We hope you enjoy this latest edition of HixNews. In honor of Veterans' Day we are reprinting an article about Ron Wencer's military "service." We hope you enjoy! If you served, please email
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Introduction
Last month’s Hixnews recounted how Hicksville nurse Mary Keller, who would later serve in the U.S. Army Nurse Corps during World War I, crossed the Atlantic in September 1914. Bound for Belgrade, then under bombardment, she was part of a medical team that would create an American Red Cross Hospital to treat wartime casualties. Developments in Europe interrupted their journey, and as October began, the team found itself shipless in Athens.
Anchors Aweigh, Again
Given the wartime conditions, new travel arrangements would not congeal immediately. Meanwhile, the nurses and doctors shopped for flea powder and other niceties, and they toured the Acropolis together. On the evening of October 6, they were able to board a ship bound for Thessaloniki/Salonica. Apparently, the ship was better than the last one, as the diary of Team Leader Mary Gladwin scarcely says anything about it.
Sailing north, its prime objective was to not attract the attention of Austro-Hungarian warships in the Aegean Sea. Wartime boarding parties might be tempted to not respect Red Cross neutrality; they might seize medical supplies, or even a doctor or nurse. Thus, the medical team’s ship would follow an arduous route - please see the annotated 1914 map in this article - hoping to avoid warships’ notice by not sailing in the middle of the Aegean.
Today, we think of Austria as landlocked and mountainous, but its past empire had extended to the Adriatic Sea, from which Austrian frigates fought battles against those of other European powers to keep the Mediterranean open to Austrian shipping.
Looking at the map, we see that the route went from A (Athens) to T (Thessaloniki), first via the Euborean Gulf - more a strait than a gulf - a natural inland waterway, with entry points too narrow to permit large warships from using it. The gulf was safe, in that ships traveling in it could not be seen from the Aegean, but it is infamous for its dangerous currents, which change direction abruptly and batter ships. Mary Gladwin wrote that she was horribly seasick on this leg of the trip. After exiting the gulf, the ship probably hugged the shore the rest of the way. Distant warships were seen, but they did not bother to approach it. Thessaloniki was reached without incident on October 9; the rest of the journey would be made overland: mostly by rail, sometimes by horse-drawn carriage, and once even by ox cart!
Destination Somewhat Unknown
Belgrade lies on the Sava River, which in 1914 was Serbia’s northern boundary with Austro-Hungarian territory. The bombardment had first come from the river, not from the other side. The Empire had a flotilla of river-sized warships, with firepower roughly equivalent to that of some modern tanks.
SMS Bodrog being refueled; this is the ship that fired the first salvo of World War I
The bombardments hit not only military or government targets. Shells seemed to strike anywhere: shops, streets, homes, offices, hospitals, etc. As time went by, mortars and howitzers were set up inland, several miles north of the river. These guns would thereafter carry the burden of the attack, sending bigger, more destructive shells into Belgrade. In response, the Serbian government relocated further south, primarily to the city of Nish, and it also distributed some of its functions among smaller cities and towns. Even as Mary Keller and her peers worked their way north, the government in Nish was reevaluating the decision to put the new hospital in Belgrade.
At Nish, the Americans left the train and traveled around the region for four days, conferring with a number of officials of the Serbian Red Cross and government in their new locations. Talking with them, seeing rural Serbs in their traditional dress and centuries-old homes, and partaking of some of the local customs, the nurses and doctors began to gain an understanding of Serbs as a people. Once the hospital was functioning, that understanding would remind them that their patients were not truly anonymous. They might differ from Americans, but the patients were simply people, much like the good people they had met on this trip, but people who had been drawn into the Great War.
The Crown Prince
On October 14, they continued on to Valjevo (V on the map), where they were formally presented at a reception to the dashing Crown Prince Alexander, regent and de facto leader of Serbia. They also met his elderly father, King Peter, who because of his age had recused himself from wartime duties, but who occasionally still made ceremonial appearances.
At the reception, Alexander raised the possibility of the Americans setting up their hospital somewhere safer than Belgrade, but the Red Cross group declined his offer, saying that they all had resolved to face the dangers before sailing from New York. Showing only a little surprise, the Prince accepted their decision, and he authorized their use of a complex in Belgrade that had been erected c.1908 for use as a military hospital. Its nine buildings were suitable, although not furnished with a full complement of modern medical equipment. Hypothetically, this was a shortcoming, but even if it was, it was irrelevant. There was no electric power anywhere in Belgrade, thanks to the continuing bombardment, so new electrically powered equipment would be useless.
