The Army recruiting station looks like a regular office. And Recruitment Staff Sgt. Michael Muldrow likes to think of it as a regular office. In truth, it looks like a tax preparation center; only, instead of number-drunk men staring at W-2 forms from behind thick glasses, there are five or six barrel-chested guys with high-and-tights and combat boots.
The station is in a beige Tempe strip mall. It has tan carpet on the floor, black filing cabinets lining the walls, a run of black desks on both sides, jars on the desks full of pens and papers popping out of manila folders. The white walls are covered with posters and pamphlets of young men and women who stand erect and stare off into an unseen void; they look pensive and determined, or like they can’t remember where they put their keys. On the right-side wall is a plaque with small writing and a picture of crossed guns and grenades. This is one of Ryan Flores’ favorite things in the station.
Ryan Flores is 20 years old. And up until recently he was a student at Northern Arizona University. But school costs money. A lot of money. And the recession threw a kink into his parents’ finances.
“Originally they were going to help me out,” Flores says. “But I said, ‘Well, if you can’t pay, you can’t pay. I’ll do what I gotta to do.’”
A crippled economy isn’t bad for everyone. Youth employment, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, is as low as it has been since it first started recording it in 1948. Only 49 percent of youth ages 16 to 24 had jobs this last July, which is normally the year’s highest. And the Army has seen a 39 percent rise nationally from 2008 to 2009 in the recruits who enter with college degrees or some college credit — from 9,651 in 2008 to 13,337 in 2009, according to its website.
With the economy still in limbo, somewhere between recovery and failure, nothing seems certain. Like Wile E. Coyote running over the edge of a cliff and pausing mid-sprint only to realize that there’s no ground beneath him — it seems the economy could just drop out from under you.
Flores’ dad runs a local business that makes machining products. But, like most businesses, it has slowed, and the money once used for Flores’ tuition has dried up. So in Flores’ mind he had two choices: he was two years into his business degree and he could either take out a bunch of loans or join the Army and let them pay for it. His mom didn’t like his decision much.
When Muldrow, 34, gets into the station, typically around 8:30 a.m., he opens the blinds that cover the front windows and unlocks all the doors. He walks past the black desks on either side of the room and goes to his office in the back. The other seven recruiters show up shortly after and they have a meeting like most companies would. They talk about the day’s plan, goals and contacts they’ve made.
Many people will stop by throughout the day, perhaps to get a bumper sticker or T-shirt from the cabinet in the back. But most days three or four eligible recruits come in. The recruits sit down in one of the black chairs that have gold stars and “Army” printed on the backrest, usually they’ll talk with a recruiter for an hour.
“If they’re 100 percent committed then we go to the proper forms,” Muldrow says (nothing recruits sign in this office actually gets them enlisted). But if there is hesitation, Muldrow usually asks them to make a list of pros and cons.
At that point Muldrow might pull out one of three pens from the left sleeve of his fatigues and place it in front of the recruit. Then the recruit would write out a list.
In the list of pros Muldrow sees the usual: travel, adventure, job, money for school, service to country and decent health care.
In the cons list: have to leave friends, must leave family, must leave home, possible injury or death.
“The way I see it, I know by joining I could get hurt,” Flores says. I could get killed. But one day in Phoenix I could be hit by a car, I could get mugged, the place I work at could get held up. I don’t think it’s that much more dangerous.”
On the same wall, close to Flores’ favorite plaque, is a board with small pictures of young men and women standing in front of the American flag. There are 52 pictures all the size of Polaroids and laid out in columns. These are the newest recruits. “That’s not all of them,” Muldrow says. “We have a bunch more that need to go up.”
The station is doing well for itself. It does the best in the company (the company is made up of six other stations reaching all the way to Show Low, Ariz. Muldrow has recruited for almost five years and has been at this station for two. He says he sees more and more cases like Flores: They can’t find jobs and they can’t pay for school.
The Army acknowledges this on its website: “… the impact of a recession, growing unemployment, and improving attitudes toward military service present a favorable recruiting environment.”
Indeed. A nearly 10 percent unemployment rate in Arizona has made conditions quite “favorable.”
Muldrow is sitting with another recruiter beneath the new-recruit photos at the front of the station. The two of them are trying to figure out a time when a potential recruit can come down to the main station and take an aptitude test. The only problem is that the recruit is in the law program at Arizona State University and he has finals the week they want him down, so they’re trying to work around his schedule. Then the door swings open and two young looking men walk in with “Go Army” T-shirts and backpacks slung over their shoulders.
It’s not fair to say that Flores was forced into the Army. He had thought about joining in high school and his uncle was in the Navy, his grandpa was a Marine. Flores doesn’t feel like the recruiters sold him anything. He doesn’t think they’re a bunch of fast talking used-car salesmen or real estate agents trying to put a pretty coat of paint on a sham. Even so, his mom would have preferred he’d not joined.
“She’s not very happy,” Flores says. “But she’s a mom and she doesn’t want to see me go to war. But I think my dad was really proud.”
