Where Have All the Liars Gone? Killed by Facebook Every One

Of all my memories of basic training in at Lackland Air Force Base in 1972, the two most vivid are marching in the rain at 4 a.m. and listening to the other 39 guys in my platoon tell incredible lies. 

A pimply-faced 19-year-old Lothario told me with no shame at all that a half-dozen cheerleaders were back home in Arkansas were pining for his embraces.  We all grew up in during the peak of the “Muscle Car” era in America.  The same studs who left a bevy of beauties each had a Corvette, a Hemi Cuda, a 440 Six Pak Road Runner, or an SS427 Chevelle waiting in the barns and backyards back home for their return.

Their erotic and automotive attainments were even more impressive when you considered that in February 1972 when we started basic, trainee pay had just doubled from $168 to $283 a month.  You would think that young men who could afford six paramours and Corvette would not take a job for $71 per week, even with free room and board. 

Lies that would make Mark Twain blush were as much a part of the atmosphere as the smell of shoe polish in the pre-Facebook military.

I served on active duty with the Air Force then the Army until 1979 when I went to college while serving in the reserves, then decided to get completely out in 1984. 

I reenlisted in 2007 after almost a quarter century as a bearded civilian.  I was 54 years old.  Shortly after I was back in uniform we started pre-deployment training for Iraq.  During the first three-week training period we lived in an open-bay barracks, carried M16s and rode to the field in “Deuce-and-a-Half” trucks.  We also formed up and marched in the rain.  Our barrel-chested first sergeant would smile at the soggy soldiers standing in front of him and say, “If it ain’t rainin’ we ain’t trainin’.”

With rain, M16s, and Deuce-and-a-Half trucks just like the old days, imagine my surprise when I was not confronted with a fresh flurry of adolescent lies.

When we were finished with evening chow and returned to our barracks, almost nobody talked.  Everyone had a computer and some kind of music and or video device if they did not have a smart phone. 

In 1972, we shined our boots, ironed our already starched uniforms and talked.  And in those shine and iron groups, the stories got bigger and bigger.

In the new Army we wore no-shine boots and no-iron uniforms.  The entertainment was what each of us brought.  Soldiers went outside to call girlfriends and wives.  They did not stay inside and tell stories about their love lives.

Everyone under 30 was on Facebook. 

Because of Facebook, no one could lie about girlfriends and cars.  Once a soldier said he owned a Subaru WRX Turbo showing a picture of him at the wheel.  “Fuck You, Douche Bag,” was the response from three bunks down. “That’s your brother’s car.  He would never let your dumb ass drive it. I’m surprised he let you sit in it.”

Social Media acts as a lie detector against anyone who wants to brag about cars, women and parties. 

The rain, weapons and trucks might have been the same as ’72, but social media completely changed the atmosphere.  No shine boots, no iron uniforms and no lie barracks made Army life very different.  In 1972, forty anonymous young men talking led to competition in telling lies, but it also helped all of us to grow up and develop bullshit detectors while making some good friends.

In 1972, I was a sucker for all the lies about love, cars, and the other big category, dysfunctional families. I was an 18-year-old virgin.  By everything that I heard from the other 39 guys in my basic training platoon, I was the only virgin my age in America.  My parents married eight years before I was born and would remain married until death did them part.  There were no divorced families in my neighborhood.  I had no step-anybodies and I knew little more about sex than what I learned from the awkward presentations in 8^th-grade Health Class. 

I suspected my platoon-mates were lying or exaggerating, but did not have the experience to judge what they said. My bunkmate saved me from my ignorance.  He was Leonard Norwood from Sawyerville, Alabama, population 53.  He always said population 53 when he referred to Sawyerville. 

Once he saw me listening intently to a story about an evil step mother.  ‘Bama (that really was his nickname) said, “Gussie, he’s just full of sheeeeit.” 

‘Bama and Jersey (guess where he was from) and a few other guys helped me to sort out the stories that had a grain of truth from the NFW (No effing Way) stories. 

Jersey also raised my status within the platoon.  Although I knew nothing of step families and sex, I actually owned a 1969 Ford Torino 428 Cobra Jet with a factory Holley carburetor, Hurst shifter, and positraction.  My father got me a Teamsters job in May of 1971 when I graduated.  I made enough money to buy the Torino five months later.  When I enlisted at the end of January, I left the car with my 16-year-old sister Jean. 