And so, the following morning, the Americans emerged from their overnight train, five full weeks after departing from New York, but they were not quite in Belgrade. The main railway station, and the rails leading to it, had been rendered unusable by artillery shells. To make things worse, it was raining, as it had rained for the eight preceding days. As their wagons slogged several miles through the mud, the newcomers faced an oncoming swell of refugees who were fleeing Belgrade; the people they saw carried wooden chairs, cradles, and other poignant remnants of their forsaken homes.
The Hospital is Born, Forcibly Adopted, and Returned to Its Parents
Per the plans made before departure, Mary Gladwin continued to lead as Hospital Supervisor, with young Dr. Edward W. Ryan aiding her as Chief Surgeon. The nurses were each allocated responsibility for certain wards. Given the anticipated number of casualties, wards were set up not only in the buildings, but also in the open pavilions that connected them. Mary Keller became Night Supervisor for the entire hospital.
Healing and saving people in a city under constant attack proved to be as demanding as imagined. The hospital was for everyone, whether civilian or military. During November, Austro-Hungarian forces advanced, and wounded men from both armies were brought to the hospital. Later in November, things looked so grim for Serbia that it ordered Belgrade evacuated. It was expected that invaders might single out wealthy and high-ranking enemy civilians and their families, so the British and Serbian hospital administrators left-but before going, they appointed Dr. Ryan as Chief Surgeon for all the hospitals in Belgrade.
On December 2, Austria-Hungary officially took control of the city, including the American Red Cross Hospital. Its doctors brought their own instruments and regimens with them, but things went surprisingly well despite their also bringing with them a backlog of thousands of Austro-Hungarian casualties. The hospital was crowded, which was good: a great many people in need were being helped.
Less than two weeks later, Mary Keller was on night duty when all “The Austrians” (as the Americans called the new doctors) arrived unexpectedly. They had come to collect their medical instruments and personal items, because Austria-Hungary was abandoning Belgrade! Keller awoke Mary Gladwin to alert her. The vast Empire had overextended itself, stretching its armies unsustainably thin. Typhus (not treatable, often fatal) was spreading among the starving troops. The armies would retreat; the doctors would flee Belgrade before the Serbs could capture them.
On December 15, beloved King Peter made a triumphant return to the city, cheered by many returning Serbs. This “Return of the King” scene was spoiled only by the unspoken thought that the artillery barrages might resume later.
Mary Frances Keller in her domain, with wounded patients, fellow nurses, aides,
orderlies, and perhaps a priest and a doctor or two
During one prolonged break in the shelling, Mary Gladwin wrote that the silence was as unsettling as the shelling. She envied “Nurse Keller,” who said that she fell asleep more easily during the shelling than the pauses. I don’t know whether this picture was taken during such a pause, or after “the Austrians” had left, but it does not reflect any of the terror which all these people must have experienced during the barrages. They all look just happy to be alive. People are resilient.
When Red Cross Dr. Edward Ryan finally left Belgrade, he took with him some souvenirs of his stay, including a "dud" incoming artillery shell. His next project was in Hungary; when moving his luggage through the main Budapest railway station, the luggage cart toppled over, and his souvenir shall detonated, causing much damage. He was uninjured, but he was angrily interrogated for quite a while.
Typhus
As the winter of 1914-1915 deepened, typhus spread across Serbia, especially in the ranks of the armies. The daily caseload at the American Red Cross Hospital surpassed 9,000 patients. Patients sometimes had to share beds. In early Spring, some patients were bundled up and put in beds in the open courtyard, the hospital thereby learning that the courtyard had a capacity of 3,000 patients. With the advent of warm weather, the epidemic finally receded.
It is no surprise that a number of staff at the hospital contracted typhus. Two of the original American nurses got it, as did Dr. Ryan. More nurses had arrived from America, and some of them caught it. Two nurses reportedly died from it, although this has proved hard to confirm. While Dr. Ryan was trying to fight it off, he was replaced as Chief Surgeon by Dr. Ernest Magruder, who had been sent from the U.S. to Serbia to study the epidemic. Ironically, soon after stepping into Ryan’s role, Magruder himself died of typhus, becoming the second American Red Cross surgeon to die of it in Serbia.
