When I turned eighteen I was compelled legally to register for the draft. It was 1968 (can you say "Tet Offensive?") and I was pretty certain I would wind up in the Army fighting falling dominoes in Southeast Asia. We were all pretty certain. When the so-called National Draft Lottery was later instituted, I drew a high number, but I was still uncertain of being drafted or not--it turns out that my number was very high indeed, and only the first 195 birthdates were selected for service that first year. But we couldn't know that, of course. My friend's birthdate drew a low number, and he joined the Airforce to dodge the Army.
We weren't unpatriotic, but back then, most information obtainable indicated it was Johnson's war, for nothing, unwinnable, and miserable to boot. I figured I'd go if called, even though my dear mother called me up from California and told me to let her know if I got drafted so she could get enough money for me to go to Canada. I chalk it up to her mother, who was a good woman, and an Osage Indian, which, really, is the definition of radical, if you've ever looked into it.
Then I got the damn letter. The one that starts with, "Greetings," but it turns out it was only a notice to report for my Army physical, and did not say I was drafted or anything. Still, I was pretty uneasy. I showed up and submitted myself to the various indignities we call the Army physical, and "passed" everything (oh yay.) As a point of information, no one was offered even the slightest temptation or given the opportunity to do that old joke about "spreading our cheeks." The doctor was quite explicit about exactly what to do with what part of the body, having learned early on, I speculated, how to avoid that trap. It was almost all the more funny for it. Especially since by that time of the day, I had already gotten the impression that no one there on the Army medical staff that day was a brain surgeon, or even a rocket scientist.
However, I note, don't ever try to cheat on a color blindness screening test by saying you don't see any of the numbers on any of the little color spotted cards, like the guy in line in front of me did. You can only have one kind of color blindness at a time, and the Army damn well knows it. And now that guy in front of me knew it, and I knew it. I saw all the numbers, and I had no intention of cheating anyway.
A week later I got a phone call from the recruiting sergeant stationed at the town's square. I got a high score on the written test we all took, and the Army Security Agency wanted to interview me. I talked to a few people and was sold on the idea. A few days later I was sitting across the desk from some other recruiting officer, this one from the ASA, I guess.
The first thing he said to me was if I was accepted into the Army Security Agency, I would be subject to a very thorough background check for my security clearance. He said that their people would be interviewing people I went to high school with, among others, so be totally open and honest, and don't even think about lying. Nod.
First question: have you ever smoked marijuana. (Yeah, the very first question, no doubt placed their for purposes of efficiency, which will become apparent in a sec.) The answer was yes. Second question: how many times? Now, this was problematic, and when I started hemming and hawing, the guy said, "More than twice?" Well, I said, yeah. Then he said, interview over. Hard and fast rule, and all that. Two times was considered experimental, and allowed, but more than that meant that I was a "user."
I said, not anymore. That was back in high school. Because Sixties/Bay Area/etc. So, now remember, I got a high score on that test, especially the language part, which made me qualified for "language training." Meaning I was kind of a smart ass. I asked him if I had never smoked pot, would I have been considered? He said yes. I pointed out that then I could hypothetically be in the ASA, but I might decide to "experiment" with pot, out of curiosity, which they admit is allowed, or at least understandable, because, well, everyone is curious. Then, I said, what if I liked it? Now, I'm in the ASA and I really am a user. Whereas I, a previous user, was not, and unlikely to become one.
He seemed to be impressed; at least he said I was the kind of person they would like, and said he would make a phone call. He did, and I was still sent away. Kind of disappointed, but not really. A week went by and I got another phone call. The recruiting sergeant at the square said he heard about my interview with the ASA, but now he wanted me to talk to another guy downtown about joining up for Army Intelligence, who, I assumed, had lower standards. I was flattered, but dubious. I expressed some interest and he said he would set me up for an interview downtown the next morning at 7:00 a.m.
Now, I'm thinking, ahh, this is another I.Q. test. And I passed it, because I slept in the next morning, and for awhile felt pretty damn free.
The rest of the year passed by and I had such a high draft lottery number that I wasn't even near getting drafted. And it was highly unlikely for the following year, or years, so that was the end of that era, for me.
I have nothing but respect and admiration for service members, then and now. I might have been one, but I evaded it, you might say, simply by inaction combined with the deleterious social impact of reefer. Later in life, one of my supervisors at the phone company was an ex-Army Security Agency guy, and he was a total asshole. Just thought I'd throw that in there.
