My mind works in mysterious ways. One minute it's dwelling on my military past; the next it's somewhere else. Right now it's somewhere else.
Anyone who's followed my Facebook posts knows I'm for gun control. Some people figure I'm afraid of guns. Not really. But there have been a couple instances in my past that altered my view.
It seems to me that for most of my childhood and teenage years I owned at least one gun. I started off with a pellet gun my dad bought me. It was fun and good for plinking tin cans. I think it was a .22 caliber.
Next I had a single shot .22 rifle. I guess I got it from my dad but I really don't remember. I loved that gun. Mostly I used it for target shooting - tin cans, bottles, things like that. But there was an incident that eventually scared the shit out of me.
I must have been 14 or 15. My mom and dad had split and we lived on Wall Street, Coventry, in a Victorian house. My mom rented out rooms to help make ends meet. Fourteen or fifteen is not a good time to own a gun; the testosterone is going nuts in a teenage boy. In my mind I was the "man" of the house, the protector.
One night, early winter I think because there was some snow on the ground, as I was going upstairs to get something from my room, as I passed the front door (there was a small foyer and the stairs went up from there) I saw a pair of eyes peering in at me. I freaked! Thinking we were being cased for a robbery or worse I ran upstairs, grabbed my rifle, stuffed a cartridge in the chamber and rushed back downstairs. I threw open the door and saw in the moonlight a figure hot footing it up the road. I threw the rifle to my shoulder and tried to aim. I pulled the trigger. Thankfully I missed. I fumbled for another cartridge but before I could reload I saw the guy run down into the apple orchard.
A long time later I heard from someone that the guy I tried to shoot was the brother of one of our roomers, Roy Michaud. The guy had come down from Quebec asked at Mike's Pizza where his brother lived and was simply trying to see if he had the right house. He told everyone that some crazy guy tried to shoot him. I was the crazy guy.
Lucky for me that the cops in Coventry at that time were pretty easy going and never followed up on it. Lucky for me I didn't take time to really aim.
The next run in with a rifle came later, probably 1968. I'd bought a semi-automatic .22 Savage Arms rifle. I think it was supposed to be for my brother Hotch but I used it most of the time, again for target shooting (although I did go squirrel hunting once with my friend Danny).
At that time we had an exchange student from England staying with us. For some reason he went into my bedroom and started dry firing the rifle. I think my brother's friend Barry was in the room with him. They must have dry fired the rifle a dozen times. Barry then came back into the living room and shut the door behind him. All of a sudden there was the crack of a shot being fired and a bullet ripped through the bedroom door missing Barry's head by a couple of inches.
That was the first time the rifle "hid" a round. At first I thought maybe the English kid had found my cartridges but he hadn't. It wasn't the last time the rifle did that, hid a round. I had it happen a couple times when we were target shooting. It was bizarre, you had to count the rounds and make sure they all were fired or you might end up with one stuck somewhere only to be found who knows when.
I took the gun to the Savage Arms factory in Westfield, MA and they kept it for a couple weeks but never found the problem. I think we scrapped the gun, the gun that tried to kill someone.
A disjointed biography
Monday, February 25, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Ottawa FBI
During my time in Canada I knew the FBI and probably the US Army was looking for me. This was confirmed soon after I applied for Landed Immigrant Status (permanent status). I received a notice in the mail to call Canadian Immigration. When I called I was transferred to someone who identified himself as an FBI agent. He wanted to know what my intentions were, did I intend to stay in Canada. I'm pretty sure I told him to go fuck himself and hung up. Canadian Immigration was at that time in trouble for too much cooperation with the FBI over the US "draft dodgers" and I heard nothing else about it.
In August 1971 my father died. I was stunned. I remember talking to my grandmother, his mother, who told me to not even consider coming home for the funeral because "they" would be waiting for me. I don't know if it's true or not but there were rumors that some guys in suits were on the periphery and thought my brother was me.
It's kind of funny that the Federal government spent time and money looking for draft dodgers and those of us considered deserters. At the height of the Vietnam war there were an estimated 50,000 young men and women from the United States living in Canada. I was just one of them.
In August 1971 my father died. I was stunned. I remember talking to my grandmother, his mother, who told me to not even consider coming home for the funeral because "they" would be waiting for me. I don't know if it's true or not but there were rumors that some guys in suits were on the periphery and thought my brother was me.