Dr. Ryan eventually made a full recovery. He continued to work in Serbia well into 1916, and went on to serve until his early death with the American Red Cross abroad. In 2018, a Serbian postage stamp commemorated his service to the country:
BTW, in the background photo on the stamp, Ryan is sporting a bow tie, and the high-foreheaded nurse standing behind his left shoulder is Mary Gladwin.
A June Departure with Plenty of Tea
Keller appears to have left Belgrade in June 1915; she had remained on duty there longer than her intended six-month term. Agnes Gardner, another of the original nurses, wrote that the ten American nurses who left that June traveled together:
“We joined Sir Thomas Lipton's yacht, the Erin, at Salonique [sic], making a delightful trip to Naples; from there we took an Italian steamer homeward, after many months spent in a country among people who love the American sisters and will long remember our efforts to alleviate their sufferings.”
Once back in Hicksville, Nurse Keller encouraged people to support the Red Cross, speaking to the high school’s students about her experiences in Serbia. She later agreed to be drafted from the Red Cross into the Army Nurse Corps, from which she returned to Hicksville in 1919, just in time for the July 4th post-War celebrations.
Mary Frances Keller packed a lot of service and accomplishment into one life, a life which I am not yet prepared to say that I have finished researching. I will not be surprised by anything more that I learn about this amazing person.
Sources
Images, etc. in Part 1
The article’s “Title Block” contains a photo of Mary Keller that was digitally extracted and reworked from a family portrait in the Keller Family Collection, found online in the Hicksville Public Library’s digital images. For the image of the ship Ioaninna, see below.
“Miss Keller to Accompany Servian Unit” appeared in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle for September 4, 1914.
The picture of St. Mary’s Hospital is from the digital collection of the Brooklyn Public Library.
The image of Woman’s Hospital, New York is from Ebay; the original postcard was published c.1906 by Albertype Company.
This photo of S.S. Ioaninna is from uboat-net, a website that commemorates the careers of German submarine officers, tracking how and where they sank ships, how many lives were lost, etc. I don’t think I want to understand why someone would maintain such a website, but from it one learns that the Ioaninna was sunk in the eastern Atlantic in 1917 by a uboat. I’ll not risk perpetuating the submarine’s fame, nor that of its captain, by naming them here. Presumably all of those then aboard the Ioaninna perished. May they rest in peace.
The photo of HMS Glory comes from the George Grantham Bain Collection at the Library of Congress.
The postcard of the Corinth Canal is from ebay; the publisher is unknown.
Pages from Mary Gladwin’s diary can be found in various locations online, often not in correct sequence, or automatically scanned with uncorrected errors. Excellent images of the original can be found in the “World War I in Ohio Collection” of the Ohio History Connection, starting at ohiomemory.org/digital/collection/p16007coll51/id/3402
Images, etc. in Part 2
Two “Title Block” images need credits. The Keller Family Collection in the Hicksville Public Library’s digital images is the source of a tattered picture-only one piece of which is used here-of Mary Keller with Scottish yachtsman, philanthropist, and tea merchant Sir Thomas Lipton. He spent a lot of time in Serbia during the War, visiting hospitals to bring medical supplies, and poor villages to provide food when it was scarce. The “background” for the block is from Wikipedia; it shows some of the Austro-Hungarian fleet that the Red Cross team managed to evade.
The map of the southern Balkan region and Greece is extracted and annotated from an excellent 1914 map preserved digitally at World War I Today (wwitoday.com)
The picture of SMS Bodrog is from www.warhistoryonline.com
The portrait of Crown Prince Alexander is from “The Story of a Red Cross Unit in Serbia” by Berry, Dickinson, and Blease, et al, 1916; accessed from the Internet Archive.
The group photo outside the hospital is also from The Keller Family Collection within the Hicksville Public Library’s digital images.
The Serbian postage stamp is from Wikimedia Commons.
The quotation from Nurse Gardner is from her article “American Red Cross Work in Serbia” in The American Journal of Nursing for October 1915, available online at JSTOR.
That’s It for Now!
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Definitely Not Dressed to Kill
"Had I anticipated parading through any part of Brooklyn in my underwear, I might have not chosen my pale blue boxer shorts. But there I was, wearing only leather loafers, dark ankle-length socks, and broadcloth boxers. To complete my ludicrous ensemble, a bright yellow motorcycle helmet hung from my arm, like a flower basket. It was filled with socket wrenches. This was how it had been ordained I would meet my fate."
In July and August, we looked through AH's Hicksville lens to watch the first Baby Boomers grow up. This month, we'll see how the magnitude of the Boomer cohort overwhelmed Selective Service, and made difficult times worse. Along the way, we'll focus on my own summer of 1968.
Introduction
Neither of us felt like saying anything about anything - the morning sun on our shoulders was too hot. As we walked, we heard nothing but the sound of distant traffic up on the Verrazzano, an almost-white noise. My eye caught sight of a black-hulled freighter that was just leaving the harbor.
Perspiration began to soak the doctor's shirt. That would not happen to me, because I was practically naked. Had I anticipated parading through any part of Brooklyn in my underwear, I might have not chosen my pale blue boxer shorts. But there I was, wearing only leather loafers, dark ankle-length socks, and broadcloth boxers. To complete my ludicrous ensemble, a bright yellow motorcycle helmet hung from my arm, like a flower basket. It was filled with socket wrenches. This was how it had been ordained I would meet my fate.
He was fretting, still concentrating on the letter in his clipboard. He forced a little cough and spoke, sounding more weary than authoritative. "It's the last building in the row. Now remember, you don't say anything unless he asks."
"Don't worry; I won't."
***
Background
It was 1968, and I was stuck with a draft classification that prevented my getting a decent job, or going to graduate school, or, for that matter, getting drafted. I kept thinking back to the HHS Guidance Offices, where this part of my life had been planned. Since 1964, I had been adapting and living those plans - and at the moment, they needed some good Plan B content. How could my plans offer me no reassurance about the choices to be made once the draft preempted things?
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No one was at fault; it was just part of being a leading-edge Baby Boomer. The first Boomer cohort had overwhelmed America's schools; now it was overwhelming Selective Service. You'd think that would have happened in 1964, when we all turned eighteen, but no. That year, a good percentage of us went on to college, and Selective Service had saved lots of time and money by giving many of us student deferments in lieu of physicals. Four years later, most of those deferments were expiring, and the Army was especially hungry for new draftees. Selective Service had until the end of the year to find 300,000 of them. That meant about 400,000 physicals - one man in four would fail the physical.
And so, we were reclassified, and labeled provisionally eligible for the draft (we weren't really eligible; you had to pass your physical exam before they could say that).
Of course, in the real world, on the streets we walked and in the places we went, the word provisional meant nothing. Graduate schools would not provisionally admit us; corporations would not provisionally add us to payrolls. Businesses were getting annoyed. The year before, they had hired new graduates, given them on-the-job training, sent them on professional courses, and then watched as they were drafted. This year, employers refused to even speak with applicants who had our draft classification.
Thus, as summer took hold, many of us were not looking ahead to graduate school after all, or beginning that career-starting job we had expected. For us, even summer jobs might be out of the question: undergraduates and graduates both were competing for them this year. We were in limbo.
***
Coping, Albeit Not Very Well
There had been ways to avoid getting snagged like that. I could have tried to get a job that came with a draft deferment, like police officer, or elementary school teacher, but I did not. Choosing a career just to avoid military service was not right for me. I decided to enlist instead.
The various branches of the armed forces offered enlistees a choice of programs - but some like-minded friends had been cautioned by their recruiters that no choice of specialty could be guaranteed at this time. Too many Boomers were enlisting at once. I decided not to choose a specialty, but rather to enlist in a branch that would assess my abilities, and then put me where I seemed likely to fit. I chose the Air Force.
The experience of being recruited proved very enlightening and enjoyable. I wish I had room here to discuss it, but instead, I'll say only what follows.
- I had multiple interviews, and I was tested in five areas of capability.
- I was chosen for the pilot/navigator program.
- I took a Flight Physical at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.
- I failed it.
I was blown away by the reason given for rejecting me.
I had (and still have) a hereditary skin condition which requires no medical attention. It is not a "naughty disease." From time to time, a coin-sized reddened area spontaneously develops somewhere on my torso. It lingers for some weeks or months, and then it fades away. At any given time, I may have no "spot," one, two, or - rarely - more. The spots do not itch, ooze, or otherwise get in my way. In adolescence, when the condition first appeared, it was diagnosed by a dermatologist. Prior to the Flight Physical, I got a letter from his office which explained the condition. I had given a copy of the letter to the Air Force doctors who examined me.
