Steve Rogers, a young man from Brooklyn, New York, was not in the best shape. He was slight and not muscular; he often became ill. At that moment, he was sitting in the recruitment office dressed only in his boxer shorts, reading a newspaper. At the same time, he waited his turn to be called up for a physical examination by army doctors to assess his eligibility for joining the fight against the enemy in Europe.
"Boy, a lot of guys getting killed over there." a potential recruit said who was sitting beside him; when Steve glanced over, he saw a typical-sized young man, a man opposite of everything Steve was; he was tall, muscular, and well fed. "It kind of makes you think twice about enlisting, huh?" Although he covered it skillfully, Steve could see and hear in the depths of his eyes and the shaking bravado of his voice that he was afraid. He stood up and responded bravely, "Nope."
Steve stepped forward when his name was called, "Rogers, Steven." He wasn't scared of being killed for a good cause or sacrificing himself for his comrades, but he was afraid that he would be rejected because of all the medical issues. All around him were people who seemed much better than him – taller, healthier, and more capable. But did they have what Steve had: an unyielding conviction that it was right to join the cause in response to a bully terrorizing Europe with unbridled power?
Well, he was sure some of them did, like his friend James Buchannan, "Bucky, as Steve called him" Barns, Bucky had enlisted two weeks ago and was awaiting his orders, and he hoped to be able to join his best friend on the boat over to Europe, he stood patiently terrified in a line awaiting his turn for the Dr. to review his medical file and determine his fate, "What did your father die of?" the Dr. asked him as he glanced up, his eyes widened slightly in surprise seeing the short skinny young man beside him, "Mustard gas," Steve replied.
The doctor sighed and shifted his body in a way that conveyed to Steve his frustration. He respected the sheer courage of Steven Rogers' attempt to join, yet he was aware that he would be among hundreds applying, knowing they probably wouldn't make it. It seemed such a waste of theirs and his time when so many others were ready to go to battle, "He was with the 107th Infantry in World War I. I was hoping I could be assigned..." But the doctor cut him off before he could finish, "Your mother?"
"She was a nurse for a TB ward," replied Steve sadly. He couldn't express his pride in his parents; one died while serving his nation, and the other helped those injured or ill. He wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps, "got hit. Couldn't shake it."
That only made the doctor's decision harder because it was obvious that his parents were both patriotic and died doing their duty. But the lad wasn't physically able to do the troops any good, "Sorry, son." Steve could see that the rejection was just on the tip of the doctor's tongue, but he had hoped to look beyond his physical shortcomings and see his desire to fight for what was right, but it was parred for the course. No one ever looked at Steve and saw what his physical stature was underneath; they never saw what was special about Steve, "Look, just give me a chance."
The Dr. stamped Steve's file with the rubber stamp labeled 4F with red ink and stated firmly, "I am I'm saving your life."
Steve left the recruitment office with his head hung low. He knew this was his only chance to be part of something bigger than himself and he had failed. He felt like a burden to everyone he knew. He felt utterly alone. To get his mind off his disappointing day, he went to the theater to watch Bambi, the new Disney movie that had just come out in theaters. Still, it only added to his melancholy mood because he was watching war propaganda newsreels, "war continues to ravage Europe. But help is on the way. Every non-disabled young man is lining up to serve his country. Even little Timmy is doing his part in collecting scrap metal. Nice work, Timmy!" The voice actor Narrated.
The mood in the theater was solemn, attentive, and grave as families worried about their sons who were fighting, their daughters who had signed up to be nurses and aid workers, young ladies were concerned about their Bos and their brothers, kids were worried about their siblings, and the older men were thinking back on their own time in the services.
The solemn mood was shattered when somebody two rows ahead shouted, "Who cares?! Just show the movie!"
Annoyed at the disrespect shown not only in the theater but to the men who were giving their lives and dying far away in a country that wasn't their own, those who were persecuted and murdered could be freed and saved.
He leaned forward, calling out to the unknown person, "Hey, you wanna show some respect?" The real news continued to give the audience details about America's contributions to the war effort, "Meanwhile, overseas, our brave boys are showing the Axis powers that the price of freedom is never too high."
Once again, the voice of dissent called out from somewhere in the room, expressing their desire to start with the cartoon and stop listening to the war propaganda. "Let's go! Get on with it! Hey, start the cartoon!" This time Steve had had enough, so with an emboldened tone, and stated again, "Hey, you wanna shut up?" Steve gulped when a large, burly man rose to his feet and twisted his body toward him. He sneered and pointed towards the exit, conveying what would happen if Steve didn't comply.
Bucky went down the street in his uniform, heading home to tell his loved ones he was receiving deployment orders. As he rounded the corner, he heard a commotion from the alleyway and quickly ran over. He discovered his best friend being attacked by someone much larger than him. He watched as the bigger guy hit Steve again in the face knocking him face-first into the tin garbage can, dazing him for a bit.
"Hey!" Bucky walked over, grabbed the guy by the shirt collar, swung him around, and gave him a knuckle sandwich of his own, "Pick on someone your size," he tossed him down the alley. Giving him a swift kick in the backside for good measure, he turned back towards Steve, who was now sitting up; Bucky reached his hand out and sarcastically retorted, "Sometimes I think you like getting punched."