My number came up in what became the final year of the draft lottery, although we didn’t know it at the time. A friend had been drafted in the previous year. His number was 38. Mine was 50, and it looked as if I’d have to go. They rounded up a bunch of us from my county and bussed us to the pre-induction cattle call in Portland. The dudes in charge were barking at us like a bunch of gym teachers. I remember a lot of nervous humor. Guys were raising their hands during the hearing test when there was nothing to hear, stuff like that. One guy showed up wearing earrings and purple bell bottoms. They pulled him out of the line and we never saw him again. They put us up in a downtown hotel. My roomie and I sat in the window and got bored watching the street life, so we decided to go out and sneak in some beer. Some security guy caught us and made us pour it out and told us he wouldn’t say anything so we wouldn’t “ruin our opportunity” to get drafted. Some guys I knew from high school enlisted right away. I was against the war. I decided that if they wanted me they’d have to draft me. Then Tricky Dick came on TV and dealt our year a get-out-of-war card. I went back to college and watched the whole crapshow fall apart on TV. I’m still anti-war.