The year was 1971, Richard Nixon was president, ‘Attica’ was a chant, The Weather Men blew things up, Alan Shepard hit a golf ball miles on the moon and felt totally cool, and Hamburgers got a helper! Let’s see… We also had the Pentagon Papers, we’re All in the Family and I was a meathead, Woody made us all Bananas, Lennon asked us to Imagine, a fiddler fiddled on a roof, The Vietnam war raged and I was drafted. The draft was a large part of life and something almost every young man had to think about. It was a right of passage to see if you got to go to Vietnam and kill a bunch of people whose only crime was they wanted to rule their own country. We were very successful at it. We killed three million Vietnamese men, women and children. That’s not counting the Cambodians, the Thais and the Laotians and who knows whom else we dropped our computerized precision bombs on, during that particular ‘Police Action.’

For the first seventeen years only poor Americans and crazy middle class kids who volunteered went to Vietnam. But then the country started to run out of poor and crazy kids and even lots of unwilling upper middle class kids had to go to Vietnam. Well! That was the end of that war (eventually.) Of course if you were a ‘Bush’ or a ‘Quayle’ all you had to worry about was if your coke dealer at Yale was delivering the good stuff or not and if your family got one of the many very lucrative war contracts.

When you are drafted, your ‘Induction Notice’ comes in the form of an invitation from the President of the United States of America. Literately it is a letter that says the President of the United States ‘invites’ you to join the Army of the United States. I believe it was even signed by the President. I can’t remember. I never did take a close look at this one and only invitation that most people will ever see from the President.

I was nineteen at the time I received my notice and a college student in New York City. The problem was a college deferment no longer worked. Nope, before lots of people got out of going into the army simply doing what their parents wanted them to do most, ‘continue their education.’ But when I came along they decided to be fair and square, and spread the pain around evenly. Lucky me.

But in 1971 the US Army switched to a lottery. That’s right, a lottery. That’s what they called it. “Psst kid, come here. Look what I have, extra lottery tickets. Do you want to buy one? I’ll let you have it cheap. No? Why not, are you chicken? You don’t want to fight for your country? Sissy.”

That is what they use to call anyone who didn’t believe in the Vietnam War, a sissy, or a chicken. After all, you couldn’t disagree with why we were at war in Vietnam and besides everyone liked to kill if they had the chance. The army was fun and killing people in war was heroic, and who does not want to be a hero? An American Hero!

Well there was another reason other then being a sissy. I didn’t believe that if Vietnam ‘fell’ the communists would be on the shores of California in a few years. And you know something, I was right. Vietnam ‘fell’ decades ago and the communists never even made it to the shores of Hawaii.

But the year I turned nineteen we had a lottery to see who went to Vietnam and who didn’t, and ladies and gentlemen, I won my first and only lottery. That’s how they did it, a lottery by birth date, and my birthday was selected in slot number thirty-three. The way it worked was a number was assigned to every day of the year. Then they sent out draft notices to the kids with a birthday assigned slot one and drafted all the men with that birthday and then just moved on down the list until they filled their quotas. That meant if there was a draft. I was probably going. Well, there was a draft.

My parents had moved out of New York City two years earlier. I had stayed in the city, but I used their Long Island address as my legal address and that’s where my draft notice was sent. On one of my weekend laundry visits to my parents they gave me this kind invitation. Since I personally didn’t know the President of the United States and since I had no real desire to go into his army nor and join his ‘Police Action’ I threw it away and continued with my life. But the President, he was a persistent man. He sent me another invitation. I threw the second invitation away also. But the President, he didn’t give up easily.

Well it seemed that ‘The Man’ felt very strongly about me being in his Army. I don’t know why. If I had gone in the army I KNOW I would have ended up in the stockade. I’ll never know if that is true or not. But he did send two police officers to my parents house to hand deliver a third copy of my draft notice. And these two police officers had to go back with a signed receipt to show ‘The Man’ they had done their duty. And that I was duly invited.

I got a phone cal from my dad and this is how the conversation went.

“Dennis, two policeman just came to the front door of the house.”

“Two policemen? Why?”

“Why? You don’t know why?”

“No. Why would I know why?”

“I’ll tell you WHY. They had a Draft Notice for you because you didn’t answer the first two draft notices!”

