Writer-actor-veteran Bill Posley shares his childhood traumas, military experiences, and coming home in his solo show, The Day I Accidentally Went to War.
In The Day I Accidentally Went to War, comedian Bill Posley turns a twist of fate into a riveting true tale of survival, absurdity, and the scars of service. Under the deft direction of Bente Engelstoft, Posley’s solo show fuses sharp comedy with searing truth to capture the American veteran’s experience in all its contradictions.
Posley is a magnetic storyteller. Before the show begins, he puts the audience through a playful “boot camp,” barking mock reprimands for tardiness and reminding everyone “his time is precious.” He hands out chartreuse reflector vests, explaining that looking alike helps level the playing field—regardless of race, religion, or status—and instructs audience members to have each other’s backs, just as success in the military depends on teamwork. Soon spectators stop being an audience and become recruits, immersed in the rhythms and rituals of military life.
The monologue spans from his suburban Boston childhood to a 15-month tour in Iraq with the National Guard—and beyond. His boyhood memories are both hilarious and heartbreaking: the son of two loving but addicted parents (a father battling drugs, a mother who gambled so recklessly she bet their house into bankruptcy). Joining the Guard was his escape hatch, a way to leave home and pursue college. In a wry aside, he likens the Guard to the Backstreet Boys—specifically Howie, the quiet one:
An executive producer and writer on Apple’s hit comedy Shrinking and Survivor castaway, Posley turns trauma into comedy in The Day I Accidentally Went to War. Photographs by Lore Photography.
We’re in the background, minding our business… call us if a flood breaks out, or a state fair gets out of control.
His stories leap to life through dynamic delivery and a flood of images projected on a screen: snapshots and home videos of his blue-collar family. He was born to a Black father—a six-foor tall look-alike for Apollo Creed in Rocky—who “raised him like a drill sergeant.” An Air Force retiree at just 26, his dad juggled three jobs: tile layer, fireman, and part-time bouncer. When not working or keeping his two sons in line, he watched Designing Women and nursed a soft spot for Delta Burke.
In sharp contrast, his white mother was kind, nurturing, and impossibly generous. She had the worst luck in Massachusetts State Lottery and Keno history, but, as Posley wryly notes, performing this show has made him realize something: his mom was a dead ringer for Delta Burke.
Posley hardly fit the mold of the steely American soldier when he showed up at Basic Training in Fort Benning, Ga., in July 2001. Sensitive and overweight, he slogged through the required two-mile run in a dismal 25 minutes—well past the male standard of 19:57—and even cramped up on the way there. Still, he consoled himself: breakfast at the chow hall was next, with its bounty of eggs, pancakes, sausage, and biscuits with gravy. But just as he slid his tray forward, a voice cut in from the side.
Martinez: Oh, you in the wrong line, ain’t you, big boy?… Why don’t you step out of line? Rolly Posley?
He prayed the nickname wouldn’t stick. It did. And as a bonus punishment, he and ten other “overweight” recruits spent the next nine weeks on the military’s idea of a weight-loss plan: hard-boiled eggs, cottage cheese, and oatmeal.
“Posley’s boyhood memories are both hilarious and heartbreaking.”
There’s no shortage of laughs as Posley relives the humiliations, exhaustion, and outright pain of basic training. Yet beneath the wisecracks lies something deeper: respect for what those nine grueling weeks gave him. They didn’t just break him down—they built him up. “It gives you an opportunity to work with people you’ve never met before,” he says, “who have an entirely different background than you do.”
The show’s tone takes a sharp turn when Posley recalls the cancellation of graduation day—not because anyone messed up, but because of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Drill Sergeant Martinez delivered the horrific news, then spewed out: “We’re going to war.”
After a short trip home and the start of college, Posley was activated and deployed to Iraq. He joined a 12-man recovery reconnaissance team—“basically AAA in the apocalypse,” as he puts it. Riding in the gun truck and manning the 50-caliber machine gun, he once asked about a strange hook on the vehicle’s front.
Posley: What’s the hook for?
Sergeant: Sometimes the Taliban strings a wire across the road to lop the gunner’s head off.
Posley: What? What are we doing here? Maybe we should all just talk about this.
This one-man show is not for the faint of heart. But for anyone curious about military life—and why veterans deserve deep respect—it’s essential viewing.
The Day I Accidentally Went to War runs at the SoHo Playhouse (15 Vandam St.) through Aug. 30. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tuesday through Friday, and Sunday, and at 5 and 8 p.m. Saturday; on Friday, Aug. 29, there will be two performances, at 5 and 9 p.m.. Tickets are available or by calling (212) 691-1555 or visiting sohoplayhouse.com.
Playwright: Bill Posley
Director: Bente Engelstoft