Jean wrote me letters about parking lot burnouts, street races she got in, and scaring the crap out of a hitchhiker.  I read these funny letters to Jersey, ‘Bama and a couple of other friends.  Jersey showed one to the drill sergeant.  For the rest of basic, when Jean would write, the drill sergeant read the letter to the whole platoon.  My blond-haired, blue-eyed sister made it very clear that I really owned a Torino Cobra.  Jean wrote about how she and my Dad were going to drive the car to my tech school in Denver from Boston.  So my car not only existed in the real world, but everyone who went to school in Denver would actually see it. 

It’s not like the reality of my car in any way diminished the stories from the rest of the platoon.  Some felt obliged to explain why they were not bringing their cars to their next bases.  One guy said he was going straight to ‘Nam, after weapons school, so he might as well leave the car home. 

Do I like Facebook Army better than the 70s Army?  At the risk of being just another grumpy old soldier, I like the liars, shined shoes and starched uniforms better. My best friends from the Army in the 1970s are still my best friends.  The shared time talking helped me to find those friends.  During this tour I have hundreds of Army Facebook friends, but I know fewer soldiers at any real depth than I did last time. Part of re-enlisting at 54 years old was to leave the shallow end of life in the civilian world and spend the kind of time together that it takes to have deep friendships. 

But, like me, soldiers of today are fully connected on social media and live their virtual lives even on Camp Adder, Iraq.  We can’t lie to each other about cars and paramours.  When we have a minute, we check our phones.  That’s how life is.

ROOMIE! The Cursed Bunk, The Daily Zombie Movie and My Deployment Roommates

Behind me is the "Cursed Bunk" at Fort Sill, Oklahoma.

My deployment to Iraq in 2009 began with training at Fort Sill, Oklahoma.  When we arrived, we were assigned rooms.  I was in a four-man room with Sgt. Nickey Smith, Sgt. Miguel Ramirez and another sergeant who was gone in a couple of weeks.

He was the first of four guys who slept in the "cursed" bunk during the two months we were in Fort Sill.  The first guy was quiet and was suddenly gone.  Some paperwork problem and he got sent home.  The next guy spent a night or two and got reassigned somewhere.  

Then came roommate #3, Specialist Big Dude.  I wrote about him in 2009. He was a really good mechanic, a really good shot, and a really hopeless soldier.  He weighed 335 pounds.  He had anger issues, and he watched a Zombie movie EVERY day.  Really!  He was with us for almost a month and every every Big Dude climbed into his bunk and watched a Zombie movie.  Then he would talk to his wife about the Zombie movie she watched.  They seemed to be very much in love, talking every day and comparing Zombie movie notes.  I had no idea there were enough Zombie movies that you could watch a different one every day--forever.  

After a month, Big Dude got sent home. From what he said, it was weight. We never saw the anger issues.  He was a gentle giant around us.  When he left, Spc. Todd Tarbox moved in.  Tarbox knew that "Roomie" was how college roommates sometimes refer each other.  Once Todd moved in, the four of us started yelling "ROOMIE!" when we saw each other.  We kept this up in Iraq and after.  In the hallway of the Aviation Armory in Pennsylvania, I would see Miguel every other month and yell, "ROOMIE!"  

These sergeants were also needling me for being more part of college culture than Army culture.  I had three daughters in college while I was in Iraq.  Roomie was what they said.  

The culture clash between me and my roommates was not limited to Zombie movies.  Nickey liked Anime movies--with his scars and gang tattoos, I would not have guessed Anime would be his favorite movie genre, but he watched Anime on his time off all the way through Fort Sill, Camp Adder and back to Fort Dix.  Miguel liked horror movies.  One morning he watched SAW 5 before breakfast.  Here is the story I wrote at the time.

Spc. Todd Tarbox

Sgt. Miguel Ramirez on the Fort Sill Confidence Course

Sgt. Nickey Smith on the far right, with three other Connecticut soldiers on Camp Adder, Iraq. Sgt. Shawn Adams is to his left.

Sgt. Nickey Smith (right) at Camp Adder, Iraq.  Sgt. Shawn Adams is to his left.

Fast Response, Sad Answer: NO!

Today I got three emails from the office of Congressman Joe Pitts.  One had an attachment of more than a dozen pages explaining exactly why I was not eligible for a military retirement.

I knew why.  So I asked again if I could get a waiver of some kind.  The Army gave me an age waiver to get beck in the Army at 54 then gave me a waiver to serve in a war after Age 60 when I volunteered to go to Afghanistan three years ago.

But no waiver for retirement.

I tried.

The Army said no.

Machiavelli on Leadership: The First Principle of Power, Book 13 (part 2) of 2016

Paul Ryan is getting criticized by leaders of his own party and others for being a hypocrite, endorsing Donald Trump while at the same time saying he is a racist.

Whatever else Ryan may be, he is consistent in following the first and central rule in Machiavelli's The Prince: The leader must take power and keep power, without power he can do nothing.

Ryan made it very clear he is endorsing Trump because Trump will sign Ryan's economic agenda and Hillary Clinton would not.  Trump says he will appoint Conservative Supreme Court justices, Clinton will not.

In one odd potential twist on the outcome of the election, some potential scenarios indicate Ryan will be out of power if Trump is crushed in a landslide.  If Ryan is out of power and out of favor as a result of supporting a failed candidate, his economic agenda has no chance at all.  But if Trump wins and has a Republican House and Senate, Speaker Ryan will have the best chance to put the country on a Republican economic plan.

Machiavelli also says a Leader should do what is right when he can, but not when the right thing will cost him his hold on power.

I have a friend with a conscience who is on the leadership team of a large company.  He was reluctant to become a director, but flattered to be promoted. He finds some of his colleagues on the team really nasty people.  "What do you expect?" I asked. "They are climbing the ladder of power.  Why would you be surprised that they would be the most ruthless people in the company?"

The great thing about reading and re-reading Machiavelli is that when I watch the maneuvering of politicians, I have a rational framework to understand who stabs who in the back and why.

Also, reading Machiavelli is like a vaccine for some of the stupidest political ideas that never go away. Currently, there are millions of people who support Donald Trump of Bernie Sanders because they are outsiders.  It would be funny if it were not so pathetic.  The day after anyone is sworn into office they are not an outsider any more.  They are an INSIDER.  Then they will act to keep power.

The same with Term Limits.  No one who has power wants terms limits, at least not for themselves.

Just Like Dad, Not in a Good Way: 19 Years, No Retirement

Congressman Joe Pitts 

On May 3, I was honorably discharged from the Pennsylvania Army National Guard.  I had 19 years and 21 days of service.  At that moment became "Just Like Dad" in a way that my Dad would never have wished on me.  

My father, George Gussman, enlisted in December 1939, at the age of 33 as a private soldier.  He was at the end of his career as a middleweight boxer and a minor league pitcher and decided to enlist.  He was supposed to be discharged in mid-December of 1941, but there were no discharges after December 7.  The next year, the Army sent Dad to Officer Candidate School, partly because he had warehouse experience and partly because he was so old, 36!  Despite leaving school in the 8th grade, Dad studied hard and got commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant.  He commanded a maintenance company of Black soldiers at Camp Shenango, Pa., then a German Prisoner of War Camp in Reading, Pa., during the war.

After the war, Dad served in the Army reserve till 1958 when Senator John F. Kennedy pushed through something called the "Age in Grade" Law.  At 52 years old, with 19 years of service, my father was out without a pension.  He was too old to be a major, so he was out.  Dad was bitter about that for the rest of his life and never voted for a Democrat or a Kennedy for the rest of his life.

I re-enlisted at 54 knowing I did not have enough years to retire, since the age limit for the Army National Guard is 60.  I should have gotten out with 16 years of service in 2013.  But I stayed three extra years and got so close.  

So I asked my Congressman, Joe Pitts to help me out.  What I am asking for is an exception to the 20-year rule.  Whether that means I serve more or get a reduced pension, I thought it was worth trying to get even a partial pension after 19 years.

 So far Department of the Army passed it to National Guard Bureau and they passed it to the Adjutant General of Pennsylvania.  I have gotten a letter from the Pitts staff at each step.  I will post any updates.

My father was denied an appeal.  I will try to have a better result.

Enlistment Extended for the Duration

My father enlisted in the Army in December of 1939.  His enlistment was for just two years.  He was planning to get out in December of 1941.  In a very early version of the infamous Iraq War policy known as "Stop Loss," Dad was "extended for the duration" of the just declared war on Japan, Germany and Italy.

Dad and thousands of other soldiers in the peacetime Army of 1941 remained on active duty until late 1945 or 1946.

Except for Stop Loss the long Iraq and Afghanistan Wars did not stop discharges after a normal enlistment period of three or four years.  It was another way that these terrible wars were so different from World War 2.

By the time the war ended nearly fifteen million Americans were serving uniform.  Soldiers got leave, rotated home, but the rule was everyone served for the duration.

Among the many things wrong with Iraq, Afghanistan and Viet Nam was the partial commitment.  Even though my Dad never left America, he knew he would be serving until all of our enemies surrendered.

The current war could end anytime between next year and 2024.  I hope if we go to war in the future, we will have an enemy and the whole nation will have a part in defeating that enemy.  

The Greek word that is at the root of Patriotism is Patria--patriotism is a fellowship based on love of country.  In World War 2 millions of families had soldiers serving in the war.  Many of those families ate less meat and sugar and used less gas as part of the war effort.  Wars should have a price--so we can decide whether or notr we want to pay that price.

Command Sgt. Major Christopher Kepner Named Top NCO of Army National Guard

In a ceremony yesterday one of my favorite people in the Army was named the top sergeant of the Army National Guard.  Christopher Kepner is now the Command Sergeant Major of the entire Army National Guard.

He will move to Arlington, Va., and serve full time in his new job.  You can read my interview of Kepner here. He is a strong leader and has strong opinions on leadership.  The fist time I heard him speak it was at a leadership meeting for all the sergeants in the 28th Combat Aviation Brigade:

He led an NCO Development course for all the sergeants in the brigade.  He began that course saying,

“You need to do only two things to be a leader in the United States Army. 

First, keep the men safe as much as possible.

Second, make sure your soldiers maintain standards in every area.

And how will you know if you are doing these two things?

You will eat lunch by yourself for the rest of your career.”

Book 14 of 2016: The Elements of Style by William Strunk and E.B. White

“If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.”
― Dorothy Parker

 

In 1978, Clint Swift, a staff writer on the Stars and Stripes newspaper in Darmstadt, West Germany, acted on Dorothy Parker’s advice and gave me a copy of The Elements of Style.  Click on Clint's name for a longer version of that story.

In the four decades between then and now, I have re-read Strunk and White at times when I start to learn a new language and when the self doubt common to all writers starts to attack my mind.  The Elements of Style, like a good coach, reminds the player that practicing fundamentals is the way to stay at the top of one’s game. 

I also start to use “one” as a pronoun after re-reading Strunk and White because it is the original and best gender-neutral singular pronoun and is a lovely, if stuffy, way around saying “he or she.”

If you are not a writer, or don’t aspire to be a writer, reading this book is like reading about the specific rules for a sport you don’t actually play.  It can be interesting, but will be not captivate. 

For a writer who has wrestled the alligator of grammar, the wit and brevity of Elements of Style will help you navigate the choppy waters of fluency.  

How the Military Draft Works--Just in Case it Comes Back

Today is the 72nd Anniversary of D-Day, the biggest amphibious invasion in world history.  The brave men who fought and died that day were a mix of volunteers and draftees. Whether they volunteered to go or were told by the government to report for duty, they led the way to free Europe from the Nazis.

From the comments I have received recently when wrote about the draft, it is clear the commenters don't understand how the draft works.  From a very good Wikipedia article on the subject, here is the key line on how the draft works:

From 1940 until 1973, during both peacetime and periods of conflict, men were drafted to fill vacancies in the armed forces which could not be filled through voluntary means. 

The military draft is just one part of the effort to recruit soldiers, sailors airmen and Marines (This is not a typo, Marines is a proper name, the others are adjectives, very cagey on the part of Marines). Whether there is a draft or not, if enough people volunteered to serve in the military to meet the national quota, the draft would effectively end.

One of my commenters was furious at the idea that someone would take the place of a person who got a deferment, but that is exactly what happens.

Let's say the Army needs 100,000 new recruits for the year 2025.  They have enough drill sergeants, enough barracks and enough equipment to feed, clothe and train these soldiers.  If there is a draft, the Army recruits all the soldiers it can, then fills the rest of the vacancies with draftees.

In many countries there are few or no deferments, especially for healthy young men.  But in America, deferments were rampant in the Vietnam War era.  When a draftee claims a deferment, the Army reaches further down into the eligible draftees to fill that place.

So if the Army recruits 75,000 and wants 25,000 more, they will send draft notices to the top 25,000 draft eligible people.  When 10,000 get deferments, the Army sends out 10,000 more notices, and so on until the quota is filled.

Whatever the excuse, whether the draftee is Amish or just too cute to crawl in the mud every deferment means the space is filled by another person.  So not only does someone take the place of everyone with a deferment, but they take the place of that draftee in the first year.  If, like the current Presidential Candidates, they took multiple deferments, the man who took their place went to the Army in the same year as the first deferment.

