I suppose all being said things after the Marine Corps was fairly confusing and sometimes just down right dark. I suppose if I had been blown up in Vietnam, lost a leg or an arm, I might have been able to understand the struggles that laid out before me. When I came out of the Marine Corps I was unqualified for much of a civilian life. I was still married, the father of a two year old and had another baby on the way. I looked around for employment but, even with a father-in-law working at the employment service pickings were slim. I decided to do what men had been doing since World War Two. I went to college on the GI Bill.
In those days, the GI Bill was truly an aide to veterans. All my schooling and books were paid for during the next four years of school. On top of that there was enough left over to provide a modest living income. I enrolled Oregon College of Education (now, Western University of Oregon) in Monmouth, Oregon and began classes in September 1970. To say my educational experience was less than stellar would be an understatement. The first year was pretty decent and I finished that year with a 3.5 GPA. However, the signs of my unraveling were everywhere. Hostile anti-war sentiment was everywhere. People flew North Vietnamese flags and openly cursed veterans. I remembered the anti-war stories I heard in Vietnam so I quickly sought to distance myself from the veteran image. I grew my hair long, sported a shaggy beard and wore the tattered clothing of the hippy.
Midway through my college experience, I discovered marijuana. At first it seemed like I had discovered the panacea to my emotional pain. My memories of dead friends and betrayals disappeared in a haze of green smoke. Unfortunately, my grades plummeted. What "saved" me was my ability to pick courses that required little real work. After all, it was the 70's and people were just trying to find ways to get along. Before I knew it four years had slipped by. I didn't learn much but I did have a degree in Behavioral Sciences. I also had a serious drug problem. I had experimented with LSD, speed, opium and, of course, more marijuana.
As I came to find out, no one was interested in my degree and employment did not occur until 1975. My wife and I argued constantly. Another baby had come along. Mutual violence was a theme rather than a nonoccurence. I was eventually hired as a (Are you ready for this?) Juvenile Corrections Officer. My first day on the job I reported high on LSD. My first wife and I divorced in 1976. The drugs and other erratic behaviors caught up with us. I began to bounce from job to job. I moved to Astoria where my cousin lived. Pete and I were like brothers, so close that even today people call us by each others names. Over the next ten years, my life spun further out of control. My relationship with my children deteriorated and disintegrated. I did not realize for some time yet how my early childhood and Vietnam experience was acting like a black hole pulling me deeper towards an irrational crash. But that is for another day.
