In October 1967, I was inducted into the U. S. Army. I had just married in September. After basic training, the Army sent me to Fort Myer in Arlington, Virginia, to learn the skills and duties of a company clerk. Think Radar in M*A*S*H without the ironic humor. I was Vietnam-bound and awaited my orders while delivering mail to the seemingly endless number of offices along the 17 ½ miles of corridors in the Pentagon. My orders came soon enough, but so did April 4, 1968, when Martin Luther King was assassinated. Washington erupted in spasms of mourning and mindless rioting, and I was taken off orders and assigned to help coordinate troop movements.