As I have previously written, the Fak family is cleaning house. Of course that meant going through old papers. I wonder if I can throw my cancelled checks from 1971 away just yet.
In my cleaning, I came across an old album that held all the papers and memoirs from my days in the U.S. Army. I forgot I had saved all that stuff from those days and looked with remarkable disbelief at the fact all these things transpired four decades ago.
I smiled when I looked at my draft card and remembered that fateful December night in 1969. Let me share it with you today.
Until that time, the draft had been based on the oldest eligible men being drafted into the Army. It was the height of the Vietnam War and I believe things weren't quite working out the way the generals wanted it to. I had read stories that the more mature soldiers were telling their lieutenants and captains and majors that if they really wanted a chunk of worthless jungle captured that they can just go and lead the way themselves. I think the Pentagon thus decided that what the armed services needed was a bunch of dumb ass eighteen-year-olds who wouldn't spend a moment wondering why they were halfway around the world getting shot at.
Therefore a lottery was established for all eligible non-deferred men and boys. Starting at the number 1 and going to 366, little balls with dates of the year were pulled. It was advised that anyone who had a number under 120 or so should start packing and that anyone from 120 to about 220 shouldn't get too serious with Betty Lou right now. A number over 220 and it was almost certain you had lucked out of going to war in place of a senator's son.
At the time, I was on a very good park league basketball team that played four nights a week at different Chicago Park District gymnasiums.
Now I previously had a 2S student deferment but when I opted to work more and go to college less, it took the draft board about fifteen minutes to switch my classification to 1A.
Now A1 is the meat tenderizer sauce, 1A meant you were as good as dead meat back in 1969.
It was this night as the team practiced at a local field house that my fate was sealed. I recall asking the janitor if he could turn on the radio and pipe it into the gym so we could listen to the lottery as we shot hoops. When the radio station came on they were on number 59 and I recall thinking who in our group already might have had their fate asked and answered for them.
As the numbers and dates were called I was amazed at the fact that only one of the eleven of us had yet to get their birth date called early on. His number was 145 so he had a shot at escaping the draft or so we thought at the time.
I remember shooting bricks at the hoop every time an August date was called but I continued to dodge the draft bullet, or so I thought.
Now I was born on 8/8/48 at 10:08 p.m. on the eighth floor of the hospital and yes my lucky number is 3.
As the night progressed, the team stopped pleading that their birth date not be called. The numbers were now in the mid 200s and it was important to now hear their date of birth called or that meant that they were before number 59 which meant they were as good as in uniform.
Remarkably, guys started hoping and hollering as their numbers came on the radio. In effect the announcer was telling them they could call up Betty Lou and tell her yes she was special and could they come over when her parents were gone. By the time the number 320 came around, all the team was now safe except for me still waiting for August 8 th to be called.
When there were only a few balls left to pull and still no August 8 th was announced, I remember everyone stopped to see if Fak was screwed.
Finally number 366 came and the date of birth called was June 8 th . I was doomed as that meant my number was before 59 and that was as certain a number for being drafted as if I was number one.
I had to take the brunt of jokes the rest of the night. From turning in a washed uniform for my replacement to wear to what I wanted said at my eulogy all were thrown my way. I remember walking in the door that night and dad also telling me I was screwed.
It was dad who told me my number was 48. Yep, another one of those eights in my life. I guess the army didn't know my lucky number was three.
Freelance writer, columnist, author and writing coach, ex-Chicagoan Mike Fak presently resides in Central Illinois. More information about Mike's services are available at his home website www.mikefak.com
Mike currently writes primarily humor columns for searchwarp bi-weekly and is the managing editor of www.lincolndailynews.com
» left by sue thom from nj (136 days 1 hour ago.)
hi mike,
life has control over us, not the other way around, as so many profess and believe. if your numbers up, your life changes. pretty simple in it's complexity. i'm glad you made it home safe and sound, and thank you for protecting me and my family,
» left by Laura (135 days 22 hours ago.)
Mike! Mike! Mike! You should have done what my Middle School history teacher did and talked about all the time. He went into teaching to avoid being drafted and spent the rest of his life having a career of sitting telling stories about avoiding the draft instead of doing the job that he was paid to do. Sad, because the US involvement in Vietnam changed the way we look at the military to these two extreme views, one as unhealthy as the other. The view that we should use force at will to change the world or the view that violence for any reason in wrong. We leave stubborn stupid rich politicians to argue over the subject while young Americans are being tortured, lied to, and killed over in the middle east. You can look at the liberation of Iraq if you even could call it that and compare it to our own war against England and say that in the end we may not have won the Revolutionary War without France, but we need to remember that France didn't fight the war for us, the colonists of America earned it and paid for our freedom in blood. Rarely but sometimes war is the only way. Thank you for serving our country regardless of how you got there. That must have been very frightening.
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