Andy Lavigne knew he was to be drafted.

He knew he was soon one of the many unlucky fellows of his generation to get dragged away from their lives in America, to risk everything in Vietnam.

He knew he had no chance to avoid the grasp of military conscription.

So, he signed himself up at the recruitment office in Queens.

8,166 miles. New York City to Hanoi, Vietnam. Or, in other words, one heck of a long plane ride.

The 18-year-old made his way to his assigned platoon, with the new position as a mortarman.

Into the jungle they marched.

For days and weeks on end, the heat was as persistent as the enemy. Little time to rest, lots of time to miss home.

Most nights he could hear the rumbling of distant bombs landing a few miles away.

Some nights, it was only a couple hundred yards.

He spent his leisure time writing to family, sucking down cigarettes and playing poker with his brothers-in-arms … or even engaging in the occasional unauthorized procurement of c-rations.

Some rations were better than others, but never good, and rarely enough. The only decent food was delivered in the post sent from America.

Mail call was always a big day. It was like Christmas in July, or August, or September.

Receiving it once was not enough, every time Hebrew National kosher beef salami arrived in a care package, Andy would request for more in his next letter home.

Like kids in a school lunchroom, the Marines would swap their high valued goods they received from far away in the States.

The crimson golden goody, and the Jewish pastry rugelach he opened, was a taste of home, a taste of familiarity. A taste one needed in an unfamiliar world.

Upon asking for more delights, he wrote to his parents, talking about the life he left behind and the one he was stuck in now:

He spoke about the letters he’d received from his fiancé.

He spoke about his upcoming leave to Thailand.

He spoke about how much he missed home.

But, funny enough, there was one thing that was persistent, one thing he couldn’t shut up about, one thing he knew he had to have: “Thank you for the care package, and please, send more salami.”