It's kind of funny that the Federal government spent time and money looking for draft dodgers and those of us considered deserters. At the height of the Vietnam war there were an estimated 50,000 young men and women from the United States living in Canada. I was just one of them.
Avery Shores The Summer of Open Hiding
I made plans on where to go before my leave expired. No I wasn't heading to Canada, that came later. A friend, Tony, offered me a floor to sleep on in Hartford and I took it. Another friend suggested that his brother, who ran a small gas station/repair shop in Vernon, might be willing to hire me under the table. I was set.
I figured that as long as I stayed out of Coventry and maybe Manchester I'd be okay. It worked for about a month and a half, from mid-May until the end of June.
My mom lived on Coventry Lake and her next door neighbor was a part-time Coventry cop. His son-in-law was a full-time cop. One day, must have been in late June, my brother Hotch was on the association raft (long gone due to legal issues) when the son-in-law swam out. He mentioned to Hotch that "they" knew where I was and that they were planning on arresting me soon. Hotch let me know. Now whether it was true or not I knew I had to get out of Dodge and quick.
I pulled together all the money I could, mostly donations from friends and family. My friend Bud connected me with the Unitarian Church and they gave me a contact in Toronto that would help.
It was only by chance that I left Connecticut with my friend Tony and Hotch at the start of the July 4th weekend. I packed some clothes, tools, and my LPs and headed north on I-91 towards Montreal. Shortly after clearing Canadian Customs (who seemed okay that we were "on vacation") the first song that came on the radio was, "I"m Free" by The Who. Honest. (The next song I remember was Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da in French.)
We made Montreal around 5 or 6 pm, pulled into a parking lot where the attendant said something like, "Five dollar, want to buy some hash?"
The next day we drove to Toronto.
I figured that as long as I stayed out of Coventry and maybe Manchester I'd be okay. It worked for about a month and a half, from mid-May until the end of June.
My mom lived on Coventry Lake and her next door neighbor was a part-time Coventry cop. His son-in-law was a full-time cop. One day, must have been in late June, my brother Hotch was on the association raft (long gone due to legal issues) when the son-in-law swam out. He mentioned to Hotch that "they" knew where I was and that they were planning on arresting me soon. Hotch let me know. Now whether it was true or not I knew I had to get out of Dodge and quick.
I pulled together all the money I could, mostly donations from friends and family. My friend Bud connected me with the Unitarian Church and they gave me a contact in Toronto that would help.
It was only by chance that I left Connecticut with my friend Tony and Hotch at the start of the July 4th weekend. I packed some clothes, tools, and my LPs and headed north on I-91 towards Montreal. Shortly after clearing Canadian Customs (who seemed okay that we were "on vacation") the first song that came on the radio was, "I"m Free" by The Who. Honest. (The next song I remember was Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da in French.)
We made Montreal around 5 or 6 pm, pulled into a parking lot where the attendant said something like, "Five dollar, want to buy some hash?"
The next day we drove to Toronto.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Avery Shores Military Madness
I promised bits and pieces of my life here. I talked briefly about my military non-career already but I'll try to fill in more of it the best I can.
I guess I got my draft notice sometime in November or December of 1968. I was working at a job I enjoyed and I was pretty much against the Vietnam War. It seemed immoral to me, I really had no desire to kill anyone or to be killed. I wouldn't say I was a pacifist but this war was different than many the US had been engaged in. The South Vietnam government was corrupt, which kind of meant we were too. People far smarter than me were against the war for so many different reasons. And the nightly news painted a grim picture.
I weighed my options after getting my draft notice - enlist and hope for a non-war posting, suck it up and be drafted, refuse induction, or go to Canada or Sweden. A friend of mine, Bud, was going to school in Boston and he suggested I go up there and talk to people in the anti-war movement. Sounded like a good idea.
So a couple of friends and I drove up to Boston and talked to a few people at the anti-war office. First was a really wasted guy. He talked about how he had dropped a massive amount of acid prior to going for his physical, which had been months prior. I guess he failed the physical but man he was pretty burned up. Next guy was bragging that he had refused to be inducted - twice. Each time they locked him up for two years. And he had been called up again. He said they'd probably keep calling him up until he was too old.
