COME DECEMBER, DEJA VU

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

It was announced shortly after Trump’s decision to go to war with Iran that in December, all individuals aged 18 to 25 will automatically be registered as eligible for the military draft, which has been reinstated after being abolished in 1973. The same system used in 1970 that caused me to lose sleep for many nights early that year, the birthdate lottery, will be implemented. All 366 potential birthdates will be randomly drawn from an imaginary fishbowl, and if your birthdate is drawn among the first 150 or so, there’s a pretty good chance you’re heading to wherever Trump thinks you should go. (Why are all three of Trump’s would-be assassins so terrible at their job?) Then you get to shoot someone you have no personal animosity to except that he or she may be trying to kill you. Sounds like a good deal, don’t it?

My best friend during my college days went through major trouble, including an arrest for draft evasion, followed by a court order to report for induction. That induction was a panoply of indignities, mostly having to be naked in a room with close to 100 other naked men, and having to bend over to be examined for various infections. That coupled with having to catch a bus from San Bernardino to the Los Angeles induction centre at 6:30 AM, be at the centre for several hours, and with no ride provided back to San Bernardino. I actually drove into LA to pick him up from a human rights building across from the induction centre. Knowing what he went through strengthened my resolve to avoid that entire process.

It was announced at the end of 1969 that the draft lottery would be initiated and my timing such as it was, I had just turned 19 and dropped out of college. The draft board didn’t hesitate to send me a notice that I had been reclassified 1-A (totally fit for service) from my 2-S (student deferment). A month later, the lottery had been announced and my birthday came up #30!! And sure enough I got that notice in the mail that I would have to report for induction in two weeks and have to go through the same ordeal my friend endured.

Something had to be done, and I took a huge gamble. I didn’t have rich parents that could buy a deferment the way Trump’s parents did. I had to do this myself. I was seeing a dermatologist fairly regularly, as I had acne covering not just my face, but my chest and back as well. I arranged to see him, and hoped that just maybe he’d be sympathetic and anti-war. I told him of my situation and to my relief he was both of the above. He knew exactly what to write and make me sound like I was such a severe case that people would get infected just by being in the same room. He used the phrase “cystic acne conglobata” to describe my condition and that I was on intense medication that would be unavailable in most military settings and would make me a health risk.

I brought the statement from my dermatologist to the local draft board, and they agreed to postpone my induction and let me be examined by an army doctor. So at least the 6:30 am bus ride was off the table temporarily. I saw the doctor two days later and worried he might be unsympathetic given his role, but he looked at my chest and back and said the army WOULDN’T TAKE ME! He didn’t say it with that sort of enthusiasm, but it was what went through my head as I feigned disappointment. I also found out a few days later that my dad, who was a WWII vet and a Purple Heart recipient, had made an unannounced visit to the same draft board to say, “No way are you going to take my son!” Their response to him was, “Oh are you a veteran?” He said yes, and they told him “You’re only the third one TODAY!” Even with that apparent smugness, the people there let on that they understood where my dad was coming from. I never got reclassified, but never again heard from Selective Service, so I burned my draft card.

In 1997, when I was working in Australia, I was in my hotel room watching “Wheel of Fortune,” and the emcee asked the other announcer “And what will our Grand Prize winner get today?” The booming voice over exclaimed, “You’ll be going to Viet Nam!!” I froze in horror at hearing those words again. Suffice to say, even though I know people over here who have gone there on holiday and claim it’s a beautiful country, it’s pretty far down on my bucket list. Maybe Iran would be lower.

April 26th, 2026



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