They say joining the military is life-changing, and from everything I’ve experienced and heard from others, I believe that to be true. I recently spoke with former Navy Lt. David Pingenot, whom I knew when I was growing up in Iowa, and I was interested to learn that enlisting in the Navy changed his life, though not in a way most people would expect.
Pingenot grew up in Vinton, Iowa — a town of around 5,000 people. He was a high school senior in 1965, and plenty of young men like him were drafted to the Army to fight in Vietnam. He didn’t lack courage or love for his country, but fighting in the jungles didn’t sound fun. So before he graduated, he and two friends joined the Navy on a delayed entry program.
“The only water I’d ever seen was the Cedar River,” Pingenot said. “I always wanted to see deep water.” Having grown up in that same part of Iowa, I knew exactly what he meant.
After graduation, Pingenot and his friends were shipped to a Navy boot camp north of Chicago. Lots of running, marching, and swimming. After about two months, the recruits were given an eight-hour liberty, and he and his friend Drake Walden — two inquisitive fellows — chose to spend their free time at the Museum of Science and Industry on the South Side of Chicago.
The way back from the museum was a long walk to the train station. After a visit on a bright, sunny day, Pingenot and Walden, in their Navy uniforms, began to think the walk was a bit too long, the sketchier the neighborhood became.
After a while, both young men could hear a strange clicking sound behind them. Pingenot, a small-town guy in a very big city, glanced over his shoulder and went cold all over when he spotted three rough-looking men following them at a distance of about 20 yards and carrying switchblades.
Pingenot hoped the guys weren’t after them. Maybe they just enjoyed walking around with cool knives. To make sure, the Navy boys walked a little faster. The knife guys walked faster. It was a good thing the Navy had been working the recruits into shape because Pingenot and Walden took off running. The knife guys ran, too.
The Navy had conditioned its recruits well, but they couldn’t run all the way back to the base. How long would the guys pursue? How long could Pingenot and Walden stay ahead of them?
Fortunately, they didn’t have to find out. A passing squad car screeched to a halt, and Chicago’s finest rushed out with their weapons drawn. The crooks ran off.
“What are you two doing here?” a cop asked. Pingenot and Walden told him. “Don’t you know there was a murder in this neighborhood just last night?” the cop asked. They didn’t know. “Get in the car!” the cop said.
Pingenot and Walden didn’t argue. They were glad for the safety of the squad car and the free ride to the train station. Decades later, when Pingenot finally contacted Walden again, thanks to the advent of Facebook, the first thing Walden brought up was their narrow escape that day.
Since they emerged from the incident unharmed, it’s easy for Pingenot to laugh about it now. But at the time, the experience really bothered him. Through three years of active duty, his time in the Navy Reserve, and as a student at the University of Iowa, he wondered why those men pulled those knives. Were they really going to stab two young sailors? Why? The experience instilled in him a fascination with criminals and eventually led him to a career as a probation and parole officer.
Pingenot’s moment of fear wasn’t a direct result of his Navy training or service, but without shipping out for Navy boot camp, he would never have faced the frightening situation that nevertheless changed his life.
Trent Reedy, author of several books, including Enduring Freedom, served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.