The Luck of the Draw (57th Post)
The Vietnam War started on November 1, 1955, and ended on April 30, 1975.
America entered the Vietnam War in March of 1965. In order to supply troops to the military, the first draft lottery had been held in December 1969 - several months after my boyfriend Rick’s visit to me at my college. (Dear Reader see previous post.)
The draft lottery gave men between the ages of 18-26 a random number corresponding to their birthday. Men with lower numbers had been drafted first, and more than likely had been sent to serve in the Vietnam War. The draft lottery had been held on December 19, 1969. To my utter dismay, several days before the drawing Rick had called and informed me he would be eligible for the lottery.
I had been beside myself with fear Rick would be recruited for the Vietnam War. If Rick had chosen a military career, I would have been fully supportive of his decision. I had not been opposed to men serving in the military. I had, though, opposition to the misguided Vietnam War. I had not been alone in my desire to see the War ended. Across America “draft dodging” had become a major preoccupation for many eligible men. Some of these men had even fled to obtain residency in Canada. Anti-war protests had become almost a weekly event. The Vietnam War years had been a very dismal, tragic, and complicated time in America’s history.
At the end of our conversation on Rick’s draft status, Rick had promised to call me on the night of the lottery, as soon as he had learned of his number. As time passed, I had begun to count down the days, then the hours, till the lottery night had FINALLY arrived.
For many days before the drawing, the draft lottery was the number one topic in social conversations. My all-women’s-dorm had been ablaze with scenarios of fears concerning their eligible male friends, boyfriends, fiancés, and brothers. The war in Vietnam had impacted the majority of American lives. The day of the lottery my dorm and college campus atmosphere had been a hotbed of fears and anger.
Dear Reader, to further complicate connection and communication was the year itself. It had been 1969, and there were no cell phones, computers, etc. There had been only the corded telephone. And, in every dorm on campus there had been only 3 phone booths on each floor for student use. Consequently, on the evening of the draft lottery, ALL dorm room doors had been left wide open. The open doors had allowed women to emerge at a moment’s notice and race down the halls to the phone booths at the sound of the telephone’s first ring.
Many women on the evening of the draft lottery had camped out on the floors of the hallways. Others had paced back and forth both in their rooms and the hallways. The rest had endured a false sense of comfort by staying secluded in their rooms. Many students from all over the campus had gathered at the Student Union to watch the
lottery drawing on television. My dorm room had been close to the phone booths so I had chosen to bounce between being in my room and circling the phone booth like a hawk searching for its prey. That evening, anxiety and idle chatter had permeated the hallways and campus atmosphere.
And….then….IT had ….happened. The corded landlines, silently sitting in the phone booths, had pierced the long-awaited moment with their swan-song ringing. Pandemonium ruled as all the women sprang into action to quiet the ringing and find out who belonged to the incoming calls.
Once securing the vital message they shouted the woman’s name into the void of the hallway. In seconds, relieved “ladies in waiting,” had raced, accompanied by trepidation, to their designated phone booth. As for the rest of us, without asking, we had been able to discern the fate of the man who had called. If we had observed tears and sighs of anguish, the designated caller had received a low number. If we had witnessed some tears, yet, mostly smiles and shouts of joy, the man’s number had been above the danger zone. The stream of men and parents calling had been so steady there had been no time or space for the “waiting” dorm women to make any outgoing calls.
Myself and the other “women-in-waiting”, had felt powerless and helpless as we wrestled with patience to wait for our turn to be called. As the phone messages accumulated the dorm and hallways had become a surreal juxtaposed experience of congratulating the jubilant women and consoling the heartbroken women. That night had evolved into a crazy-making mix of celebration and grief.
FINALLY!!!! My undiagnosed TBI auditory hypersensitivity had paid off. Over the chaotic noises, I heard my name called. I shouted to the woman I had been hugging - “That’s me!!!” - and dashed off. I had been barely breathing as I serpentined my way down the congested hallway to the treasured phone booth. A friend had stood there holding out the phone’s receiver for me to grasp. I had slumped down on the seat in the booth. My palms had been covered with sweat as I clung to the receiver. The familiar sound of Rick’s voice had brought a solitary moment of comfort and relief. Without any formal greeting, and in a somber voice he had informed me of his number. Tears had begun to stream down my face, as his number was low. I had cried out ‘You are going to be drafted, and you are going to be sent to Vietnam!! Bless his kind heart, in the midst of his own personal challenge he sought to console me. He had repeated several times that he may or may not be sent to Vietnam. He had said he would know more after boot camp. However, I had found no comfort in the present unknown and uncertainty. We slowly brought our conversation to an end. Rick had promised to call again soon after we had both times to absorb the shock - otherwise known as
“The luck of the Draw.”
The minute I had hung up the phone’s receiver, the phone had rung more rings of “slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.” It seemed out of nowhere a friend’s hand had reached in the booth and picked up the next call. In spite of my tear-drenched- face, I had somehow been able to find and give her a smile of gratitude. She quickly hugged me before answering the phone. Miming a sleepwalker, I slowly drifted down the hallway. All I wanted now was the comfort of my room and my dear roommate. I had also wanted to close my dorm door to hide from both the sorrow and joy manifesting in the hallway.
That night as I had laid restless in bed I had been haunted by Rick’s number. I had also been haunted by the memory of the Nightly News. During the Vietnam War years, every night on the news the newscaster announced the number of soldiers KIA (killed in action) and MIA (missing in action). Why were they not just called heroes? I had been very angry and upset the dead and missing soldiers has been reduced to numbers. And now, on the night of the lottery, a whole new group of men, yet again, had been reduced to a number. I had thought, why is it old white men declare wars, yet had demanded young men fight the wars? And now someone I loved may or may not fight a war. I found it to be a very true statement that “deployment does not just happen to the soldier, it happens to everyone” - neighbor, parent, spouse, child, etc. who had known and loved the person…… now only known as “a number.”