I believe that, when told why I had been rejected, I responded in these words: "You mean that I'm unqualified to drop bombs on the enemy because I've got a spot the size of a dime on my belly? That the enemy can't fire rockets back at me, because it would be unfair to shoot down somebody who has a rash? Foolish me - I thought we were trying to win a war."
Failing to restrain a smile, the presiding officer apologized: "Sorry; that's the way it is."
As long as the ice had been broken, I asked if he could offer any opinion about my prospects for enlisting in other branches of the service. Off the record, he said that I'd likely be rejected, because so many of us were enlisting at once that all of the armed forces could afford to be "picky." He volunteered that Selective Service, on the other hand, could not afford to be picky - they had quotas to meet, and they probably were prepared to overlook a number of minor ailments.
I did not want to continue in limbo any longer than I had to. The following day, I called Selective Service to see if I get a physical as soon as possible. Once they realized I was not a crank, I got a straight answer: No. As it turned out, I would have to wait until autumn before I got to stroll around Fort Hamilton in my underwear.
***
Go West, Young Man - Just Go East First
My family had left Hicksville for Queens in 1966, and I had dutifully notified Selective Service of that change. I had heard that there were Draft Boards in Queens, but somehow I was not transferred to any of them. Eventually, a letter appeared in my mailbox in Flushing, which instructed me to report quite early one morning to Great Neck.
On that day, I rode my Honda CB160 to the address given, secured it with a chain in the parking lot, and boarded a bus that was filling with fellow guests of Local Board No. 3. Some old friends from Hicksville happened to be among them. On my lap were things I did not wish to leave unattended in the parking lot, including my helmet, and a new set of wrenches. I carried them because when my bike failed to cooperate, I needed them to beat it into submission.
Unidentified Long Islanders ready to board one of
the blue-and-white buses used by Selective Service
Newsday, date to be added
The bus crossed the widths of Queens and Brooklyn, and deposited us near the shore at Fort Hamilton. Together with other busloads of young men, we shuffled into a rat's nest of a complex, where we each were assigned a locker for the day. We had to strip down to our under shorts, socks, and shoes. Except for any valuables (like socket wrenches) and things that didn't fit in the locker (like motorcycle helmets), we were to leave the room carrying nothing but our personalized clipboards of blank medical forms.
We were given no description of what lay ahead, other than being instructed to always follow the painted stripe. At the start, it was painted on the floor, but we were told that as we moved around the complex, it sometimes would instead be found on a wall, or on the ceiling.
***
Fort Hamilton
The stripe first led to a wide room, where a row of doctors awaited us. Except for the underwear part, we looked like newly-arrived airline passengers, waiting to be called by the next available customs agent. One doctor beckoned me. He looked unhappy, as if he were expecting a tough day. I would prove him right. After checking that all my blank forms were in my clipboard, he looked quizzically at the full-length surgical scar on my forearm (a souvenir of my having once simultaneously incurred compound fractures of both its bones). I took from my helmet a letter from the orthopedic surgeon who had repaired the arm; the doctor read it and seemed satisfied.
Then he stared at my lone red spot. "What's this?" I gave him the letter from the dermatologist. He read it, asked some irrelevant questions, and began to look uncertain. He read the letter again. Clearly, he did not comprehend. He frowned and read the letter a third time. Suddenly, an idea struck. He stood up decisively, clutched my clipboard to his chest, and said, "Come with me; I want a second opinion. And when we see the other doctor, DON'T TELL HIM ANYTHING."
In a minute we were outside, walking on hot pavement, passing buildings and people. I wondered if he himself had been drafted. Was he worried about later, when he might have to explain to his superiors why he had left his post and the stripe behind? It dawned on me that not one of the people we were passing was walking around in his - or her - underwear. I began to feel conspicuous.
***
Another Doctor
View of Fort Hamilton; the red circle highlights the building
to which we walked to meet the "Other Doctor"
wnyc.org/story/verrazano-narrows-bridge-most-princely/
We entered a small building and climbed up to the second floor. Without knocking, he opened a door, and led me into a room where another doctor was examining a patient. Neither of them seemed surprised by the rude intrusion.
