I received my draft physical notice shortly after graduation in 1969.  At the time there were several schemes passed by word of mouth regarding how to fail the physical, among them being to eat a bushel of bananas.  My preferred method was to find a doctor who could write a letter stating why I was physically unfit.  There were several names in circulation where I lived, and I managed to secure such a letter claiming that I sufferred from asthma.  When I appeared for my physical, and after the physical examinations had been completed, I remember standing in a line of about 50-75 young men in there shorts when one of the people herding us through the process asked for anyone who had a letter from a doctor to step forward.  We left one poor fellow standing on the line.  I was classified I-Y as a result of that letter which provided some breathing room, but not certainty.

By the night of that first draft I had been in law school for three months and had watched 1/3 of my entering class leave because they were drafted, enlisted in some service, or disappeared.  Many of us gathered that night to discover our respective futures, fueled by vast quantities of beer.  I was one of the lucky ones.  Draft number 363, which meant I could pursue my law school education and career without personal concern.  Although that lottery ended my personal jeopardy, it led to many years of what I can only describe as a feeling of "survivor’s guilt" whenever I learned of a friend’s or acquaintance’s death or wounding in Vietnam.