Without the draft, the Army has to change and lower it standards to fill its ranks.  The only way I was able to re-enlist at 54 was because the Army raised the maximum enlistment age to 42 in 2007 and lowered it again in 2010.  In 2007, the Army was desperate for recruits, so they raised the recruiting age, and lowered standards for education.  I got in.  If there was a draft, I would not have had a chance.  An 19-year-old would have taken that place.

Recruiting is a zero-sum game.  If the draft comes back and the government allows Vietnam era deferments, then poor kids will take the place of rich kids, just like during the Vietnam War.  And yes, the draft is a zero-sum game.  Open spaces will be filled.  And they will be filled by those who have no means to avoid the draft.

Dad's Biggest Payday Ever Thanks to Muhammed Ail

My Dad was a soldier during World War 2 and a middleweight boxer before the war.  After the War he went to work for a chain of grocery stores that eventually opened a three-acre warehouse in Charlestown, Mass.  Dad was a driver and a warehouseman for Purity Supreme Grocers making about $150 per week in 1964, not bad money at the time.

Dad played poker a couple of nights a week and confined his gambling to cards, except for an occasional bet on boxing.  In January and February of 1964, the talk among the Teamsters where my Dad worked was all about the Cassius Clay vs. Sonny Liston fight.  Most everyone he worked with was sure that Liston was going to pummel the loudmouth Clay.  My Dad was equally sure Clay was going to knock out the older fighter.

In the weeks before the fight, bookies were giving ten-to-one odds in favor of Liston.  Dad had a savings account he called his "Swiss Bank Account" where he kept his poker winnings.  He told me after the fight that he had withdrawn several hundred dollars to bet on Ali.

We listened to the fight on the radio, I don't remember why we could not watch on TV.  But Dad was right.  Ali KOed Liston and Dad won enough money to buy the only brand new car he ever owned.  One of his poker buddies owned a Chrysler dealership in Reading, Mass. He had a new car on the lot for more than a year that nobody wanted.  It was a blue 1962 Chrysler Newport sedan, the absolute basic model.  It had hub caps instead of wheel covers and it had a three-speed manual transmission with a stick shift.  My Dad bought the car with his winnings from the fight.  Dad never said how much he won, but it was clearly more than $2,000--the biggest payday he ever had.

  
Shortly after that fight, Clay changed his name to Muhammed Ali.  My Dad remained a fan.  "He's a loudmouth, but he is not all talk.  He can fight," was my Dad's view of the Ali.

History Made Wonderful! Podcast Review: The History of Rome

At a recent meeting, the group leader gave us some “get-to-know-you” questions.  One was “What’s your favorite group/singer and your favorite song.” 

I answered immediately:  Joan Jett and the Blackhearts and their song “I Hate Myself for LovingYou.”  

But I haven’t listened to that song in months. Questions like this remind me that most people listen to music when they drive, work, exercise or commute. 

Really, I should have said my favorite “singer” is Mike Duncan; my favorite song is his “The History of Rome” podcast.  The podcast was launched on iTunes in September 2007 and was an instant and enduring hit.  I did not begin listening until 2013, long after the final episode was on iTunes, but the podcast was still in the Top 50 on iTunes at that time.

In nearly 200 episodes (179 numbered episodes, some with multiple parts) Mike Duncan guides us from the founding of Rome through the Republic, Julius Caesar and the Civil War, then through the many great and terrible Caesars who followed to the end of the Western Empire in the late 400s.  Duncan did not try to chronicle the Eastern Empire through its end in 1453.

I have read and re-read the Aeneid, including reading it in Iraq.  I love history well told and “The History of Rome” is 70 hours of solid information by a great storyteller.

If you have not listened to podcasts and are interested in history, “The History of Rome” is a great place to start. And the series has its own Wikipedia page.

Re-Enlisting In a Parade: Army Love

In the early 80s, I was a tank commander in the 68th Armor, a reserve unit in Reading, Pa.  We trained at Fort Indiantown Gap, but had a couple of M60A1 tanks and other vehicles in an armory in the city of Reading.

Each year, the 68th put a vehicle or two in the parade through downtown.  Like most reserve and guard units, members of this unit were neighbors and some were life-long friends.  The year I joined, everybody was talking about one of the gunners in the unit who re-enlisted in spectacular fashion the year before.

