go back to work, and support his new family. Would it be a boy or
a girl? Blonde or brunette? What color eyes? Man, was he thinking
way too much. But it was better
than sitting in front of that computer screen all day. No doubt, data processing was better
than sleeping in trenches, but a guy can only take so much of that constant hum
of electricity every day...
"Donald Corkum, I'm
Doctor Webster. I'm happy to inform you that your wife Kathy has delivered a
beautiful baby girl." It was so unreal. The doctor stood there, smiling
calmly, and all Donald could do was gawk and stutter. He was a father.
"M-may I see her,
Doctor?"
"Of course."
The two men walked down the
hall to a small room in the back of the
building. Kathy lay there
glowing; he hadn't ever seen her so happy. "Hi Don. Isn't she gorgeous? I
think we should name her Donna."
"Donna," he
repeated, "I like that." When she put the baby in his arms, it was like he was holding
the world. Everything valuable, and perfect, and anything good he could ever
imagine was right there in that blanket. He was 24, and he already knew what
priceless was.
"Oh, and Mr.
Corkum," Doctor Webster said as he was leaving the room, "Please
don't worry about cost. It's only $1.50 a night, and as healthy as your wife
and daughter are looking, they should be out and about in no time. Seven dollars max."
Donald looked down into the
blanket. Who'd have thought seven
dollars could buy you the world.