"Random Destiny" by Wesley Abney provides a compact history of one of the most tumultuous times in U.S. history, the era of the Vietnam War draft policy and protests, 1964-73. Those of us who lived through those years of war, defiance, domestic violence and uncertainty will never forget them, but a younger audience might find Abney's book informative and, at times, intriguing.
Abney breaks down the history of U.S. military drafts since World War I, focusing on the years of the draft to supply troops for the Vietnam War in the final years of Lyndon Johnson's presidency and Richard Nixon's first term.
As anyone who was affected by military draft policy will tell you, the regulations and laws were complicated and sometimes irrational. Abney provides explanations of the draft laws and deferments with individual chapters on medical, moral and mental deferments; conscientious objectors; deferred occupations; college deferments; sole surviving son and other family deferments.
He also has chapters on the various military services that some potential draftees turned to in order to avoid the much greater risk of ground combat in Vietnam and on the fundamental dissent and disobedience of some draftees who refused to participate in the Selective Service system, which could lead to criminal charges.
He concludes the book with the amnesties for draft resisters and AWOL soldiers offered by President Ford and expanded by President Carter after the draft ended in 1973 and America began fielding an all-volunteer army.
The Dec. 1, 1969, draft lottery is the nexus of this review of U.S. military draft policy. Implemented to reduce uncertainty about the draft and opposition to the draft, the lottery affected all males of draft age, a span of several years. By night's end, 366 numbers had been drawn, and men's futures were determined by where their birth date fell in the numbers. The certainty that those with numbers below 100 would almost certainly be drafted and those with numbers above 300 almost certainly would not changed the lives of millions.
The stories of those lives, collected over a period of years on a website that invited Vietnam-era men to share their experiences with the draft and the war, are the heart of this book. The review of the various draft laws, deferments and exceptions are thorough but can be rather dry. The personal narratives are poignant and powerful.
Abney has organized these fervent narratives to follow each chapter on the laws and regulations that sparked these personal accounts. The vast majority of stories are about the many ways young men of the late 1960s through 1973 sought to avoid the draft. Those with low draft numbers were left in limbo, unable to complete their college degrees or to get long-term employment. Some were married (not a deferment — but an excused absence early in the war), and some had dependent children (a deferment that ended in 1967). The impact of draft deferments is cited in the rise in marriage rates when marital status could get you a deferment and a rise in the birth rate when babies could get a man out of the draft.
After setting up a website to collect draft lottery stories in 2007. The website collected 840 narratives by 2017. One-hundred-sixty of these stories are included in the book, and all of the collected stories are still available on the website, www.vietnamwardraftlottery.com.
These stories show the diversity of experiences and personal opinions about the war and the draft. Some of the young men were adamantly opposed to the Vietnam War or to war in general. Others went willingly to their "random destiny," a fate they saw as their duty. Most fell somewhere in between the few who would resort to deceit or violence to avoid the draft and those who were already in military service or who were willing to comply with the government's induction orders.
I found the stories of those who entered the military service (most of them electing to enlist in a "safer" branch of service) especially interesting. Many found their military experience positive and constructive. It changed their lives. They are proud of their service in uniform. Those who returned from Vietnam combat were deeply angered by the reception they received coming home. Some protesters shouted insults ("baby killer!") and threw rocks or pig's blood at the returning soldiers. Some of the most earnest protesters of the war disapproved of such behavior.
"I would not have volunteered to serve, but having been drafted, I am proud of being a veteran," one contributor wrote. Another wrote, "I didn't want to go, but it sure changed my life. It was the best thing that ever happened to me." Don wrote, "My Navy service was one of the highlights of my life. Without the draft, I would not have done it." John, who served in the National Guard, wrote, "In retrospect, the experience made me a better person and a better student."
"Random Destiny" would make a great textbook for a college-level course on the Vietnam War's impact on the home front. The book is thoroughly footnoted and has an extensive bibliography. Still, the personal narratives are the most compelling aspect of the book. Today's generation of college students, 45 years removed from the war and the draft, could learn a lot from such a course.
Hal Tarleton
Showing posts with label military draft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label military draft. Show all posts
Friday, August 3, 2018
Monday, November 12, 2012
A no-longer reluctant veteran
On this observance of Veterans Day, I take a certain pride in being among those who are recognized today. At church yesterday, at about the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month (the time of the original Armistice Day ending World War I), I stood when the pastor asked all the veterans in the congregation to stand.
For all the pride I feel today, I was a reluctant veteran. If the rest of my generation were honest, I suspect a majority of them would have to admit that they, too, were not eager to join the ranks of America's military.
As I approached the end of my college years, my hometown draft board took notice and sent me a demand to show up for a draft physical. My draft number, from the first Vietnam War draft in 1969, was 29. There was no question, short of some political miracle, that I would be called up and required to serve. I passed the draft physical and could find no legal way out of raising my right hand and pledging to defend this country from all enemies, foreign and domestic.
