I was stunned! My second reaction was that there had to have been some error in the processing, some misstep on the part of one of the many doctors and technicians who had examined us. I returned to the desk with my query. The corporal referred me to another office where I met a grizzled Army sergeant who reexamined my papers. To this day, I don’t accurately recall any precise diagnosis for my rejection. The sergeant himself had no explanation except that in some way, it related to one of the examining doctors finding scar tissue on my lungs lingering from my childhood tuberculosis. I made my plea to the sergeant, assuring him that for years I hadn’t any problem with strenuous exercise. My legs and arms were strong, my breathing good. He seemed sympathetic to my appeal “You really want to get into the army?” he asked gravely. “Yes, yes I do!” I said earnestly, and then, with blustering bravado added, “But not into a desk job! I want to serve in a combat unit!” The sergeant led me down a corridor to the office of a lieutenant who, the sergeant told me, had the authority to countermand the rejected classification. The WAC at the desk told us the lieutenant was at lunch but was due back shortly. The sergeant and I sat and waited. From time to time, the sergeant looked at his watch. After about a half hour, the WAC apologized, telling us the lieutenant was usually very prompt in returning from lunch, but that day, for some reason, he was late. The sergeant told me he had to return to his duties and couldn’t wait any longer. He suggested I call back in a few days and he'd see whether he could arrange for me to see the lieutenant. I left the induction center that day still struggling to accept the trauma of rejection. I delayed returning home until later in the 110
ΦΩΝΈΣ | VOLUME I, NUMBER IΙ
evening, struggling for a way to tell my parents and siblings, my neighborhood friends, all honorable veterans of the war, that I had been rejected. Above all, remembering our poignant farewells, star-crossed lovers facing a hazardous future with fortitude, I was mortally ashamed of having to carry that message of rejection to Diana. When I finally went home, I bought some time with still another lie that I had been asked to return to the induction center in about a week for some special assignment. I never returned to the induction center to find the sergeant and to try to see the lieutenant. I feared my chances of being reclassified were slim and I would have to undergo being rejected and humiliated a second time. For the following few days, I struggled with a potential course of action. By the end of the week, born of my desperation, I devised the most expansive lie I had ever concocted. I informed my family and Diana that I had been chosen to be among a select group studying at a special school for the Diplomatic Service. Our ultimate assignment would be to serve in the occupied countries after the war ended. Because of my knowledge of Greek, my probable assignment, I told my family, would be to my parent's homeland of Greece. Needless to say, my family was not only impressed but also pleased that I'd have the chance for the first time to visit Greece. What aided me in this deception was the secrecy that wartime required. Whenever I was asked a question I had difficulty answering, I was able to invoke, “I can't say anything. You know … security.” I informed everyone that I had been sworn to secrecy, not even able to tell my family where I would be taking my training. For several weeks, I struggled to formulate my plans, which everyone was waiting anxiously to hear. My family, my friends