In 1969 the US held the first Draft Lottery for the Vietnam War. Millions of men between the ages of 18-26 were riveted to the TV getting drunk, stoned or both at “Draft Lottery Parties.”
The bottom line was that if your Birthday was selected in the first 50 or so you were 100% gonna get drafted if you were classified as 1A (eligible for immediate induction). If you had a 2S Student Deferment (like me and the other dozen or so guys at my draft party) then your number would be used in a subsequent annual draft pool when your deferment was gone by either Graduation or dropping out from or failing college. Although I had initially been 4F due to my “Post Concussive Syndrome” my status had been revised to 1A in ’68 (that’s part of my “What and Why” story if and when I get around to finishing it). If your # was 50 to approximately 140 it was incrementally shrinking odds from 99% to 50% to 1% and from 140 to 240 or so. From around 240 on up to 366 you were pretty much home free for life, short of WWIII.
This lottery had a huge “pool” and the subsequent lotteries would be only males turning 18 in that calendar year. Those that had mid-range probabilities had an indeterminable draft risk in subsequent years after their 2S was gone. As are the vagaries of the “Laws of Probability” our little group that night had the whole gamut of “Winning to Losing” numbers. Two of us were “bullet proof” for now—yours truly and my to this day life long friend Tom. The rest were in varying degrees of “peril” with the exception of me very, very close best “Bud”, Randy. Randy’s # was 5. Randy was gonna get drafted now or when he lost his 2S in a year or two, if he made it to graduation. Randy was struggling and on Academic Probation and was and eyelash away from being expelled after current term grades and he knew it…we all knew it.
Randy could fix anything mechanical or electrical. He was our “go to” guy re: how to get chicks. Randy’s girlfriend, Alice, was an Honors Student, a real knockout and sweet, sweet, sweet. His father was an electrician with an 8th grade education that grew up in a tarpaper shack in the depression—a very cool guy that on weekends would stop by our “Animal House” with a case of Lager quarts, work on cars and motorcycles with us and BS for hours.
After Randy got over his hangover he did what he always did; Randy accepted his circumstance, kept his sense of humor (and he was v-e-r-y funny) and pragmatically worked up a plan. The last thing that Randy wanted was to wind up in Vietnam so he decided the best thing was to join the Coast Guard. Problem was, as he soon discovered, was suddenly a whole bunch of folks were trying to join the Coast Guard. But, Randy being Randy, he found a way to “land on his feet”. The one thing that, up to this point, had kept Randy’s GPA just high enough to stay in school was that he was the First Trumpet in the College Band and Orchestra. He was good, real good, and used to joke that he learned to play the trumpet so that he could master “Triple Tongue” technique and that that was the “secret” to his success with all the “Foxes” we had envied him for dating up to, and including, when he fell in love with Alice.
The Coast Guard accepted Randy’s enlistment in a heartbeat and after Basic Training he was to be assigned to a Parade Band. Once he was in Randy, always the pragmatic one, determined that playing trumpet for the rest of his life was not a way to support Alice, whom he had become engaged to before he left for his hitch and, due to his aptitude test, finagled his way a few months after completing his Basic Training to be sent to “Electronics and Radar Man Specialist School”. Randy wanted to learn something that he could use after his hitch and that he knew he could be good at.
Randy completed his Specialist School with high marks and received his duty assignment—Hawaii! He was ecstatic, proposed to Alice during his pre-deployment leave and plans were made that they would be married in 1 year after she finished her Degree in Elementary Education. A happy man he was the morning he boarded his Coast Guard Transport flight to Honolulu.
On the flight was Fred Martin, whom Randy had gone to Specialist School with. He was a couple of years older than Randy and was married with a toddler and his wife was several months pregnant. Randy said, “Man, can you believe it? We’re gong to Hawaii!” His buddy looked down in his lap and started to weep.
A few miles off the coast on the DMZ there is an island named Con Son. Not long before, Con Son had been taken by the ARVN and Us Forces. After that successful assault Look Magazine had run an article about the “Tiger Cages” of Con Son where the NVA had kept and tortured POW’s. Not only was Con Son subject to shelling, due to the Radar and Electronic Intelligence Station the Coast Guard set up and manned there, it was a prime target for a all out commando assault.
When the transport landed Randy proceeded directly to the Base Personnel Officer and said, “I want to switch duty assignments with Fred Martin.”
“Why?” asked the Officer.
“Because, it’s the right thing for me to do,” Randy answered, “It’s what I’m here to do.”
After an interview with the Base Commander, Randy’s orders were changed and in 3 days he was on a Transport Flight to Vietnam.
Before Randy left he posted a letter to his betrothed, told her what he had done and that if he survived his 18 months on Con Son he would be back and they would be married. He also told her in the letter that he wanted her to take whatever time she needed to think about all this and that if she wanted “out” he understood and that he would be Okay with whatever she decided.
On the coast of California at Point Conception, high on the cliffs above the azure blue Pacific, sits a Coast Guard Lighthouse with a three story white Spanish stucco Lighthouse Keepers cottage and a small cemetary. It is one of the most breathtaking venues my eyes have ever seen…a truly magical place.
When Randy arrived back at the main Coast Guard command base the Base Commander summoned him to his office. Randy wasn’t sure what it was all about, other than the fact that he had served 18 months in a Combat Zone and had survived the shelling and several commando assaults and he was gonna get an “attaboy”…or, more probably, he was in deep shit for getting picked up by the Shore Patrol after his drinking spree during his layover in Honolulu on his trip home.
He walked into the Base Commanders office and the very same Officer that he had convinced to change his orders sending him to Con Son stood, saluted him, and handed Randy his Orders for the final 2 years of his Coast Guard service—Lighthouse Keeper at Point Conception, California.
Randy and his Bride, Alice, lived at Point Conception until his discharge. Today, they live in California in a very comfortable home that Randy self contracted and mostly built with his own hands. Alice recently retired from her position as an Elementary School Teacher and Randy is semi-retired from his successful Electrical Contracting business. They have a life filled with grandchildren
I apologize that this post is so long…I just couldn’t do “justice” to my friend in fewer words.
Face
I think it was this same time of year too. I have flirted with automatic writing. I have read a bit of John Dee's Enochian experiments.
:dancer:
