Why the Draft is windy

This is a story from a long time ago. Many of you were not alive then. I was. Even if you were some strange lady's womb at the time, you wouldn't have heard about it, because acoustics in the womb are always a crap shoot.

When I registered for the Draft, the 'Nam was just heating up. And so was I. But rather than go to war or have sex, I traded in my 1-A Selective Service status for a 4-D clergy exemption. How cool was that? Here I'd just spent a year baking my carcass working on a road testing crew for the State of Nevada, and then overnight, with the receipt of a bulky letter from my Church of Choice, I was clergy! I know that like most of you, I think of the Church of England when I hear "clergy. 19 year old Mormon kids don't really measure up to that standard. But none the less, I had me a newly minted 4-D card.

So then after the best two years of my life, I returned to America, fluent in Spanish and with amoebic dysentery. How cool was that? And my Church of Choice snuck me into BYU and I turned in my 4-D Selective Service card for a 2-S card, a Selective Service student deferment.

And then in late 1968 the powers that be decided they needed cannon fodder more than they needed college graduates. How sad is that? So I was sent the dreaded 1-A card, cannon fodder.

And then I got my draft notice: "Greetings!" it said. "Come spend a year in Vietnam!" My initial inclination was to join the Marines. A friend of mine told me that from what he knew of me, that in giving myself up to the Marines, I would become the perfect killing machine. An enticing goal, no? But apathy, inertia and a drinking problem (Fresca) kept me from doing anything except for shooting myself in the foot with a nail gun. But when I went in for my draft physical, a doctor put a bandaid on the wound and declared me fodder.

So I appealed the decision. The draft board turned down my appeal. So I went to Vietnam and collected social diseases...

No, I re-appealed to the full board. And while that final appeal was pending, to be heard the following Thursday, they held America's first draft lottery, the Monday before. In that first lottery they had 366 capsules in a big bowl, In each capsule was a piece of paper with a day of the year printed on it. Which meant that the young men with birthdays corresponding to the date on that first capsule would be the first ones called. Etc., etc.

The capsule with my DOB remained untouched until only it and one other occupied that bowl. Imagine my nervousness! Would my DOB wind up the final date? Nope, mine was pulled next.

I lost that final appeal and my name was put on the list to be called to service per the order designated by the draft lottery. Hee hee hee! And so I went on to become a perfect killing me softly with love machine.

(In subsequent draft lotteries they had two bowls' the capsules in one bowl had DOBs and the other capsules had numbers 1 through 365 (leap year wasn't a consideration for that second drawing). So there was a double pulling, a date with the number it would be listed. But of course I paid no attention to that lottery.)