“Dismissed for Academic Reasons.”
There it was in black and white in May 1973. Now, why on earth would Florida State University want me to depart their wonderful institution?
Probably it was because this was my first year away from home and my grades were not quite up to par. I can’t believe they would kick me out because of my 0.7 GPA.
My mom and dad will be pissed. What do I tell them? I’ve been up here in Tallahassee for almost a year. They’ve paid the entire way—both for school and a “little more.”
I thought I was doing alright. After all, I was at the ripe old age of 17 when I first came to FSU. Of course, it took me a few weeks to get used to being away from home. And sure, since the drinking age was 18, I partied a little, even before that all-important 18th birthday.
OK, I partied a LOT. But that’s no excuse to flunk out of college.
During my first semester, I took a class called, “Scuba Diving.” I mean, we’re in Florida, right? Lots of springs and the state is almost completely surrounded by ocean. Besides, it should be an easy class, since I was a great swimmer, having spent most of my growing up summers at Kingsley Lake, swimming, snorkeling, and water skiing.
I was into scuba diving big time and even worked at a local scuba dive shop, North Central Florida Diving Center, owned by my friend and scuba instructor, Barry Kerley.
We often dove the wrecks and jetties off Panama City and, many times, chartered a boat for deeper wrecks and spearfishing. But my favorite spot to dive was the St. Marks River, right off the bridge in Woodenville. I loved finding old molded glass bottles, clay pipes, and arrowheads.
But then again, there was work to be done at school. The only problem was that I obviously didn’t think it was that important.
A thousand thoughts ran through my mind.
I could always join the Army and follow in my father’s footsteps. He was an officer and fought with Patton’s Third Army (80th Infantry Division, 317th Infantry Regiment, 2d Battalion, Company H—a “mortar man.”)
That’s probably what he might want me to do, even though we were still fighting a war in Vietnam.
But, after talking with my friend Ed Kelly at the dive shop and his great times and adventures during his six years in the Navy, maybe I should talk with them. And since I loved to scuba dive, there are probably more opportunities to dive with the Navy than with the Army.
I borrowed my roommate’s bike the next day and rode down to the local Navy recruiting office in downtown Tallahassee. I can’t remember the recruiter’s name, but I remember he was very cordial, informative, and seemed trustworthy.
He, of course, saw me as one more for his monthly quota, though I didn’t feel that at all during the visit.
After we talked a little while, he handed me a book of Navy jobs to peruse—it was pretty thick. So much to read with so little time, and since I didn’t have a long attention span, it didn’t take me long to point to the job I wanted.
It was almost like spinning a globe and stopping it with your finger saying, “here’s where I want to go.”
Actually, my thought process was very logical.
I loved scuba diving, so that brought me to the Navy. I loved being outdoors, and I always had an interest in airplanes. As a kid, I probably assembled about every model airplane on the shelf; they fascinated me.
So the Navy job I picked was an Aviation Boatswain’s Mate Handler.
“No problem,” the recruiter said. “The Navy needs ABHs and you will probably be able to go anywhere in the world you want.” He probably said that to everyone that walked through his door.
Since I was 18, I could legally sign documents. “Sign on the dotted line. Press hard, the third copy’s yours.”
And that was it.
Over the years, many people asked if I signed up for the Navy to really join (“It’s not just a job, it’s an adventure”) or if I was concerned about being drafted into the Army. It was 1973 and even though the Vietnam War was winding down, there was still a draft.
Honestly, I wanted to join the Navy. The thought of being drafted never crossed my mind.
The recruiter did mention that when I reported to the Armed Forces Induction Center in Jacksonville, where all newly recruited young men and women headed to the military in Florida to check in, it would be a long day of waiting and processing.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ve made it through three quarters of college at FSU; I can handle it.”
A few days after signing up, I was working at the dive shop when my mom and dad called me.
My dad said, “Son, we just received your report card and wanted to talk with you about your grades.” My dad was a lawyer and knew how to approach difficult subjects.
“Yeah, I know. I didn’t do as well as I should have.”
Before my dad or mom could say another thing, I blurted out, “I joined the Navy.”
There was a silence—a long, deafening silence. I think I heard a collective gasp from the other end of the phone. My mom said, “What?” I told them again.
I forgot whatever else was said during that phone conversation, but my mom told me years later that she and my dad were very proud of me at that moment. They said that I had made one of the most important decisions in my life.
More importantly, I stuck with it, all Three Years, Eleven Months, and 29 Days.
As July rolls around, besides celebrating the birthday of this great country of ours, I also have a quiet celebration. I officially enlisted in the United States Navy on July 10, 1973.
Hard to believe that was 49 years ago.
Until we meet again,
Andy Adkins
👍👍👍