For me, the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s were extremely transformative. I started my search for the answers of: What is Life? Is there a God? What happens when you die? I joined my older sister and took classes, was baptized, and joined the United Methodist Church. The church didn’t seem to have the answers I was seeking. I just couldn’t buy the concept of someone else (Christ) absolving my sins, or as the band, Cake put it, “Jesus wrote me a blank check, one I haven’t cashed yet.” It just didn’t seem right to me that someone else could, in essence, just balance out your karmic debt by believing in Him.
When my younger brother Grant died, my search increased immensely. His death really shook me. I assumed he would always be there, but now, I would never see him again in this lifetime. It seemed so permanent. Was there another world? Is there really life after death? Does God really exist? I got married and immediately learned the concept of “us,” and that it was much better to think of “us” instead of “me.” I drew a relatively low draft number, I think 59, and school became much more important.
In my spiritual quest, I first took acid at the end of 1969. My roommate and I had had deep conversations about God and spirituality, and we entered our first acid trip in that state of mind. We felt we were given a view of the afterlife. We sat at the feet of God and understood everything. The trick was to remember everything once the acid wore off. This, of course, led to more and more trips, trying to get back to the original place. I dropped acid, ate mushrooms, and took other psychedelic drugs quite a bit during this time, which fundamentally changed my view of the world. I became a father, and something inside me clicked. I was now responsible for keeping a roof over our heads, food on our table, and prospects for a good future.
I folded somewhat when I couldn’t keep up with Human Anatomy and Physiology. I had a hard time memorizing all of the names of the bones, muscles, and nerves of the human body. I finally had to quit the class to avoid an “F.” This caused me to become a part-time student and thus eligible for the draft. I knew I didn’t want to put myself in a situation where I could be forced into a kill or be killed situation. This made me look at how I was living my life and the impacts it was causing. I stopped eating meat and vowed to not kill or be a part of killing. This caused me to go down the path of becoming a conscientious objector. After applying for this status, and being turned down, and then appealing their decision to it’s highest level and exhausting all other avenues, I finally received my draft notice to report to Oakland to be inducted into the armed forces. I had been working with an anti-draft organization and met with one of their lawyers, so I knew a little what to expect.
Now, I’ve told you all this so you can imagine the backdrop of this situation and where my head was. Actually, I’m not really sure where my head was, then. By the time I was to report to Oakland, I was dropping, probably a little too much acid. I somehow had a line on some pure acid. These were little orange barrels that were super strong. During Christmas, these barrels were red and green. They were called Orange Sunshine, and a warning was written up in the Free Press and other street newspapers of the time as it being extremely strong and dangerous. Well, my thing at this time was to prove to myself that I could handle anything and still act “normal.” Unfortunately, I had devolved at this time from using psychedelics in a spiritual quest to using them to ski better, to ride my bike on epic adventures, and to see if I could control myself in challenging situations. I had to pass a physical in the morning before being inducted into the Army in the afternoon. I planned to refuse induction and it would be good to fail the physical, so naturally I swallowed the little orange pill. Remember, my thing at the time was to go to the edge and not “freak out.”
As I remember it, Mary Lou dropped me off at the Oakland Induction Center on a grey overcast day. The acid was just starting to take effect as I arrived. I reported to a window where an office worker processed your papers and sent you on to the next stage of the process. He was a somewhat pleasant person who was involved in his tasks. He first sent me with a group of other inductees to the area where they conducted the physical examinations. We stripped to our underpants and then walked as a group to receive our pokes and probes. I remember being told to turn around, drop our shorts, and spread our cheeks. It was that kind of thing. We had a psychological interview where I was asked a few questions. Evidently, I was psychologically fit enough to serve in the Army, even in my current blown state of mind. At the end of the morning, I met with a doctor who evaluated my results. He came to the conclusion that I would be classified as non-combatant due to my strong hay fever. I have learned since that although I am allergic to oak and pine pollen, I actually was suffering from being allergic to cats. This didn’t matter too much at the time. I had no intention of entering the Army, combatant or not. I didn’t want to be a part of the war in Viet Nam. My next step was to go back to the window and have the clerk send me on to the next step.
I was able to talk with the clerk at the end of the day as he was getting off work and I was sitting with a group, waiting to talk with an FBI agent. He told me that when I came to the window, he felt that something was different. It was near lunch and he asked me if I intended to refuse induction. When I told him I was, he sent me on to the Group “W” bench. Normally, I would have been sent with everyone else to be inducted. If I had done that, it would have delayed me another day. He helped me avoid having to refuse induction an extra time by recognizing I was on a different path.
The Group “W” bench was actually an area that had rows of school desks arranged as if it were a classroom. However, there was no “front,” as it was in the corner area of a large warehouse. At the side of the school desks was a line of offices. I took a seat and was given a form to fill out. I obediently started to fill out this form. Name, address, phone number, date of birth, Social Security number, driver’s license number, names of family members and their addresses, names of all the people I have known for the past 35 years and their contact information. Wait! What? Whoa, I’ve already given them way too much information. As I looked this form over, I realized that if anyone wanted to find me, they would have all the information they would need. Hum… Well, I needed to get rid of this piece of paper. I quietly tore this document into many pieces and stuffed them into my shoes. I was glad I came to my senses. As I sat in my ill-fitting school desk, I started to look around at whom else was sitting there. It was like it was straight out of Alice’s Restaurant. We were the rejects who couldn’t fit into the preconceived molds we were supposed to fill. It really made me feel like an outsider.