So none of those options sounded good to me. And at that time I was not ready to leave "my" country. Some time in late February or early March (my memory is a little fuzzy on exact dates and I'm too lazy to dig through my paper work) I boarded a bus for Fort Dix, New Jersey. I knew as soon as I got off the bus I'd made a big mistake.
The degradation and humiliation, normal military procedure to break the spirit at the time, was bad enough but the attitude towards all things Vietnamese was disgusting. During my short time at Dix (I did not finish the eight week basic training) I learned about fragging green lieutenants (seems enlisted men didn't like college educated, ROTC-types and sometimes killed their own, or sent them into deadly situations knowing they wouldn't come back). I also learned that it was true what they say about the military; if you're a mechanic they aren't going to make you a mechanic in their army. I was just more cannon fodder.
Let me point out a couple of things about when I got drafted. First in the first three or four months of 1969, they were drafting 30,000 + per month. With all the student deferments other deferments were few and far between. (The lottery did not come into being until December 1969.) There were guys in my platoon that had no right being drafted; some for physical reasons, others for mental reasons (there was at least one kid who at any other time would have been classified as mentally defective). One kid who passed the physical finally got sent home because his right hand had been severed at the wrist when he was a kid and reattached - but he had no feeling at all in the hand. Basically if you could stand upright and you weren't a student you went.
I spent about six weeks in basic training before fate intervened. I got sick. Not just a cold, not even just the flu, I had pneumonia in both lungs. I passed out during morning formation one day. They sent me for xrays and found I probably shouldn't be playing soldier for awhile.
The hospital at Fort Dix was almost as scary as basic training. By the time I was admitted there had been six (I think) deaths that winter from spinal meningitis and there was some kind of a congressional investigation. I spent about two weeks in intensive care and another two weeks in some recuperation unit. Once they deemed me fit enough to be checked out I was given leave until mid-May when the next basic training would start.
I made tracks home as best I could (it must have been around Easter because I do remember there were no flights available). I took a bus from Dix to Neward Airport, and then the Port Authority to Hartford by bus. I remember telling my mom when I got to the bus depot in Hartford, "I'm never going back." She didn't believe me. But I never did.
I guess I got my draft notice sometime in November or December of 1968. I was working at a job I enjoyed and I was pretty much against the Vietnam War. It seemed immoral to me, I really had no desire to kill anyone or to be killed. I wouldn't say I was a pacifist but this war was different than many the US had been engaged in. The South Vietnam government was corrupt, which kind of meant we were too. People far smarter than me were against the war for so many different reasons. And the nightly news painted a grim picture.
I weighed my options after getting my draft notice - enlist and hope for a non-war posting, suck it up and be drafted, refuse induction, or go to Canada or Sweden. A friend of mine, Bud, was going to school in Boston and he suggested I go up there and talk to people in the anti-war movement. Sounded like a good idea.
So a couple of friends and I drove up to Boston and talked to a few people at the anti-war office. First was a really wasted guy. He talked about how he had dropped a massive amount of acid prior to going for his physical, which had been months prior. I guess he failed the physical but man he was pretty burned up. Next guy was bragging that he had refused to be inducted - twice. Each time they locked him up for two years. And he had been called up again. He said they'd probably keep calling him up until he was too old.
So none of those options sounded good to me. And at that time I was not ready to leave "my" country. Some time in late February or early March (my memory is a little fuzzy on exact dates and I'm too lazy to dig through my paper work) I boarded a bus for Fort Dix, New Jersey. I knew as soon as I got off the bus I'd made a big mistake.
The degradation and humiliation, normal military procedure to break the spirit at the time, was bad enough but the attitude towards all things Vietnamese was disgusting. During my short time at Dix (I did not finish the eight week basic training) I learned about fragging green lieutenants (seems enlisted men didn't like college educated, ROTC-types and sometimes killed their own, or sent them into deadly situations knowing they wouldn't come back). I also learned that it was true what they say about the military; if you're a mechanic they aren't going to make you a mechanic in their army. I was just more cannon fodder.
Let me point out a couple of things about when I got drafted. First in the first three or four months of 1969, they were drafting 30,000 + per month. With all the student deferments other deferments were few and far between. (The lottery did not come into being until December 1969.) There were guys in my platoon that had no right being drafted; some for physical reasons, others for mental reasons (there was at least one kid who at any other time would have been classified as mentally defective). One kid who passed the physical finally got sent home because his right hand had been severed at the wrist when he was a kid and reattached - but he had no feeling at all in the hand. Basically if you could stand upright and you weren't a student you went.