On the day after my draft physical, as I walked across campus from class, I came across a Coast Guard recruiter who was signing up applicants for Coast Guard Officer Candidate School. Given a choice between Coast Guard OCS and a quick post-basic training trip to Saigon, I signed up. A few months of tests, interviews and background checks later, and I raised my hand to serve in the Coast Guard. Because of the over-subscription of qualified officer candidates, I was deferred from the fall OCS class to the February class, but I was safe from the draft in the interim.
My Coast Guard career took me from OCS to Washington, D.C., where I was assigned to answer "congressional inquiries," letters from members of Congress asking about Coast Guard personnel. These inquiries were usually prompted by letters from upset mothers, the gist of which was, "My son enlisted to guard the coast, so why is he on an icebreaker (or on a river in Vietnam)?" Answering the letters was not difficult, and I soaked in the excitement of being in the nation's capital through the 1972 election and the Watergate scandal. I also came to admire my colleagues and superiors, particularly the gruff, no-nonsense captain who was my first boss. Before my tour of duty was over, he had been deep-selected for rear admiral and later became vice-commandant of the entire Coast Guard. He was the most skilled manager I've ever known and could easily have succeeded in business or academia, but he chose, like many others I came to know, to serve in uniform.
I left Washington to return to civilian life, eager to begin a career in journalism and to settle down in a quiet, small town with my family, far away from the noise and crowding of a big city. Many times since then, I have regretted my decision to decline the offer to remain in the officer ranks and stick around until I qualified for a pension. My wife points out that our lives would be quite different if I had stayed in. A long afloat assignment would have been inevitable after I had spent three years ashore, and who knows where the Coast Guard might have sent me over the next 20 or 30 years.
My military service did not involve combat or extraordinary danger, but it did help shape me and my outlook on life. Like most veterans, I like organization, discipline and commitment. I may have been reluctant 40 years ago, but I am glad — and take pride in the fact — that I served in uniform. I learned from that experience, perhaps as much as I learned from four years of college, and I think today's young men and women, with no pressure from a military draft, miss an opportunity that could benefit them.
For all the pride I feel today, I was a reluctant veteran. If the rest of my generation were honest, I suspect a majority of them would have to admit that they, too, were not eager to join the ranks of America's military.
As I approached the end of my college years, my hometown draft board took notice and sent me a demand to show up for a draft physical. My draft number, from the first Vietnam War draft in 1969, was 29. There was no question, short of some political miracle, that I would be called up and required to serve. I passed the draft physical and could find no legal way out of raising my right hand and pledging to defend this country from all enemies, foreign and domestic.
On the day after my draft physical, as I walked across campus from class, I came across a Coast Guard recruiter who was signing up applicants for Coast Guard Officer Candidate School. Given a choice between Coast Guard OCS and a quick post-basic training trip to Saigon, I signed up. A few months of tests, interviews and background checks later, and I raised my hand to serve in the Coast Guard. Because of the over-subscription of qualified officer candidates, I was deferred from the fall OCS class to the February class, but I was safe from the draft in the interim.
My Coast Guard career took me from OCS to Washington, D.C., where I was assigned to answer "congressional inquiries," letters from members of Congress asking about Coast Guard personnel. These inquiries were usually prompted by letters from upset mothers, the gist of which was, "My son enlisted to guard the coast, so why is he on an icebreaker (or on a river in Vietnam)?" Answering the letters was not difficult, and I soaked in the excitement of being in the nation's capital through the 1972 election and the Watergate scandal. I also came to admire my colleagues and superiors, particularly the gruff, no-nonsense captain who was my first boss. Before my tour of duty was over, he had been deep-selected for rear admiral and later became vice-commandant of the entire Coast Guard. He was the most skilled manager I've ever known and could easily have succeeded in business or academia, but he chose, like many others I came to know, to serve in uniform.
I left Washington to return to civilian life, eager to begin a career in journalism and to settle down in a quiet, small town with my family, far away from the noise and crowding of a big city. Many times since then, I have regretted my decision to decline the offer to remain in the officer ranks and stick around until I qualified for a pension. My wife points out that our lives would be quite different if I had stayed in. A long afloat assignment would have been inevitable after I had spent three years ashore, and who knows where the Coast Guard might have sent me over the next 20 or 30 years.
My military service did not involve combat or extraordinary danger, but it did help shape me and my outlook on life. Like most veterans, I like organization, discipline and commitment. I may have been reluctant 40 years ago, but I am glad — and take pride in the fact — that I served in uniform. I learned from that experience, perhaps as much as I learned from four years of college, and I think today's young men and women, with no pressure from a military draft, miss an opportunity that could benefit them.
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