Finally, after a considerable wait, my name was called by an over-weight Army clerk who was holding a shuffle of papers in his hands. I got up and followed the corporal to the first office. His office was a clutter of paper, files and objects that had fallen on the floor, waiting to be found. He asked me for the paper I was supposed to fill out. When I told him that I didn’t fill it out, he became a little agitated. As he talked to me, I realized that he never actually looked directly in my eyes. He continually fidgeted with his fingers and darted his eyes back and forth. He reminded me so much of someone I knew. After a little pondering, I realized he reminded me of the Nowhere Man from the movie, Yellow Submarine and from the Beatles song. He asked me where the paper was that I was supposed to fill out. I told him that I destroyed it. This really unhinged him. He started ranting on about destroying government property and all. I told him, “Well, I don’t have it.” After a lot of fidgeting and ranting and walking in circles, he told me to go back and sit in my seat and wait for my name to be called.
After awhile, my name was called. This time, a sergeant with spit-polished shoes and a very straight posture greeted me. He took me to the next office in the line of offices. His Spartan office was the exact opposite of the corporal’s. What few objects there were, were in the filing cabinets that lined one wall. If I had to characterize him, he reminded me of Dudley Do Right. He was very officious and rules oriented. His job was to make sure I knew what laws I was breaking by refusing to be inducted into the armed forces. He rattled off statutes and their resulting penalties. It was very difficult for him to understand how anyone would willingly not follow the rules, especially when they are so clearly laid out. When it became apparent that I wasn’t too impressed, he finally sent me back to my school desk.
I think it interesting that we were made to sit in old school desks that were too small for my 6’3” frame. I always hated those desks. I never fit in them. These desks encouraged me to sit with bad posture. I couldn’t put my feet directly under the desk because my legs from my knees down were too long, so I would put my legs straight out with my butt as far forward as possible. Anyway, I sat there until my name was called again.
This time I followed a young officer, probably a lieutenant to the third office. His office was somewhat like the sergeant’s but he had a nice set of law books on the wall. It was the lieutenant’s duty to scare the hell out of me. He began by emphasizing the laws I was breaking, but more importantly the consequences of my actions. I was going to federal prison for several years. This was going to affect me for my whole life, as I would be a felon. After he gave it his best shot and I didn’t decide to change my mind, he sent me back to my school desk.
I was now being called by a fatherly figure in the form of an Army major. He brought me into his end office. It was a nice office with a lot of warmth. He sat behind a large oak desk with folded hands. He was so sorry that I was in this predicament. Here I was, breaking the law and facing immense punishment. He was here to help me. “Son, I’ll give you another chance to change your mind and undo this terrible mistake you are about to make.” He was so understanding and fatherly. I wasn’t interested, so he then sent me back to the window to get my next directions.
I was sent to an area where I was to wait with the other Group “W” survivors. After some time, we were ushered into a big room where we stood in a line facing the front of the room. There was a podium in the front, and the officials from the Group “W” area were in the front. In the back were witnesses to observe the process. The sergeant we had met with earlier, marched up to the podium and started barking out orders. He was a master in cadence talking. He started rattling off instructions in a cadence that was extremely hypnotizing. He started barking orders at us to stand at attention, to look forward, and to listen to his commands. It soon dawned on me that we were being inducted into the armed forces. One by one, this sergeant told us, “Brian Floyd Swagerty, you are being inducted into the armed forces of the United States of America, you will signify this by stepping forward when I signify, you will step forward when I call you name, you will be inducted into the armed forces of the United States of America by stepping forward. Brian Floyd Swagerty, step forward, now!” The pause that followed was so full of tension that it took all of my will not to step forward. The pause lasted, what seemed, forever. Finally, he started in on the person to my right.
One by one, this sergeant barked and ordered, but no one was swayed. Now we had officially broken the law. The young officer who tried earlier to scare some sense into us came to the podium. He informed us of the great crime we had just committed and the resultant penalties. We were doomed. As he left, the fatherly major came to the podium. He seemed to be genuinely concerned for us. He wanted to help. He just couldn’t sit by as we were throwing away our futures. He decided to give us a second chance! This meant we got to go through the whole process of refusing induction one more time. Well, we all survived the process, and now we were future felons.
Our next, and final task of the day was to be interviewed by the FBI. We gathered in an area, and one by one, we were called into an office to meet with an agent. This FBI agent was exactly what I would expect an FBI agent to look like at the time. He had on a grey flannel suit with spit-polished shoes. He was a pleasant person to talk with. He started out with casual conversation, but I soon realized that he was actually filling out that form I had previously destroyed. I wasn’t too forthcoming with my answers after that. He ended our interview with the information that I would be investigated and contacted within a year.
When I came out of the building, it was still grey and overcast. Mary Lou was waiting for me and we left. I remember thinking how remarkable it was that hundreds of people went through there each day. Tomorrow the same players would return to their jobs and the process would begin again with a new group of inductees.
After about a year of hearing nothing regarding this felonious offense, I received a letter from my draft board with a new draft card enclosed. It was just the card without an explanation. I was now classified as 2-S. I had no idea what a 2-S classification meant. After contacting my draft lawyer, I learned that my draft board determined that they had made a procedural error and issued me an administrative deferment. I was more than willing to serve my two years working in a conservation camp, but my draft board didn’t want to grant me conscientious objector status. It was a pretty anticlimactic ending to a major saga in my life. I could now actually make plans for the future.
- Back to Swagerty/Moss Stories
- Back to Stories
Swagerty-Aldrich Family Web Site 