There But For Fortune Go You or I

If you are a “Boomer” and male, Viet Nam has special meaning. Your eighteenth birthday meant a trip to the courthouse to register for the draft, putting your future in the hands of the draft board who made life and death decisions. Being young and stupid, I didn’t really understand that then.

The boys in my high school graduating class could be divided into two groups: Those going to college, and those going to war. Except for Diego, maybe, who was blind in one eye. Lucky guy. It was a small school, so there were perhaps twelve to fifteen of us. As far as I know, those who went to war all came home alive at least physically intact.

My high school friend Lewis was a bad ass. I lived vicariously through him since I was definitely not a bad ass and I admired that about him. I talked to him soon after his return from war, obviously a very different person from the bad ass I had known. He talked about going to college, and I agreed to help. A few weeks later, he put on his uniform and blew his brains out. His name is not on the Wall. It should be.

I was born in Texas in July. Almost a month to the day, earlier, a boy was born in Queens, New York. We shared the same first and last name. We both graduated from high school just short of our eighteenth birthdays. I went to college, and he went to war. Less than a year later I was in the middle of my second semester of college. He was shot and killed. His name, my name, is on the Wall. Eerie. Lucky or unlucky. Fair or unfair. There but for fortune…

In the spring of 1970 the first draft lottery was held. 366 ping pong balls, each with a day of the year on it, were placed in a bin. If you were a man of a certain age span, and your birthdate was on one of the first 160 or so balls drawn, you would be drafted. Everybody else was safe. I am notoriously unlucky in these types of drawings and my luck held. Out of 366 ball drawn, I was number 331. This time, being unlucky was lucky. They played a game with my life and I won.