I spent about six weeks in basic training before fate intervened. I got sick. Not just a cold, not even just the flu, I had pneumonia in both lungs. I passed out during morning formation one day. They sent me for xrays and found I probably shouldn't be playing soldier for awhile.
The hospital at Fort Dix was almost as scary as basic training. By the time I was admitted there had been six (I think) deaths that winter from spinal meningitis and there was some kind of a congressional investigation. I spent about two weeks in intensive care and another two weeks in some recuperation unit. Once they deemed me fit enough to be checked out I was given leave until mid-May when the next basic training would start.
I made tracks home as best I could (it must have been around Easter because I do remember there were no flights available). I took a bus from Dix to Neward Airport, and then the Port Authority to Hartford by bus. I remember telling my mom when I got to the bus depot in Hartford, "I'm never going back." She didn't believe me. But I never did.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Who The Hell Is Bruce Hotchkiss?
Let's clear one thing up - I am a born in the USA guy. My meanderings through life have confused people as to just where I am from. Mostly I've just let them be confused. But I'll try to clear things up.
I was born on March 28, 1949, in New Britain General Hospital, New Britain, CT to Elaine C. Hotchkiss (nee Clark) and William C. Hotchkiss. When I was about 2.5 years old we moved to Coventry, CT where I lived until 1969 (with a short stay in Bridgeport, CT in 1960/61).
In February 1969 I was drafted into the US Army, a situation I did not appreciate. Over the July 4th weekend of 1969 I went to Canada. I lived in Canada until December 1990, and I became a Canadian citizen in 1977.
I was arrested in 1976 as I flew to the USA and spent a couple of months in a military jail, first in Illinois and then at Fort Carson, CO. I was released, returned to Canada, and was given an Undesirable Discharge in 1977.
In 1984, I took a job in San Jose, CA. The job did not last but while in the USA the US government tried to take my US citizenship away, claiming that by being a citizen of another country automatically meant giving up my US citizenship (funny that it doesn't work that way for everyone but that's another story). I appealed the decision and by a vote of 4 to 3 I won my case. I was only in San Jose for about 3 months.
In December 1990, I moved to the San Francisco area and lived there until I retired and moved to Las Vegas, NV in January 2011.
I was born a citizen of the US and I am still a citizen of the US. I do not know if I still hold Canadian citizenship.
I am proud of everywhere I've lived. My families have a long history in Connecticut. I consider Coventry my hometown. I lived in Ottawa, Pickering, and Toronto, Ontario and have fond memories of all.
Although legally a US citizen I prefer to think of myself as a world citizen, influenced by everywhere I've been.
I was born on March 28, 1949, in New Britain General Hospital, New Britain, CT to Elaine C. Hotchkiss (nee Clark) and William C. Hotchkiss. When I was about 2.5 years old we moved to Coventry, CT where I lived until 1969 (with a short stay in Bridgeport, CT in 1960/61).
In February 1969 I was drafted into the US Army, a situation I did not appreciate. Over the July 4th weekend of 1969 I went to Canada. I lived in Canada until December 1990, and I became a Canadian citizen in 1977.
I was arrested in 1976 as I flew to the USA and spent a couple of months in a military jail, first in Illinois and then at Fort Carson, CO. I was released, returned to Canada, and was given an Undesirable Discharge in 1977.
In 1984, I took a job in San Jose, CA. The job did not last but while in the USA the US government tried to take my US citizenship away, claiming that by being a citizen of another country automatically meant giving up my US citizenship (funny that it doesn't work that way for everyone but that's another story). I appealed the decision and by a vote of 4 to 3 I won my case. I was only in San Jose for about 3 months.
In December 1990, I moved to the San Francisco area and lived there until I retired and moved to Las Vegas, NV in January 2011.
I was born a citizen of the US and I am still a citizen of the US. I do not know if I still hold Canadian citizenship.
I am proud of everywhere I've lived. My families have a long history in Connecticut. I consider Coventry my hometown. I lived in Ottawa, Pickering, and Toronto, Ontario and have fond memories of all.
Although legally a US citizen I prefer to think of myself as a world citizen, influenced by everywhere I've been.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)