I was a junior in college when I got the dreaded letter.  Every trip to the mail box for young men of my age could be the one where we leaf through the mail and find an envelope from the United States Government.  It was inevitable and one day it was there.  Hoping it would vanish if I stalled long enough I finally gave in and opened it slowly.  The letter was folded so that the first thing I saw was the letterhead, which read “ORDER TO REPORT FOR ARMED FORCES PHYSICAL EXAM”. 

The rest of the rudely abrupt notice gave me a time and place to report for my physical prior to induction into the Armed Forces.  I was being drafted.  There were rumblings at the time about the run-up to Vietnam so it was common for every eligible male citizen of the United States to be drafted.  There were a few exceptions but not many. 

No one at that time could foresee the impending backlash to America’s next military engagement.  Bob Dylan and many others were struggling entertainers yet to have heaped upon them a cause that would carve their place in history.  While many ardently sought deferments that would keep them out of the draft, enlisting was still seen as the patriotic thing to do.  Enlisting also gave one the choice of the branch of service they wished to join.

I reported to a recruiting depot in downtown Los Angeles on the assigned day.  I took my place in a line that wrapped half way around the block and inched forward.  In my hand were 3 letters from ear specialists I had been seeing since I was a little kid.  They were in response to a request from Uncle Sam for documentation as to why I might not be fit to serve. 

As I approached the head of the line I got a firsthand look at the militaries version of a physical.  It was more like a glance at your eyes, your ears and a tongue depressor look at your throat and “OK, you’re good to go”. 

When it was my turn I slowed the line down a bit.  I handed them the letters which stated I was born with nerve deafness and was profoundly deaf.  That means more than a 90 decibel loss which means without hearing aids I hear no sound whatsoever.  They didn’t believe the letters apparently because they halted the whole line while they gave me their version of a hearing test.  This consisted of standing off to the side and then behind me while yelling at me.  With my hearing aids on I could hear them but not tell what they were saying.  Without the aids I heard nothing. 

After a meeting of the assembled personnel I guess they decided it would not be wise to have an entire battalion depending on me to receive a hushed, jumbled radio transmission from the commandant while all hell was breaking loose on the battlefront.  I think it was a good call.  They stamped my papers 4-F, which meant I was physically unable to qualify for service in our armed forces. 

While not being overly disappointed at the time I have always had mixed feelings.  These feelings surface from time to time such as when I recently attended a ceremony honoring the Wounded Warriors at Camp Pendleton Marine Base.  Those honored had suffered unspeakable horrors and yet every man and woman among them spoke of to-the-death allegiance to their country. 

I knew kids, and they were kids, who did not return from Vietnam.  I have known parents who suffered the ultimate loss.  My brother, 13 months younger than I am, passed his physical.  When he got off the train at Fort Ord Army Base with all the other recruits he was immediately selected as a platoon leader because he raised his hand when asked who was a college student.  He served his 2 years and then some reserve time.  I have always envied him.      

How different might my life have been?  Had I been asked to report for duty would my college career have ended?  If so, I would not have met Terry on a blind date a year later.  All you have to do is watch the news to be aware of the endless possibilities.

Had I been qualified to serve I think I would have enlisted in the Navy.  I love the ocean and I could see myself as an Admiral or something, or maybe swabbing decks.  Some years later the draft ended and our military became all volunteers.  They are the best of the best. 

When it comes to flag waving I can hold my own and if that’s my path I am not complaining.  But there will always be a tinge of regret that I didn’t do my part.