"Take a look at this. What is it?" The new doctor looked me over, coldly, critically, top-to-bottom, as if he were deciding whether or not to buy a new suit. Then he focused on the red spot, thinking. When he offered his diagnosis, it sounded almost exactly like the one written in the letter I had brought along.
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
Now the first doctor frowned even harder. He looked at me, and said, "This Dr. Orfuss, the guy who wrote your letter... he isn't a dermatologist is he? I mean, he's just a GP, right?" Before I could answer, the new doctor jumped in.
"Orfuss? Is that ABRAHAM J. ORFUSS? The one who's done the work at Bellevue?"
"I guess so."
"He's world famous! I've never met any of his patients before." Excited, the new doctor extended his arm and shook my hand; I was a dermatological celebrity. The first doctor groaned, slouched, and almost dropped the clipboard. He glared at me.
Abraham J. Orfuss,(from the 1937 Yearbook of the Long Island College of Medicine)
Diplomate of the American Board of Dermatology,
member of the American Academy of Dermatology and Syphilology;
President of the Manhattan Dermatological Society,
member of various other regional Dermatological Societies;
Professor of Clinical Dermatology at NYU School of Medicine;
Dermatologist at University Hospital, Goldwater Memorial,
and Bellevue Hospital, and evidently a very good man to have in your corner
We went back outside, and headed towards the painted stripe. Once again, neither of us said anything about anything, but I was laughing very hard inside. Back at the stripe, he took a broad red marker and wrote a few big cryptic letters across the cover page of my clipboard. I had been disqualified at the starting line - but I still had to go through the motions of running the race.
***
In the Maze
The stripe meandered down and up staircases, around corners, into and through rooms dark and bright - and even "in my ladies' chamber." I was climbing a staircase, my eyes fixed on the faded painted stripe above me. It turned left at the landing, and there was a gap. It resumed a few feet away, and went through a doorway, from which I could see that it went straight through the room and out the other side. As I walked in, I heard typewriters, lots of them. On either side of me were rows of straight-faced women, facing the aisle in which I walked. They must have sat there all week long, week after week, as a stream of young men clad only in their underwear paraded through. How droll.
As I moved around the complex, I'd occasionally see familiar faces from Hicksville. More often, I'd see strangers who were hoping for Section 8's (i.e., classified as mentally unfit for service). At least two of them wore clear "space helmets." Another, with a glazed-over, look-at-me grin, steadied with one hand a 30" diameter inflated red ball, the stem of which appeared to have been glued into his navel. The examiners ignored the space helmets, the big red ball, and any number of other ploys.
***
If at first you don't succeed, Fail, Fail Again
It was only when my blood pressure was checked that I became aware of something genuinely odd. As I handed the technician my file, he saw the big red letters and chuckled. With the cuff inflated on my arm, he mockingly said, "It's amazing that you haven't dropped dead in that chair! Look at that blood pressure! What is it, 300? Nah, I'd better make it a little lower, maybe 260 or 245." He saw that I was confused. "Don't sweat it buddy. Here's your clipboard, and have a good day."
Having never in my life experienced blood pressure higher than 130, I knew he has lying, and giving me another reason to fail my physical. Why? I share my thoughts about this in the Appendix to this article.
At the end of that day, my draft status finally resolved, I donned my jeans and shirt at the locker, and shook Fort Hamilton's dust from my loafers. My Honda would be waiting for me in Great Neck, and I could ride it into the life I now could resume.
***
A Post Script
In October 1968, I finally received a Notice of Classification Card
that reflected my failing the physical at Fort Hamilton. I was I-Y,
which was far enough down the list to let me apply for a real job.
More than three years later, I received the card shown above.
The upshot of my "lost summer of 1968" was a Plan B. I began an interim career in Information Technology, which (I thought) ended a few years later, so that I could study full-time for a second degree, as I had originally intended. Once I had earned it, however, I realized that it made more sense for me to return to IT, which then became my career.
If pressed, I suppose that I could feel resentment about being subjected to my lost summer of 1968, which need not have happened. Roughly 25% of the Selective Service's physicals in that era resulted in rejections. Had all early Boomers been given physicals in 1964, perhaps 100,000 men would have been filtered out at that time, and processing the remainder in 1968 would have been easier and quicker. I would have been one of the 100,000, and I would not have been languishing that summer. I would have been following my plan.
