Men of my age remember distinctly where they were when the draft was televised during the Vietnam War. The war and draft of 18-year-olds consumed our thoughts during that time. I was watching it on TV in a pool hall in Poughkeepsie, New York, with some of my closest high school buddies.
First, a capsule with a date of birth; then another with a number up to 366. I had a $5 bet with my best friend over who would get the higher number. The higher the number, the lower your chances were of being called up for service and sent to war. I recall that at the height of the Vietnam War they were drafting those whose numbers were one through about 200.
I pulled a 336. Relief is not a strong enough word to describe my feelings. My friend proceeded to draw a 342, even better than mine. It was the happiest debt I have ever paid. No bone spurs, just beautiful luck.
I can still recall the bizarre scene in that pool hall. My friend and I were trying to be respectful with quiet joy, while sitting with another friend who was in mental agony. He drew number 3.
The recent news that the Army is now raising its recruit age from 35 to 42, partly because recruiting goals aren’t being met, is what spurred these thoughts and took me back to 18-year-old me. Along with the age increase, the Army will no longer require a waiver for recruits with a marijuana conviction. We currently do not have a draft, though reinstating one is being considered.
The Vietnam War caused generational divide. Many of us had parents who had “saved the world.” I distinctly remember my World War II Navy veteran dad asking me what I would do if I got drafted. I had spent a lot of time pondering that. I responded that I didn’t support the war but could not stomach someone else going and dying in my place, so I would go.
To my complete and utter shock, he tried to convince me to go to Canada to avoid the draft. This still shocks me as he was as conservative a man as I’d ever known. However, he knew war, and I did not. He also tried to convince me to join the Navy where I would have clean socks and sleep in a hammock instead of some muddy foxhole. I remember thinking: Good point Dad, but what about the sharks?
So now, 42-year-olds on weed. Hmmm. Perhaps not the peak of fitness, health and mental clarity. To be clear, I have nothing against 42-year-olds. I was one, and a pretty fit one at that. Nor against weed, though I never indulged.
However, there is a reason NFL teams don’t give long-term contracts to 32-year-old running backs. And I am told that the strength of today’s weed is much greater than in my college days. So, the combination of those two makes me a bit more anxious. I’m picturing Cheech and Chong out there together.
Common strategies included claiming conscientious objector status or pretending to be gay. One man reportedly wrote to his draft board on a wooden door. The law said the draft board was required to keep all correspondence, and they did not file that letter.
A coaching colleague of mine had braces installed on his teeth the day before he was to report for his physical. It worked and kept him out of the war. Let’s hope our current war gets resolved soon.
Jim Cross is a retired Fort Lewis College professor and basketball coach living in Durango. Reach him at cross_j@fortlewis.edu.
