THE SUMMER OF ’68 FOLLOWING HIGH SCHOOL graduation, Trent’s other son, William O’Conner ventured to California partly to spread his wings and partly to join in one war protest or another—there were hundreds to choose from. Before leaving, he told Jack “Most of these kids being drafted are victims of the power elites who prey on boys, poor kids, most with no way forward.” He and the many young men and women like him were not bystanders: they stood against war and the establishment. They searched for an answer to why America was in Vietnam or why blacks were burning down ghettos. Many ended up finding a new direction, a new despair, or a new drug: marijuana, cocaine, heroin or LSD. William tired of the California scene, returning in September ’69 to attend St. Johns University. But the following year, he quit—partly because he could not afford it and partly because his grades were dismal. He returned to Bridgeport. By the following January, he had yet to enroll in college again. In early March, he received a draft notice ordering him to report for a physical on April 26. He immediately tried to enroll in college and reapply for a deferment.
Jack was working for HH when Will told him about the draft notice. Trent was spending most of his time at the bank. Jack rarely, if ever, ran into him. He made two attempts to have Trent, an influential member of the draft board, help with the deferment. His old friend and boss did not return the calls. Finally, Jack went to the bank in late March and asked him to pull some strings; after all, he was Chairman of the local draft board. Trent was polite to his old college buddy, war buddy and senior employee of one of his major investments. And although they never spoke about it, there was the paternity connection. They parted on a hearty handshake, and Jack thought that he had succeeded in postponing Will’s military service. When Jack learned that William’s deferment did not materialize, he tried calling Trent, and discovered to his grim disappointment that Trent was in India selling helicopter parts—in all likelihood returning too late to do anything to divert the army’s intention to induct Will.
***
When Jack could not reach Trent, he went to Father Ryan in hopes that he had some advice. After explaining his situation, Ryan did not think he could be of much help, explaining that he had received one or two calls a month about the draft, and after a few attempts at exerting a subtle ecclesiastical influence on a particular member of the draft board, the bishop told him to keep his nose out of things that weren’t God’s business. Jack sat, head bowed, ready to accept the inevitable.
“Vietnam, Father, Vietnam. What in hell is it?”
Ryan kept his feelings in check rather than make Jack feel worse than he did. He did not answer.
“Father, it’s odd that soldiers hate war, what it stands for, more than anyone—unless they’re insane. But they also justify what they’ve done when it’s over.”
“Yes, and many of those—especially when they get old—will tell you service during war was their greatest achievement. There’s this need to justify why we’ve been put on this earth.”
The men sat quietly. “What should I do, then, just accept Will’s situation?”
“Jack, Will knows a little about mechanics. Send him down to the Army recruiter. I know the guy. I’ll call. Let’s see if they won’t take him. Send him where he’ll be out of harm’s way.”
***
Will was trained at Fort Wolters in Texas to fly helicopters. By the time he had graduated from flight school, he had gained a reputation for knowing about helicopter mechanics, owed in no small measure to working summer’s at Hamilton Helicopters. Instead of being shipped to Vietnam, he was sent on a temporary duty assignment to Japan where he worked with Fuji Heavy Industries outside of Tokyo. They were developing modifications to the Huey UH1-J, a derivation of the craft he had learned to fly. Six months after arriving in Japan, he received orders for Vietnam.
In 1970, Warrant Officer William O’Conner went to Vietnam to fly helicopters, while Anna and Jack watched the war, like the rest of America, through the nightly news projected on the TV.