Reluctant or Unenthusiastic Warrior?

By definition a ”warrior” is a person skilled in combat or warfare

especially within the context of a tribal or clan-based society that

recognizes a separate warrior class. I guess since most of us here in

the U.S. have both tribal and clan type backgrounds and an active

military, one with said skills would qualify. According to the Random

House Dictionary, “warrior” actually has two meanings. The first refers

to "someone engaged or experienced in warfare.” This is the definition

that comes to mind whenever I think of a warrior. The second definition

refers to "a person who shows or has shown great vigor, courage, or

aggressiveness, as in politics or athletics.” Thus, various sports stars

and teams, community standouts and some politicians I suppose.

If these definitions are correct, as stated in the dictionary, how would

one define a “reluctant warrior?” Try as I may, I can not find a

definition. There are books, articles, songs and videos titled as such,

but no clear definition of “reluctant warrior” exists. The word

“reluctant” is defined as being ‘unwilling or resistant to partake’ but

the word is not linked to” warrior.” The reason I wonder this is because

I often refer to myself as a “reluctant warrior” of the first type, skilled

in warfare or combat, ie: Vietnam. In an ironic sort of way, I take

homage at my own self-identified labeling of being a “reluctant

warrior.” Now I know today we have no “reluctant” types with the all
volunteer armed forces, but back in the day, well, many of were not

anxious to offer life and limb. I digress, I was a trained but as of yet an

un-tested warrior before shipping out. Once I arrived in Vietnam, I was

soon to be a tested warrior, but nometheless, “reluctant.”

Having completed an entire year in-country, save two weeks in the

85th evacuation hospital in Qui Nhon, nursing a shrapnel wound, I

served as both an infantryman and a reconnaisance scout in the harsh

terrain of the jungles and hills of South Vietnam. I will admit I was

reluctant but I never did resist nor was I unwilling to partake in

whatever the mission called for. See, I never really waned to be a part

of this adventure. I was, well, you could say, unenthused. I mean, come

on, who in their right mind wants to sleep out in the rain, climb hills,

navagate rice paddies and “wait-a- minute vines” in a searing heat or

take a life? I remember vividly on Friday and Saturday nights, looking

at my watch, thinking I should be playing drums at a dance or a bar at

nine o’clock, not sleeping out in the rain waiting to kill somone. The list

of mental and physical discomforts is as unending as the amount of

bad memories.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m opposed to violence. I saw a lot

of it at home as a kid growing up. I was also an amatuer Golden Gloves

Boxer. In fact, the 1962 Kenosha, Wisconsin Bantamweight Champ.

Allow me to sidetrack here a moment. I must point out the fact that
being situated between Chicago and Milwaukee, Kenosha was home to

one bad-ass tournamnet. I definitely had a warrior mentality, of the

second type, the athlete, before I honed my combat skills.

See, back in the day, hanging out, playing music, drinking beer, riding

my motorcycle (BSA) and street-fighting was a normal way of life for

me. Weekends with my rowdy friends were for hell raising of all sorts. I

was a drummer in a popular Chicago- Milwaukee rock ‘n’ roll band, had

many friends and a steady girl. Life was good, or so I thought.

It would be fair to say I’m torn. I’m proud of my military chops, my time

served in combat and the fact I survived that mess. On the other hand,

what the hell was that all about? It was a surreal experience to say the

least. In fact, so surreal that it led me to question just what the hell had

I been through. As a result, I decided to go to school and study political

science. Back in the 60’s, my new found political knowledge regarding

my exotic Southeast Asian experiences would have been called “mind

blowing.” I found it to be less mind-blowing and more informative. Not

always accurate, at times slanted, but, let’s say, "mind-opening."

Had I had the courage, upon receiveng my “greetings” letter from

Uncle Sam, I’d have gone to Canada or evaded the draft in some other

ingenious fashion. I wasn’t morally opposed to killing, so I couldn’t

register as a concientious objector. I had neither the grades nor

finances that would have allowed me to go to college, so that too was

out of the picture.The clear lack of reasonable choices put me in a

dilemma. At one point I even contemplated marriage. Yeah, that’s the

ticket. Whoa, that was close. Thankfully I had the foresight to see

myself ending up in in a low paying job, living in an upper-flat over a

fish market and doing “our’ clothes at the local laundromat. No thanks.

Even though I had no desire to go in the military, it turned out to be my

best option. Hello Uncle Sam.

Having few marketable skills,unable to read music and apparently low

apptitude scores, I ended up in the army infantry. It was then that I

volunteered to be a paratrooper because it paid more and I loved the

jump boots. Parachuting, jump boots, vigorous physical training

coupled with hands-on weapons training led in one direction and it

wasn’t Detroit, at least not yet. Hello Vietnam.

In my one year tour overseas, at times I found myself reluctant but

never unwilling to partake in whatever I was asked to do. I’ve always

questioned those who jump into life-threatening situations without

hesitation. My personal modus- operendai is to protest, hesitate and

then jump. As a dear friend and fellow combatant once sais. “Duke,

you lead with your head.” Guilty; I volunteered to go on long range

reconnaisance patrols and was part of a proto-type to the LRRP

program while serving with the 1st Air Cavalry Division in 1966.

Weapons, aka guns, aren’t my cup of tea. For one thing, they’re too

damn loud. I’m a musician and they hurt my ears. Another thing, I

never was one to shy away from a donybrook, but gunfights, well,

they’re terminal. So, the point I’m trying to make is this. I know there

are professional soldiers, those who live and strive to be the best

“warrior” they can be, and God bless them. “Warriors” are a special

breed, but I venture to say that a significant percentage of said lot

have more in common with with me back then, the “reluctant” type.

As stated previously, my self- identified labeling is a bit conflicting.

That’s why I take homage at my own point. Since there is no official

definition of a "reluctant warrior," I guess I don’t exist. That could be

since I know I don’t exactly fit in. If that’s the case what the hell am I ?

Unenthusiastic?