Pushkin.

For starters, it was the last thing I particularly wanted to do.

Like many young Americans back in 1970, Richard Ratner wasn't all that excited about going to

war.

I had just been married, and when I found out that I was going to Vietnam, we tried to figure

out any way to get out of it, which involved, oh, I don't know, talking to the military

and seeing whether it was a sign that could be changed.

None of it worked.

They were well prepared for people who didn't want to go.

The Army didn't want here, Richard's excuses.

As a newly qualified doctor, he had just the skills that the military desperately needed.

Richard was one of many American men who were plucked from their civilian lives and forced

into the armed services.

There was even a televised lottery draw, where young men were selected for military service

and a Stint in Vietnam based on their birthday.

Richard was lucky enough to delay his service until after his medical training, but arriving

in Saigon as a 20-something new doctor was still a shock to the system.

We are in buses where they have these steel mesh covering the windows, and I'm absolutely

sure that any minute someone is going to toss a bomb at us.

But Richard wasn't a trained surgeon, heading to Vietnam to take care of bullet wounds.

He was a psychiatrist, but he still wouldn't be treating depression or even PTSD.

Richard was about to use his training to wage a war against bad habits.

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