Consider this...

First spot on the cab stand at the Anchorage International Airport, early June, 1975.

The fare is a mid twentyish male. Short hair, clean shaven, lean, slow talker, alert bright eyes, painful creased brow, hiking boots, long sleeve shirt, practical belt, Levis, Navy watch cap. Carrying an efficient back pack not over loaded, with a no nonsense appearance. This guy looks serious and ready for reality, not just a summer spent trekking around Alaska.

He asks for the YMCA. There isn't a residential Y here, so I ask what he is looking for.

He says: "A job."
A job where people will let him just observe life. A job where he doesn't have to dress and act a certain way and talk to people that are afraid to be alone.

It sounds like a cab driver job to me.
I am looking for a new driver for my second cab, Cab 115 for the night shift for Sun - Thurs.

I ask him about his driving experiences. His drug record. His ultimate Alaska destination. His ability to pay rents, and his criminal record. Great answers.
His name is Mike Cha____ .
He asks what it pays. I offer to buy him lunch and discuss his potential and fit for the job. He agrees. We go to Gwennie's Restaurant on Spenard Road, just up from the airport.

I hire him after he shows great manners and politeness to the staff there.
I take him to get an Alaska State and a city cab drivers license. I take him to the Ronald Arms on Arctic Road to rent a room.

After spending this day riding and watching in the cab with me, he agrees to go to work in three days, after he gets the lay of the land and settles in.

He comes with me for a night shift ride for one night. I complete the training and explaining the city layout, show him how to get the calls and the rides at the best places to pick up fares. He is an excellent and courteous driver. He 'gets' Anchorage and the cab business immediately.
Move forward approximately two years.

Mike owns two cabs, goes to University of Alaska, Anchorage. He buys a house, brings his mom and sister to Anchorage to live with him. Mom is infirm. Sister is about 12. He is the pillar of strength and sole support for his family.

Mike is a Viet Nam vet. Mike has been doused with urine in San Francisco, called 'baby killer' in Berkeley, has been beat-up in New York - just because he speaks up for his role as an American who answered the 'call.'

You see, Mike was drafted in 1968. He served a tour and a half. He was decorated, and released all in one day. He left Viet Nam on a Wednesday and was in San Francisco heading home to Ohio on Thursday night.

Mike was just one of many men to come to Alaska in the early '70's to leave behind those that didn't 'get it.' To remove themselves from the ones who were so sure that the GI's were the problem. To leave behind those privileged protesters who negotiated deferments and dodged the draft in many other ways that a street poor 18 or 19 year old male couldn't fathom.

Mike was one of those guys who believed that their country called and they answered just like their parents did for 'WW II.' Mike never thought to make sure his country didn't take the young men off to another war that was a mistake, or that didn't need to be fought.
Sound familiar?

Well, talk to nearly any veteran of the Viet Nam conflict (not even called a war) and most will say that they had no idea when the US would be able to leave Viet Nam. Remember over 55,000 men and women died as a result of the 'conflict.'
Ask those same vets about Iraq, and they will say this war is worse. In Viet Nam there was one enemy. In Iraq they will point out that there are at least three, and all want something different.
A solution?
If you read this far, the fare has been paid.
CABBY