"Get a Wig, Bro!"

Date: March 16, 1972 

We felt like movie stars in a slow motion film, as we ran across four lanes of traffic, trying to catch a San Francisco city bus.

Would we make it? Did the driver see us as we were leaving Oakland Army Base, laughing so hard we could barely run? Discharge papers in hand, we felt free as birds even though we were lugging at least a hundred pounds of baggage between us.

Not only did the driver wait for us, all the passengers cheered as we stepped onto the bus. We were quickly surrounded and personally welcomed by young men who said they’d been there too, but their hair was already long. How could that be?

The advice for my husband was, “get a wig, Bro, the natives are not friendly.”