Juan Pesina-avila:  

In my former life, I was Manuel Pesina aka the "Hermit", nothing special there! The day that I became eighteen years old, March 6, 1972, my father woke me up with, "...Manuel today is the day, get up and get dressed!" He already had the truck warming up. We arrived at the draft board around 7:30 a.m. and waited in the truck for the lady that ran the board. She finally arrived around 8 o'clock that morning, and while she fumbled with her keys trying to open the door, my father and I got out of the truck. We both stood beside her as we greeted her with Good Morning!" She replied and asked, "What are you both doing here? Since my father didn't speak English very well, I translated for her, and he replied that it was my birthday and that I needed to register for the draft--I translated his words. The lady seemed surprised, and stated, "...most people wait for a week or two before coming in!" I translated for my father and he said, "We are not most people, today is his eightieth birthday so today he is to sign up!!" She finally opened the door and said, "Ok, come on in." I recall that the day that we entered the US at Laredo, TX; after my mother and I received all of our shots, the paperwork was triple checked, and then we received our legal residence cards (Green), my father pulled me aside and said to me, "Son, now that you are here legally, you will receive many privileges (how naive), but you will also have to give back two years of your life in the service of this country--in the Armed Forces that is!" It was alright with me, I always wanted to be a soldier!! In the course of deciding which service I would go into, I was leaning towards the Marine Corps. I read everything pertaining to and saw every movie about the Marines, including of course Gomer Pyle! I am sure that I drove my father crazy with, "... the Marines this or the Marines that, they are the toughest, etc..." That is until I heard their hymn. It goes like this, "From the Halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli..." STOP! The Halls of what? That's in México! Oh not no, but hell no! So, I decided to join the paratroopers--the pamphlets were located in the Post Office. I never told my father the real reason for the change of heart, I am sure he would have thought it was rather dumb, and it was. In 1972, my birthday placed me at the very top of the draft lottery, but since I was still in school it would be summer before I would be called, but I was sure to be called or drafted! When I decided that I was not going to submit to the US Army's wishes since they had me dead-to-rights--my draft number was one, I volunteered! If I had known I was going to be a pack mule, and air droppable one at that, I would have followed Mr. Minkler's advice and joined the Air Force. For my sins, I was sent to Fort Ord, CA or better known as "Planet Ord". It was then that things began to change. First my name went from Manuel Pesina to Juan Manuel Pesina-Avila. According to the personnel sergeant, it was that, “You Spanish guys just have long names!" As time went on, I thought that if I attended the various elite courses that the Army had to offer I would be tougher, or so I thought. It seemed that every time that I graduated from one of those courses I didn't feel any different. I was still just me, so I gave up in that idea. I did however; feel like I didn't belong either in the Hispanic community, as it was, nor the Anglo community. At least it was one step above the way I felt while in Muleshoe. Believe me, I don't fault anyone for the way others felt towards me, it was a difficult time, and those same people had been raised that way. Fortunately, during my time in the Army, either with the paratroopers or the "Green Berets," I began to see things differently as a result of traveling a good part of the globe--when all was said and done, I found that people everywhere have the same dreams, aspirations, and needs. Oh! By the way, whenever I saw any of my comrades-in-arms bleed, they bled the same way I did, and the same color blood too. By the way, while I was attending Jump School at Ft. Benning, Georgia, I met some fellows from South Carolina who became my closest friends, or better yet, the brothers that I did not have. They were Pete, Tim, David, and Julius all while waiting for the mess hall to open for supper. We all went on to the 82nd Abn. Div. at Ft. Bragg, NC. Four of us arrived at the base around two in the morning, in dress uniforms, and before we knew what happened we were pushing the ground and wondered what on earth had we gotten into? Couple of days later we found out what the joke was about, we were assigned to the 1/504th Parachute Regiment. That outfit spent most of their time in the field, out of state or out of country somewhere! We sure did see allot of the countryside! As time passed, some of my brothers left the Army, others changed units, including myself and we lost track of one another, but they all remained in my memories and in my heart. I left the paratroopers because I was tired of babysitting young soldiers and wanted to move on and test myself so I applied for the Special Forces Qualification Course (SFQC). It took three weeks before I was re-assigned to the 5th SFG before entering the Pre-Qualification course sponsored by each group. The SFQC is a strictly volunteer course which means that you don't have to put up with the harassment, punishment, or all around ass-whippings--all you have to do is say, "...I quit!" By the way, that stupid song "The Ballad of The Green Berets" was played every day around 4:30 am and announced, "... the ass-whippings will now begin!" Phase I was more physically than mentally demanding, whereas Phase II was more mentally. Phase III was both because it brought it all together, what I mean is everything that was learned and now it had to be taught to someone else who had little or no military knowledge at all. Funny thing, the beret didn't even keep my right ear warm! Since the various Special Forces Groups' mission focuses on different parts of the world, I had the privilege of spending quite a bit of time in the Middle East, North Africa, and Latin America. In the 5th SFG(A) I had to learn to speak Farsi--the national language of Iran; in the 7th SFG(A) I already had the language covered--it is Spanish; in the 3d SFG(A) language became less of a problem since as a Sergeant Major I didn't have to because of the use of native and US interpreters. The most fulfilling stint I did was in El Salvador, Central America. Unlike many of my comrades' focus in preparation for combat operations courses, my focus was the development of proper command relationship throughout every level, and the establishment of civil defenses throughout the unit's area of responsibility. Human rights are the basis for all civil-military operations in an insurgency conflict, and so it became my highest priority! The Salvadorians were quite brave and eager to engage the enemy, unlike the Arabs who would rather leave it in God's (Allah) hands for their delivery--their successes as well as failures in military operations. I did witness one of the strangest sights ever--while looking for a lost weapon, my Team Sergeant and I came upon the ruins of a small farm; around it remained the house ruins, a medium size tree, a camel, and a one-armed Egyptian. While my Team Sergeant spoke to the man, by the way he spoke fluent Arabic; I noticed that there was a huge boom box tied to the saddle of the camel--no water or other amenities, but a boom box! How in the world did he play his music? Our batteries were rapidly losing their power because of the heat and had to be resupplied quite often! Apart from all the small seashells scattered throughout the...Expand for more