I was accumulating transfer credits and hanging onto my virginity while Martin Luther King was vowing to talk to the Vietcong himself to end the war if LBJ wouldn’t. Good grief, I can imagine how that was going down in the Oval Office. Guys were getting drafted left and right, the bombers were killing poor people and Buddhist monks, and accidents kept happening over there like in the movies. A B-57 loaded with bombs crashed into a South Vietnamese village and killed 12 villagers, but our crew survived miraculously, just like in the movies. My coworkers refused to read the front page of The Oakland Tribune. The names-Mekong, Danang, Vinhbinh-had a poetic ring to me, and it wasn’t all bombs; we dropped toys and supplies over towns in South Vietnam. No matter. I had to concentrate on transferring or be a transcriptionist for the rest of my life.