But I can't think that way for more than a split second, because I had had things too easy. I knew men who went to Vietnam and did not return; I knew others who were forever changed by the experience. I have since met more of the latter. I feel grateful to have known such people and, frankly, I also am grateful that I am not one of them. I was lucky in 1968.
***
Appendix: I Caught Hypertension at my Draft Physical
I assume that in 1968, Selective Service guidelines identified a limit for systolic blood pressure, above which men could not be drafted due to hypertension. For purposes of discussion, let's say that the number was 141. That is, if an otherwise healthy man had a reading of 142, he would be rejected due to hypertension. On the other hand...
You know, 142, or even 143, is pretty damned close to acceptable, especially when so many men are needed. That's only minor hypertension, right? Let's overlook it and draft these fellows anyway. Of course, if we draft them, their files can't show that they were over the limit, so we'll have to write down that their systolic reading was around 138 or 139. No one else is watching when they're tested, so no one will know that the number we write down is not the same number we saw on the blood pressure manometer. We can do it.
Wait a minute. They keep statistics of how many of the men who come in have different conditions. If it looks like we're always below the normal number of people with hypertension, somebody will catch on. Hmmmm.... I've got it! Lots of guys have already failed the physical before we check their blood pressure. What we can do is give those people hypertension on paper. Same as before, only for these we write down a higher false reading instead of a lower one. That way, the total numbers will look right. Yeah, that's it.
I suspect that thinking like that was the reason I got my bogus hypertension.
*****
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Holiday Happenings
by Wendy Elkis Girnis
Class of 1977
Welcome to the Holiday Season. When we think of November and December, we think of snow, celebrations, Santa, lit menorahs, and kinaras. There are many holidays taking place during these months. There are also many festivities and celebrations taking place in and around Hicksville. Let’s mark down some of these in our calendars.
November Festivities
- November 27- Oyster Bay Turkey Trot by the Bay - Thanksgiving Day, November 27, 2025, 9:30 a.m. Start, Rain or Shine
- First 200 runners to cross the finish line (NOT TIME) & 100 runners who finish between 900 and 1000 will receive a $50.00 gift certificate to a local restaurant in Oyster Bay! https://events.elitefeats.com/25oysterturkey
- November 27- Check out the 99th Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, - Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade 2025 – Celebrate With Us!
- November 29-30 - 1863 Thanksgiving Celebration at Old Bethpage Village Restoration - At Old Bethpage Village Restoration, you can tap into the past during their 1863 Thanksgiving Celebration. This museum is said to be a truly immersive experience where attendees can dive fully into the 1800s.
- On Nov. 29 and 30, you can experience a Civil War–era Thanksgiving with food and traditional customs. There will also be historic reenactments. The celebration will last from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. https://oldbethpagevillagerestoration.org/
- November. 26 and November. 28- Kids’ Craft Day - Come enjoy a family-friendly event right before and after Thanksgiving at Cold Spring Harbor Fish Hatchery & Aquarium.
- On Nov. 26 and Nov. 28, the nonprofit will be hosting a crafting session for kids. Learn how to make delightful festive decorations while building fun memories with your little ones. The sessions will be from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. http://cshfishhatchery.org/event/kids-craft-day-thanksgiving/
December Celebrations
- Monday, December 8: Bodhi Day (Buddhism) - Also called Buddha’s Enlightenment Day, it commemorates when Siddhartha Gautama attained awakening — or enlightenment — some 2,600 years ago, becoming the Buddha. It is a day of prayer, meditation, chanting, and reading the scriptures (Sutras).
- Contact local Buddhist centers on Long Island for a list of events
- Friday, December 12: Our Lady of Guadalupe Day (Christianity) - A Catholic holiday celebrated on December 12th to commemorate the Virgin Mary's appearance to Juan Diego in 1531.
- Check with your local Catholic Church for special events.
- Tuesday, December 16 – Wednesday, December 24: Las Posadas (Mexican/Southwestern US Christianity) - A Mexican Christmas tradition that commemorates Mary and Joseph's journey to Bethlehem and is celebrated with processions, singing, and piñatas.
- For activities, check out this website: https://www.twinkl.com/event/las-posadas-usa-2025
- Thursday, December 21 – Monday, January 1: Yule (Pagan)- Celebrates the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, and the rebirth of the sun. - Celebrate Yule, with a Solstice Hike
- Contact your local state or county parks for a listing of times and places.
