Back in the 1960's and early 70's, when the Vietnam War was at its height, draft physicals were also at their height. If you passed your draft physical, you were almost always immediately inducted into the U.S. Army and, later, the Marine Corps. Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant gave us one view, though for most potential inductees the experience was not at all amusing. Even one of my favorite rock bands the Byrds sang a very somber Draft Morning.
I would have my own physicals to take in the early 70's after my college deferment was up because I had graduated and Nixon had initiated a draft lottery (my number was an uncomfortable 119--most of those below that number were called up and had to serve, which was why I soon decided to join the Marines as an officer candidate, or eventually the Air Force, also as an officer trainee, after I decided that the Marine Corps was not the branch I wanted to serve in for my entire career).
Several of my friends had draft physicals but were not called up for various physical or even psychological reasons. My best friend at the time, Paul David (Dave) Moore, was so concerned that I picked him up the night before and we drove around, stopping at the famous chapel in Palos Verdes. I tossed a coin into the wishing well and asked the fates to take care of him. The next morning when I dropped him off at the downtown LA induction center, I drove to work and remained concerned about him for the rest of the day. Later, I was surprised when he called me and I learned that he had been rejected. (At the time, I liked to think that my wishing well offering worked a bit of magic.)
The following was the first of many poems I would write in the next few years as I battled my own demons about whether or not to serve in the military and in Vietnam as my college years began to move toward their end even as the War itself dragged on interminably:
Morning, Time to Report for Induction
The sun fires tracers outward,
piercing a new hold.
The weight is pulled up
over the edge of the earth.
With fatigue
the fiery mass sits down.
I would have my own physicals to take in the early 70's after my college deferment was up because I had graduated and Nixon had initiated a draft lottery (my number was an uncomfortable 119--most of those below that number were called up and had to serve, which was why I soon decided to join the Marines as an officer candidate, or eventually the Air Force, also as an officer trainee, after I decided that the Marine Corps was not the branch I wanted to serve in for my entire career).
Several of my friends had draft physicals but were not called up for various physical or even psychological reasons. My best friend at the time, Paul David (Dave) Moore, was so concerned that I picked him up the night before and we drove around, stopping at the famous chapel in Palos Verdes. I tossed a coin into the wishing well and asked the fates to take care of him. The next morning when I dropped him off at the downtown LA induction center, I drove to work and remained concerned about him for the rest of the day. Later, I was surprised when he called me and I learned that he had been rejected. (At the time, I liked to think that my wishing well offering worked a bit of magic.)
The following was the first of many poems I would write in the next few years as I battled my own demons about whether or not to serve in the military and in Vietnam as my college years began to move toward their end even as the War itself dragged on interminably:
Morning, Time to Report for Induction
The sun fires tracers outward,
piercing a new hold.
The weight is pulled up
over the edge of the earth.
With fatigue
the fiery mass sits down.
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