“No dad, I didn’t, I threw them away.”

“You WHAT?”

“I threw them away.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to go into the army.”

“You what?”

“I don’t want to go into the army.”

“What the hell does that mean? You don’t want to go into the army. You have to go into the army. You don’t have a choice!”

“I think I do.”

“You WHAT? Listen, I had to sign for the notice so they know you got it this time.”

I said, “But dad, I don’t believe we should be in Vietnam, it’s all a big lie. We are only there because some rich people want to become richer.”

That was my BIG mistake, my father and I had argued about the Vietnam War almost every time we saw each other since I was old enough to think. But until that moment I think my father had always figured it was just me being full of hot air, young and stupid. But with the statement “It’s all a big lie”, all of my father’s willingness to talk about it rationally ended. On a dime.

“You will be here on Friday night right after work, do you hear me! You will not throw this notice away! There will be no more talk of not going into the army! If you do not show up in two weeks they will throw you into jail, do you hear me?” My father bellowed over the phone.

I heard him. As a matter of fact half the neighborhood heard him, but all I said was, “Okay, Dad.”

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On Friday I drove to my parents’ house. Standing in the doorway side by side my parents presented me the Presidents invitation. My father handed me the letter with a very patriotic and intense speech.

My dad said, “I proudly served in the US Army during World War Two and your grandfather proudly served in the US Army during World War One and you will proudly serve in the US army now! You will show up here after work two Mondays from now and I will drive you to the pick-up spot 6 am Tuesday morning. OK!”

I was young, impressionable and scared shitless of my father, so without any further argument I accept this invitation. I took the notice, walked into the house, sat on the couch and read it.

Suddenly, my father was very chatty, happy even, dare I say it… Proud! He actually gave me a friendly little punch on the arm. Let me explain my father had never been particularly proud of me. It wasn’t really his fault. After all, up until this point the only things I had really accomplished in my life were to be thrown out of my first Catholic grammar school and my Catholic high school. Now with my new found willingness to join the army, my father saw me as changed, he saw hope for his only son, saw us as maybe being buddies. Finally we would have something in common, we would both have served in the army.

He actually smiled at me as he sat on the couch and pulled me to him, and hugged me. I sat there listless staring at the draft notice in a total state of shock and was at that moment in my life the most miserable I had ever imagined I could be.

I’m not sure what my mother was thinking at that moment. She stood looking at us with a sad look on her face but at the same time I thought she looked… hopeful. My mother worried and still does worry that I don’t know how to do anything right. It is one of the main traits of an Italian mother. I think she was scared that I might get killed in Vietnam, but, she also felt that this was the first sign of my becoming a man and growing up and taking responsibility.

My dad on the other hand was in a completely euphoric state. Yes sir, we were going to be comrades! We would have something we could talk about, laugh about, commiserate over. KP, guard duty, spit polishing boots to a high shine, making a bed so tight a quarter will bounce on it! Army shit! It was going to be great. Damn straight! Hell, after being in the army I would give up all my principles, my morals, my beliefs. Hell, after being in the army I would become one of the passive masses and let myself be lead around by my nose. Maybe even vote for one of the big two. Do as I am told! ATTENTION! YES, SIR!

Maybe not. That did not happen to everyone who went into the army. At the time I thought it did. But it was just one more lie we were being fed at the time.

**************************************************

Friday night flowed into the weekend. My two brother-in-laws, Steve and Mike, both honorably discharged, showed up to bestow upon me… ‘ARMY WISDOM!’ They started their ‘sergeant’ stories and went on forever.

Mike told me, “In the Army when my sergeant used to tell me to jump I didn’t ask ‘WHY’ I asked ‘HOW HIGH!’”

Steve said, “I remember spending ten hours on KP once and the sergeant, he comes in and throws all the pots and pans I had just finished outside into the dirt and told me to ‘Do them again.’ He said they didn’t SHINE enough.”

Mike took over with, “Yeah, if the bed wasn’t made tight enough my sergeant would rip it apart and throw it on the floor and make me do it again. And he would stand there yelling at you the whole time!”