Billy loved tanks, loved the unit and wanted nothing more than to be a gunner.  He had served four years on active duty, then came home in 1978 and served two years in the 68th Armor.  He wanted to re-enlist, but his wife insisted he get out.  So he left the Army in 1980.  The following summer, in 1981, Billy came to the parade with his wife and young son.  A dozen members of the 68th were riding in the back of a deuce-and-a-half truck, waving at the crowd.  They saw Billy and all started yelling.

Then his best friend said, "C'mon Billy!  Jump in!"  His wife was furious.  Billy looked at the slow-moving truck, at his wife, the jumped the barrier and ran to the truck.  A dozen hands pulled him up and beaming Billy re-enlisted the following week.

Who Hates Amish and Mennonites? World War II Veterans and their Families

When I moved to Lancaster County in 1980 to go to college, I was surprised to find people who hated the Amish and Mennonites.  Who could hate people who drive buggies and farm with mules?

World War II veterans.

From 1981 to 1985 I worked on the dock at the Yellow Freight break-bulk terminal in East Petersburg, just north of the city of Lancaster.  As I got to know my co-workers, they mostly fit in three groups:

1. Former athletes, either amateur or college, with a career-ending injury, but who could still load trucks.
2. Vietnam War veterans and other former service members.
3. Farmers who needed the extra money a Teamsters job provided.  We made $12/hour.

It was the third group who first told me about how their father or their uncle or their neighbor served in World War II and how the family ended up selling the farm while the soldier was away at the war.  The buyer of the farm was often an Amish or Mennonite farmer who did not have to serve in the military and made a lot of money growing food for the war effort.  

Nearly forty years later, those resentments were as acute as at the end of the war.  "My father did his duty.  They stayed home and made money."  Most of the men I spoke with had some variation of this statement, usually laced with swearing.  

Envy destroys communities.  When one guy gets something and the other guy doesn't, hatred follows. Whether pacifists are sincere or not, they start life well ahead of the soldier who goes to war.  In yesterday's post I quote C.S. Lewis on why he is not a pacifist. You can follow the link or read it here:

Lewis describes the life of a soldier on active duty in a war:
All that we fear from all the kinds of adversity, severally,
 is collected together in the life of a soldier on active service. 

Like sickness, it threatens pain and death. 

Like poverty, it threatens ill lodging, cold, heat, thirst, and hunger. 

Like slavery, it threatens toil, humiliation, injustice, and arbitrary rule. 

Like exile, it separates you from all you love. 

Like the gallies [jail], it imprisons you at close quarters with uncongenial companions. 

It threatens every temporal evil—every evil except dishonour 
and final perdition, and those who bear it like it no better than you would like it. 

Then he describes the life of those who avoid service, 
whether by pacifism or other means:

Though it may not be your fault, it is certainly a fact that Pacifism 
threatens you with almost nothing. 

Some public opprobrium, yes, from people whose opinion you discount 
and whose society you do not frequent, 
soon recompensed by the warm mutual approval which exists, 
inevitably, in any minority group. 

For the rest it offers you a continuance of the life you know and love, 
among the people and in the surroundings you know and love.

For Most Countries, At Most Times, People Looked at Military Service with Dread

C.S. Lewis, best known for The Chronicles of Narnia served in World War I in the British Army.  He was a citizen of Northern Ireland and was not subject to the draft, but volunteered to serve. He was badly wounded twice and between battles lived in cold, muddy trenches.  During the first year of World War II, Lewis spoke to a pacifist society at Oxford with the title "Why I Am Not a Pacifist."  Most of the speech is technical, but he gave a haunting summary.  

He describes the life of a soldier on active duty in a war:


All that we fear from all the kinds of adversity, severally, is collected together in the life of a soldier on active service. 

Like sickness, it threatens pain and death. 

Like poverty, it threatens ill lodging, cold, heat, thirst, and hunger. 

Like slavery, it threatens toil, humiliation, injustice, and arbitrary rule. 

Like exile, it separates you from all you love. 

Like the gallies, it imprisons you at close quarters with uncongenial companions. 

It threatens every temporal evil—every evil except dishonour and final perdition, and those who bear it like it no better than you would like it. 

Then he describes the life of those who avoid service, whether by pacifism or other means:

Though it may not be your fault, it is certainly a fact that Pacifism threatens you with almost nothing. 

Some public opprobrium, yes, from people whose opinion you discount and whose society you do not frequent, soon recompensed by the warm mutual approval which exists, inevitably, in any minority group. 

For the rest it offers you a continuance of the life you know and love, among the people and in the surroundings you know and love.