Mr. Write's Page

It was called the draft. Conscription. Compulsory military service.

The U.S. isn’t conscripting its youth right now, because we have an all-volunteer military… if you don’t count all those unsuspecting reservists who ended up conscripted to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan.

We last had an active military draft from 1954 through 1975. According to the Army, the draft was invaluable in maintaining a steady flow of volunteers. They estimate that for every draftee, four men enlisted. In other words, they avoided the draft and had at least some choice about the when and how of their service.

I was one of them.

Although I always planned to attend college, I was well aware that without my college deferment, the draft would have nailed me immediately.

I also knew that after graduation, I would be vulnerable again to conscription. There was only one career path I could follow that would protect me from being drafted into the Army and sent to the rice paddies of Vietnam, probably never to return, and I took it: I enrolled in Air Force ROTC.

The fact is, that choice was not too off-the-wall, inasmuch as my dad had been a career Air Force officer. He, of course, was delighted.

And the ROTC route was fairly easy — one extra class each quarter in military science, plus a few hours each month on the drill field, plus four memorable weeks of basic training one summer in a Florida swamp.

Deep down, I knew the military and I were not a good fit. Which is all the more reason I was shocked to be named one of a handful of Distinguished ROTC Cadets during my senior year. Not too shabby.

On graduation day, a few hours after the UGA ceremony, we Rotsie cadets were sworn in as officers and gentlemen.

Back then, a newly-commissioned officer simply waited to be called up. He or she might be activated immediately, or a year later, or somewhere in between. Usually the latter.

But I had a better idea. I applied to Graduate School at the University of Georgia to pursue a Master of Arts degree in Journalism. If all went well, I would finish in 12 to 18 months. My military obligation simply would be delayed a bit.

At that point, I received good news and bad news.

The good news: I was accepted into grad school effective Fall Quarter 1964.

The bad news: my Air Force orders arrived with lightning speed. I was summoned to duty at Cannon Air Force Base, New Mexico, effective July 31, 1964.

Immediately, I sent copies of my grad school papers to the Air Force and applied for a deferment.

I didn’t get it. The Air Force replied that I missed the application deadline by four days.

Four days.

According to my Air Force orders, I would be assigned to the “Administrative Officer” career field. Somebody had to shuffle papers, and I was it.

That was more than a little irritating. I had assumed that, in keeping with my Journalism degree, my career field would be “Information Officer” — a publicity and PR guy. The one in charge of the base newspaper and the photo lab. The one who gives talks at teas and luncheons in town.

But that would imply that a thought process was involved. As far as I could tell, assignments were determined strictly by the numbers. Probably still are.

In the end, I did fine in the Air Force. I knew right away I wouldn’t make a career of it. I simply was too independent, and my bullshit detector constantly caused me trouble. But I was a solid officer with a good record.

Well, except for a couple of aberrations like this.

After serving time as an Admin Officer and later as a Squadron Commander, I finally wrangled a transfer to the Base Information Office as the second in command.

I hated it. Within a year, I wrangled my way back to the honest work of being a Squadron Commander.

After my four-year hitch was over, I did not, I regret to say, return to UGA and enter Graduate School. By then, I was married with a kid. My mission was to find a job, make money.

Looking back, it’s clear that being called to active duty so quickly was a major, major turning point in my life.

If, like my fellow ROTC cadets, I had been called to active duty three to six months after graduation, I would have entered grad school, and my life would have taken a different path.

The odds that I would have met my future wife in New Mexico are miniscule. I wouldn’t have my sons, wouldn’t have my granddaughters. That’s a little scary to contemplate.

All because of four days.

Some people think a Master Plan is somehow involved — that we are destined to live a predetermined life.

I don’t think so. I think life is a constant rolling of the dice. I think chance, not design, determines the outcome.

This is what makes sense to me: you try to influence things in your favor, then you hope for the best. In the end, you get what you get.

I’ve been lucky. Serendipity has dealt me a good hand.

Thanks, Serendipity, wherever you are.