FREDONIA, N.Y. - The Class of '66 discussion group (the link is to the right) has been buzzing with several tales about military service, or in some cases, the lack thereof.
As soon as John Rupp gets up and running on the discussion list, he'll likely tell us about his escapade of getting drafted, but refusing to be inducted. I won't tell his story, but his and mine mesh in the timeline.
In the spring of 1968, we had both dropped out of our respective colleges, (Villanova for me, I don't remember where John was, Florida, maybe.) Neither of us was inclined to do the study part of school, though I must admit the parties, the girls, the ambiance was pretty neat.
But we did have a goal. We decided that we were going to go the Olympics in Mexico City. Never mind that neither of us spoke Spanish, had passports or a dollar. We were done with college and all we had to do was make a little money and Viva Mexico!
My mother - when I finally got up the courage to tell her I was not going back to Villanova for the spring semester - was good about it. "Fine," she said. "Then you can pay me rent. No college, no free ride."
I hadn't factored that in, and after a month of thinking about it and trying to pay her $20 a week, I took the Jamestown bus down to JCC to sign up for some classes. I took the bus because sons who don't go to college also don't get their mom's car to use. At least not in the Fitzgerald family.
And so, while I was going to JCC, I filed to keep my student deferment. Seemed like a bright idea, given how many people were being drafted.
Fast forward to spring 1970. In the ensuing time I had gotten married and my wife was pregnant with my now 35-year-old son on the way. And, from a draft deferment standpoint, my number had come up in the lottery - 330, I think.
So one afternoon I wandered into the draft board in Fredonia, where Gertrude Mampf (Can anyone forget a name like that?) sat as clerk of the draft board. I went in to be a good scout, to let the draft board now that I had a change in my life - I was now married, though I understood that the married deferments had disappeared a year or two before.
Gertrude pulled my file and realized that I had been sitting with a student deferment since 1966 - but was still at a two-year college.
Her little round body (ok, it wasn't that little) shook with joy when she said I was headed for the Army. I pointed out that I had a high number in the lottery but she just grinned and said to watch the mail for a nastygram from Selective Service.
Sure enough, a week later I had a notice signed by her and the head of the draft board to show up for a physical, and after all the tales about that circus (Doug Hooper has arguably the best stories, though read Jim Carr's on the discussion list) I had to change my shorts several times before I finally took the bus to Buffalo,. There I went the through the whole thing, peeing in plastic cups, getting weighed and measured, etc...
And I was convinced that Gertrude was fixing my records while I was getting poked and prodded to make sure that the next haircut I got was more than a trim.
At the end of the day, sitting in room full of pretty depressed guys, the officer in charge did a roll call and asked us what our numbers were in the lottery.
Until he got to the Fs in the alphabet, the highest number I heard was 39. When he called 'Fitzgerald' and I sang out '330' I thought my life was in serious danger.
No one else in the room had a number over 50.
So I didn't get drafted, though if Gertrude Mampf had her way, I might have had a very different life, or maybe no life.
Was she just a mean butt-head, angry because the world passed her by and she was stuck as clerk of draft boad?
Well, on the bus ride back from the Buffalo, I sat with a fellow who was so depressed he was considering just jumping out of the bus emergency door, in front of the oncoming traffic.
In conversation, I told him about my close call and how if Gertrude had had her way, I'd be history.
"Yeah," he said. "Tell me about it. I dated her daughter for awhile."
I don't know if he dated her daughter or not, I only knew that I went home that night and hugged my wife and prayed that Gertrude was busy mucking up someone else's life and that my lottery number would protect me.
By August no draft notice had shown up, through I did get a document - on my birthday, July 10 - telling me that I was officially 1-A status as far as Selective Service was concerned and to be ready for an induction notice.
I didn't notify Gertrude - or the draft board - when I left Jamestown in August to move to California's wine country.
It just didn't seem like a smart thing to do, number 330 in the lottery or not.
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