In August 1968, I turned 22 years old, and for the first time in my life I was eligible to vote in a presidential election. The only problem was that I was in Vietnam and when I suggested to my boss that I be given some time off to return to New York to cast my ballot in November, he failed to see the humor in my request.

He suggested that I apply for an absentee ballot. My request went up my chain of command on how to do that, setting off a minor commotion, for which I was blamed.

It was decided that everyone in our unit needed to be notified of their right to vote and how to do it. The resulting workload was seen as an added burden on an already overburdened and understaffed headquarters crew, and I was recognized as the one who had caused the problem.

In due course, absentee ballots began arriving in the mail, and in true military tradition, so did a set of rules and regulations on properly handling these ballots.

It was determined that an officer had to supervise the balloting and certify that the voter was indeed the person listed on the ballot. This translated to a newly arrived second lieutenant, who was already questioning his decision to pursue a ROTC college scholarship, being assigned to administer the absentee balloting process.

A tent was set up near the post office hooch, which doubled as a barber shop. This unhappy lieutenant was issued a small table, one folding chair, and a pen. As the ballots arrived at the post office, they were passed off to him, and he then had to notify the individual to come to his “office” to execute their ballot in front of him.

A thankless and unappealing job under the best of circumstances—and these circumstances were far from ideal. The heat, the monotony, and the boredom must have been intense for this young officer.

And then I showed up.

I am not sure if he knew I was the one who had caused him to suffer this detail from hell, but I doubt it mattered that much. He was a very unhappy human being even before I approached him with a way too casual, “What’s up, lieutenant?”

I identified myself, then the lieutenant searched through a box of ballots and handed me mine. I opened it, read the instructions, and sat at the table to complete my ballot. As this was my first time voting, I took my time and proceeded to vote first for my congressman, then my senator, and finally for president of the United States.

This is where things went sideways.

Perhaps because I was taking so long or maybe because of my “reputation,” the lieutenant was standing over me when, instead of choosing Richard Nixon or Hubert Humphrey, I wrote in the name “Dick Gregory.”

Dick Gregory was a comedian and civil rights activist who was running for president as the candidate for the Freedom and Peace Party and I was a very angry, frustrated, frightened, and disillusioned young man who craved both freedom and peace.

This act of ballot blasphemy clearly pushed a very angry, frustrated, frightened, and disillusioned young lieutenant beyond his ability to cope with the situation, and to put it mildly, he lost his mind and went “full fugazi” on me.

He insisted that I had invalidated my ballot by writing on it. I insisted I had not and was free to vote for whoever I wanted. We went back and forth. I think I may have been the first noncommissioned officer to talk back to him as a newly minted second lieutenant, and he decided to seek advice from higher authority.

As soon as he could get relieved, we trooped off to our headquarters. After a considerable wait in the blazing sun, we were ushered in to see our commanding officer, a lieutenant colonel, whom I knew from a previous, somewhat unpleasant encounter.

The second lieutenant described my desecration of my ballot and his decision not to certify it by not signing it. The CO simply asked me who I had voted for, and I told him. He stared at me for a long time but said nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned his attention to the second lieutenant and, in what can only be described as barely contained fury, instructed him to sign and seal my ballot and get out of his office.

I was left standing there awaiting my fate. The CO left the office briefly, returned, and sat at his desk, signed some papers, and then left again to hand deliver them to someone. Upon his second return, he sat in his chair and stared at me. After what seemed like a second eternity, he let out a very tired sigh and said, “Dismissed.”

I saluted and departed.

This War Horse Reflection was edited by Kim Vo, fact-checked by Jess Rohan, and copy-edited by Mitchell Hansen-Dewar. Hrisanthi Pickett wrote the headlines.