Lara Blackburn
Chapter 4 - Mike the Freshman
A cold autumn day. The Syracuse University’s Gothic buildings are forbidding and stern against a low grey sky as Mike walks with a young uniformed rep, Dean, from the Office of Veteran and Military Affairs towards a residency hall across the Syracuse campus.
Dean, an ROTC yet to see service, quizzes Mike energetically about his service years. Mike tries to say the bare minimum, hinting that there’s some stuff he simply can’t or just doesn’t want to talk about.
The young man points out the ROTC office as they walk - just a drab-looking postwar building behind a chainlink fence, flag flying, almost out of place amidst the more established, stone edifices.
As they turn and enter the Quad, they notice an anti-Vietnam War protest with a hundred or so students - someone is mid-way through a megaphone address and the crowd pump their banners and cheer in rhythm to the points being made.
The rep motions to Mike to keep walking but Mike slows to listen.
"I think it just shows a complete lack of respect at somewhere like Syracuse. You’d expect better from the civilians," Dean says.
Mike doesn’t respond, but listens - this is something he’s heard about, read about but never actually seen.
One of the protesters notices the ROTC uniform and then a few others begin to turn their attention to the two men standing at a distance - Dean starts to feel self-conscious and urges for them to leave the scene. Mike looks at him and then the two men walk on.
The following day and Mike is seated amidst his cohorts in Accounting 101 in the late afternoon - outside the high windows, its a brighter day, the trees turning in the fall. Mike thumbs Shackley’s business card which is now a bookmark in his text. The lecturer signals that the underwhelming intro class is over triggering a chorus of books closing and flipping desk tops.
Mike enters the campus cafeteria and joins a queue for an early dinner. As he loads up hot food from the bain-maries, he recognises a few students seated at a nearby table from the protests, their hand-painted placards stacked nearby. One of the ring leaders, a young woman, early 20’s, earthy and attractive, is in the queue behind him and strikes up a conversation.
"Spotted you yesterday with that Rottsee. Vietnam?" she asks in a West Coast accent.
"Near enough. 4 years but I’m out of it now."
"I’m Lucy by the way," she grins, slightly shyly, clearly flirting.
"Mike," he says, smiling back.
"Well nice to meet you, Mike. It seemed you were really interested in listening - which is unlike a lot of people around here."
"You’re pretty brave campaigning on campus."
"Well we’re winning hearts and minds. You should come by our offices sometime, talk to some people," Lucy smiles wider, offering a leaflet she digs out of her satchel.
"Well I’m here on a program, perhaps not the best look," Mikes says but taking the flyer, pocketing it quickly before anyone notices.
"Well you never know. Flyer’s for tomorrow night by the way so dont think on it too long," she says
Mike walks back to joins a few other students from his dorm now seated at a table by the large floor to ceiling window in the early evening glow - all short haired, clean cut, all obviously ex military or ROTC. One of the younger first years asks Mike what he was talking about with the woman in the line.
"Asked me to come to their offices," Mike says
"Man the fucking cheek of these people...." someone comments.
"She likes you buddy - all these hippy chicks secretly dig the military. It’s natural...." says the first year.
"Men in uniform," someone quips
"Don’t be an idiot", says Mike, which brings a chill to the table of men who are still sizing each other up in the early weeks of term.
The group starts eating in silence but it’s not long before a discussion gets going about the war - Mike listens somewhat passively as the group swap arguments for and against. Eventually there seems to be some sort of agreement that their national leadership has let them down, losing resolve early in the face of the public and media criticism. They could win if they were just allowed to unleash everything at their disposal on the battlefield.
"I dunno", Mike says. "Perhaps we just need to keep wars like this under wraps - away from the headlines."
"So we’re all spooks, sneaking around in the shadows? That’s not what I signed up for - if we’re going to do something, we should just be upfront about it. How would World War Two have looked like if we’d done that? Pretending Hitler didn’t exist? For fucks sake," one of the group observes.
"The world changes, wars change. You have to adapt," Mikes adds.
"Maybe they’re having this very discussion at West Point?" someone jokes
"Maybe....but for us right now it’s debits and credits," Mike taps an accounting text book sitting on the table.