Circle of Experience
He was sitting at a desk in full Army Uniform, alone. The Dayton Recruiting Station was empty except for the lone Staff Sergeant recruiter. He looked up and asked if he could help me.
I replied, “I want to join the Army.”
He then quipped, “What did you have in mind?”
Boldly, I said, “my first choice is to drive jeeps for General Officers at the Presidio.”
Expressionless, he said, “I need more information. Your full name, birth date…” He glanced up then continued “…marital status, husband’s name, husband’s occupation, children, education level, and current employment.” With a deadpan face he wrote all of my answers down on the information card. When he was finished, he suddenly exclaimed, “Husband’s an Air Force Pilot? One son? Interior designer and college instructor? If I turn this card in I will lose my job! YOU ARE MENTAL!”
I silently rose to my feet and hastily left the station. As I looked over my shoulder before closing the door, there remained one lone recruiter, still sitting at his desk.
My husband was waiting in the car. I jumped in and told him, “You will never believe this!” Then I explained what just happened with the lone recruiter.
He turned to me and said, “I never liked the ARMY.”
The next day I received a call from an Air Force Recruiter wanting to meet with me regarding military enlistment. My husband, the Air Force Pilot, had discussed my inconceivable experience at the Recruiting Station. I thanked the AF Recruiter and said, in no uncertain terms, “I’m not interested in an appointment. I want to join the Army, case closed!”
“Your penchant for telling people exactly what you think is going to result in brig time if you continue to pursue enlistment in the Army,” warned my husband. I was undeterred. I was going to drive Jeeps and/or work in the field in an Army Uniform, period! I felt an immense sense of urgency to enlist. I was 33 and had to join by age 34 so I could complete basic training before my 35th birthday as required by Army regulation.
So I continued my civilian employment as an interior designer and college instructor. Ironically, when I called one of my clients and told her I could meet with her on Saturday, her response was “I’m unavailable. I have an Army drill.” I then recounted the story of my enlistment attempt with the lone recruiter in Dayton. At that point, she told me that she intended to tell the story to her Colonel on Saturday.
On Saturday morning, Colonel K called me. He said he heard about my experience with the Dayton recruiter and wanted to meet. The interview went well, likely because he could sense my determination to join the Army. However, he was commander of an Army Reserve medical unit. He explained that they had to have a position for me and, at that time, my client had the position. But he said he would make sure I had a position if I passed the physical and test.
The physical was scheduled for the following week. I arrived to find that I was the only female in the room. Women were enlisted as Women’s Army Corps at the time and were not readily encouraged to join. Segregation of men and women was the norm in nearly every aspect of service. I joined the line of men.
A sergeant came into the room and yelled, “Men, take off your shirts and line up!”
Yikes! Was this the beginning and end of my quest to join the Army?” I wondered? I stepped into line with my shirt intact and waited with the men.
When it was my turn, the sergeant, a little flustered, said, “You are different. Stay behind!”
The doctor gave me my physical in a separate room. He asked if I was a motorcycle rider. I told him that I was accident prone and a tomboy growing up.
“You certainly have the scars to prove it!” he said.
Then came the lab tests. Again, we were instructed to line up. All of a sudden, a male voice protested, “My name is NOT Anna!” He had mistakenly received my lab results. Though this was quickly worked out, and he was calmed down, I no longer had a low profile. All eyes were on me for the rest of the day.
Everyone who passed the physical was now being called to take the written test. When time was up, a somber sergeant and a civilian came over to me and said, “You failed the test.” I could not believe my ears. The next question was, “Did you drive here? You should not be operating an automobile.” I sat in my seat stunned. I had never in my life failed a test. Now, I had two failures to contend with.
Finally, the same grim sergeant and civilian came to me and said, “Sorry. We used the male key on your female test. We used the same key for everyone in the room. We rescored your test with the female key, and we can offer you any skill set the Army has to offer. You are ready for enlistment.”
What was I thinking?? Recruiter rejection, lab test mix-up, tests scored with the wrong keys—this was the preface to my Army Enlistment. Really, what was I thinking?
What I was thinking was, “All I want to do is drive Jeeps.”
In April 1975, we rolled out of a bus in Ft McClellan, Alabama, ready for WAC Basic. I was told it would be a piece of cake, mostly classroom and a bit of marching. A big fat Sergeant yelled, “Ladies, pick up the baggage and load this here truck!” This here truck was a beautiful two and a half ton we later called a deuce. We loaded the truck, climbed into the back, and headed off to process in.
An old lady was standing in front of shelves filled with uniforms. When it was my turn, she shoved my issue at me and said brusquely, “Next!” I thought I should’ve had the chance to tell her my size, but it was at this point that I realized that what I had to say was immaterial—at least for my time at Ft McClellan. She didn’t care about me or my size and how I would look. Her job was to issue the appropriate uniforms, correct number of items, and correct size with just a glance. Wow! The experience of receiving my issue was eye-opening.
The uniforms were indeed a perfect fit, with only a couple of minor tucks required. I decided that Army people must be good. She extolled the excellence that would be required of my Army time. From that moment on, we were given no time to remember who we were or what we were made of. There was no time to pick and choose—this was the Army.
Once we thought we had our basics under control, an announcement was made—the WAC trainees were going to be observed by high ranking women. We needed to prove that we could master the skills required of the men. We needed to prove the validity of the One Army concept.
To top it off, we were assigned a male drill sergeant to help us develop our Army skills. As you can imagine, he was overjoyed with this assignment, so much so that when we practiced drill, he refused to face us, saying he couldn’t bear to watch us.
One day, while marching from one end of the Post to the other, we practiced our about-face, left-face, and right-face maneuvers. The drill sergeant kept watching me. I suddenly recalled the conversation with my husband during which he’d told me I’d be brig material.
The female drill sergeant walked over to me. “Do you talk?”
I replied in the affirmative.
When you do the about-face, one of your legs swings out a bit. Have you been in an accident?”
Again I replied in the affirmative.
“Left-face, right-face, about-face. OK. You are good to go.”
Graduation came and went. We boarded the bus and headed back to the airport. I had been recruited. I passed the physical. I passed the written test. I could march even double-time. I could do left-face, right-face, and about-face. I didn;t spend any time in the brig.
All I needed was a dolly to wheel me to the plane.
At age 34, Anna Lea Seago joined the Army because of the Vietnam War. She retired from the Army with 7 years active duty and 13 years reserve + 1 control group enlistment. Her husband, an officer in the Air Force, retired with 20 years, and their son spent time in the Navy. She is a chaplain for the National Women’s Army Corps Veterans Assn-Army Women United and Unified Arizona Veterans. For her ongoing service, Anna has been recognized by the Arizona Veterans Hall of Fame (2013) and the Will Rogers High School Foundation Hall of Fame (2024).
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