On the day of the lottery, I was in Biochemistry laboratory at university.  When I finished my lab I ran back to the dorm to watch the lottery with all my buddies.  We were all freaked out.  During the three years since I graduated from high school in 1966, I had gone to the funerals of 16 close and not-so close friends who had died in Viet Nam.  They had joined right after high school in the “Buddy System”.  I remember the ads: “Who better to watch your back than your buddy.”  
We were the war babies. Since we were kids we played war in our back yards.  We were given BB guns for Christmas and wore Army helmets we bought at Army Surplus stores.  We were raised on the stories, films and television shows of the heroics in the Second World War.  It’s almost like we were preparing for our own war.  Well, we got our war.  But, it wasn’t a world war; it was a small war, against a small country that was having a civil war.  I think if it had been a world war…we would have all enlisted.  But it wasn’t, and now it was our war nevertheless.

I arrived at the dorm and went to my friend’s room where 12 of us were watching the lottery.  I remember we had cases of beers to help us through.  We knew this day could forever change our lives.  When I came into the room I could feel the tension and see that the lottery had already started.  It wasn’t a big show on TV; it was just a series of numbers scrolling across the bottom of the screen while “I Love Lucy” played above. I arrived at the drawing of the 21st number.  I had missed the first 20 numbers. Was my number one of the first 20? Of course I asked everyone if they saw my birth date come up, but everyone was concentrated on their own numbers and no one remembered the other dates.  I had no way to find out what numbers had already been drawn, so I had to watch the whole process and hope that I wasn’t already chosen. By the time number 300 was drawn I was convinced I was going to war.  By number 350 I had accepted my fate; I had to be one of the first 20 numbers I had missed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my country, I did, but after so many of my friends dying, I wasn’t sure that fighting a war over political ideals–communism vs. democracy–was as important as the government was saying.  Let them be communists if they want to be.  Who are we to force a political system on another country? 

I was freaked out to say the least.  By number 360 I had decided that I would join the Marines.  If I was going to go, I wanted to go as the best. My birthday, February 26, was finally drawn at number 365.  I had won the lottery.  After three years of constant stress always hanging over my head, I relaxed.  I believe I stayed drunk for the next 2 weeks.  Three of my friends in the room that day died in the next two years in Viet Nam. It was a day I will never forget.