“Mine,” Steve declared, topping this inspirational story with his own, “Mine used to like to take a quarter out of his pocket and bounce it on the bed. And if it didn’t bounce high enough he turned the whole bed over AND made you do fifty push ups before you remade it.”

Taking turns, they went on and on telling me ‘ARMY STORIES’ with great laughter and pride. Having a grand old time, they tried to make me see the excitement of being in the army. They tried to tell me all the great things I would learn and do. The fun of standing in the rain for ten hours. The joy of carrying a fifty-pound pack for twenty-five miles. The thrill of learning to kill people in a hundred different ways, breaking bones and tearing out body parts. Such bliss…

I spent the whole Saturday listening to their stories and contemplating my new life. There was a certain logic in their stories. I guess there was a need for violence and discipline and getting things right in the army. After all, this was about killing people and those people you were trying to kill were probably trying to kill you also… so the one who did it better, got to do it again the next day and the next day and the next day… But the fun… That was what I was missing. I just couldn’t see it. It sounded like going to the dentist. If you had to go to the dentist you’d go… but I never thought of it being fun nor of telling funny stories about it afterwards!

My father sat there quietly letting my brothers-in-law share their pearls of wisdom. He said nothing until they were done. When they ran out of stories, he sat next to me on the couch, threw his big arm over my skinny shoulder and drew me close.

“Listen, son.” He spoke with intensity, the most intensely I ever heard him, even more intensely than he had talked to me about girls and sex and using protection. “Listen to me and remember what I’m going to tell you. There’s one really important thing to remember while you’re in the Army and that is, NEVER VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING! Do you hear me? NEVER VOLUNTEER FOR ANYTHING IN THE ARMY. NEVER! Do I make myself clear! NEVER! Nyet! Nien! NNEEEVVVEEERRR!!! NO WAY!”

I stared at my father, shocked and amazed. He had never acted like this before. This man really meant NEVER like NOT FUCKING EVER. Like if I had come home and said “Hey dad, guess what? I just realized I’m gay and here is my new boyfriend,” it would have been easier for him to take than if I told him I had volunteered for something in the army.

“That’s right, just keep your mouth shut and just do as your told.” Mike agreed.

Steve nodded. “Yup, you certainly stand a better chance of coming back in one piece that way.”

I stared at my father who kept repeating ‘NEVER’ like a mantra and I really didn’t know what to think. What happened to the fun and joy and pride and all of those great things?

**************************************************

I spent the weekend walking around in a state of overwhelming numbness and shock. My brothers-in-law kept coming back with more stories and my family kept congratulating me on my new life assignment. You would think from the way everyone was acting I was off to camp to have great fun and exciting adventures. But to me sitting there and listening to everything that was being said it seemed that in the army there was a completely different way of looking at things. And if you were going to survive in the army, you learned to do things the ‘Army Way’ because it sounded as though in the army there was one way, the ‘Army Way’. The scary part was that I would only have eight weeks to learn it all, the entire Army way. To perfect an entirely new way of thinking, acting, walking, talking, sleeping, eating, shitting, everythinging!

I mean, I had been studying civilian live for nineteen years so far and I still had not gotten it worked out. And now I had to learn a whole new system. Not only was it a different system, it was a more demanding system, a more precise system with a lot less leeway built in. I hated the army already! I hadn’t even started my first day but I already knew that if I accepted the President’s kind invitation I would end up dead or in the stockade. Or maybe both.

Sunday night driving back from my parents’ house to New York City, I realized I was probably going to get my ass kicked on a daily basis and then on one of those days someone was going to hand me a gun and then some asshole was going to get into my face and start yelling and screaming. My Italian inability to take unlimited bullshit was going to kick in and I was going to raise the gun, point it and blow his head clean off.

So from that moment on I figured ‘I’m dead!’ And with that realization I became, in my mind, a condemned man. And I did what every condemned man has done since the beginning of time if he is given a chance. I PARTIED. Yes sir, I left my parents’ house on Sunday night and went back to the City and I drank. I drank as much alcohol as I could convince my body to hold. I took every recreational drug I could get my hands on. I ate and drank everything I ever wanted to try. I slept with every woman that even said maybe. I was walking around in a totally pitiable state and when you are young lots of women say yes while you are in a totally pitiable state! And I did it for two weeks straight.