- Wednesday, December 25: Christmas Day (Christianity)- Celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, who Christians believe is the Son of God.
- Santa will be at the Broadway Commons until December 24th- https://atbroadwaycommons.com/events/photos-with-santa/
- Christmas House Long Island is open at the Broadway Commons- Christmas House Long Island is an indoor, one-of-a-kind, fully immersive Christmas experience! https://christmashouselongisland.com/
- See The Nutcracker- a one-hour children’s version at Holy Trinity High School on Sat. Dec. 14, 2025, at 02:00 pm. Enjoy a holiday tradition performed by the dancers of The Dance Place. This perfect one-hour narrated version is especially great for kids and families. https://www.etix.com/ticket/p/55109598/the-nutcracker-hicksville-holy-trinity-high-school?gclid=
- Sunday, December 14– Monday, December 22: Chanukah (Judaism) - Celebrates the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem after a Jewish victory against the Greek-Syrian Empire in the 2nd century BC.
- Check out some family-friendly events here: https://www.newyorkfamily.com/family-friendly-hanukkah-events-long-island/
- Friday, December 26: St. Stephen’s Day (Boxing Day) (Christianity) - Commemorates the life of St Stephen, a Christian deacon in Jerusalem who was known for his service to the poor and his status as the first Christian martyr. This holiday is celebrated by giving to charity, church services, and feasting.
- Check with British or Caribbean cultural centers for any upcoming events.
- Friday, December 26 – Thursday, January 1: Kwanzaa (Pan-African) - Kwanzaa is a week-long holiday that celebrates African American culture and heritage.
- Celebrate the principles of Kwanzaa with an evening of reflection, community unity, and cultural pride. This special event, hosted by the NCBWLI will feature guest speakers, a candlelighting ceremony, cultural dance performances, and more.
- Date: Friday, December 12, 2025
Time: 7:00 PM – 9:00 PM
Location: Campus Center Ballroom, Farmingdale State College - This celebration is open to all and is a wonderful opportunity to honor heritage, community, and the spirit of the season. https://www.farmingdale.edu/events/2025-12-13-2025-kwanzaa.shtml
- .Long Island Children’s Museum, Garden City, December 30, 1 p.m.-3 p.m.
- Learn about the holiday's meaning and traditions, make a mkeka (traditional mat) craft, and a beaded ear of corn https://www.licm.org/calendar/event/celebrate-kwanzaa-2025/
The Scholar Apple Drive has added a new feature this year where you can recognize and honor the educators who made a lasting impression on your academic journey. With your $40 donation to sponsor an apple for graduating scholars, you can recognize a teacher, coach, counselor, or staff member, and their name will appear in the program.
Either mail the form below with your check or go to https://hicksville-council-of-ptas-104208.square.site and click on the apple. 
The Hicksville High School Class of 1966 is planning its 60-year Class Reunion!
Date: Saturday, April 25, 2026
Location: Hicksville Knights of Columbus
Cost: $50/person
To Register: Send a check to Stephen Goldstein, 1111A Washington Drive, Centerport, NY 11721
Comment on this articleSears
The former Sears building in Hicksville has been vacant since 2018. There have been numerous plans to redevelop the land, but the building still stands. As posted in the Long Island Press on October 16, 2025, the building has been leased to two tenants. You can read the article here. Note: You may need to sign in to read the article.
Holiday Party for All Hicksville Alumni
Date: December 14, 2025
Time: 1pm - 5pm
Place: Knights of Columbus, 45 Heitz Place
Cost: $50 per person
There will be food, free wine, beer, soda, and a cash bar. Desserts will be made by Mindy Pape Hobby Bakes.
RSVP by November 28, 2025
They hope to raise enough money to make a donation to the Hicksville High School Scholarship Fund.
For payment and Venmo information, email Craig Wohl @
Combined 60th Reunion for classes '64-'67
A combined 60th reunion for classes '64-'67 will be held on April 25, 2026 at the Knights of Columbus Hall in Hicksville. It will feature a buffet with a cash bar and will be from 5-10pm. We are planning on a DJ for mood music & dancing. The cost is $70/pp, and payment information will be provided upon emailing me at:
Hope to see you there, Richard Greguski '65
In Memoriam
Stacey L. Comolli Schwille, Class of 1995
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