During a nervous breakdown in my early twenties, at the time of the John F. Kennedy assassination, I stumbled into a labyrinth of life that few have ever experienced.
In undergraduate school, I, like many young men at the time, intended to march off to the madness of war. I signed up for college ROTC, graduated Cum laude, and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Army Signal Corps. With a full fellowship, I matriculated to Yale graduate engineering. However, struggling on that path, I fell ill the day of John F. Kennedy’s assassination and was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia caused by the stress of failing my courses, poor nutrition, and fear of Vietnam combat. I couldn’t function, and my parents took me home.
