As a young teenager, coming of age in a small southern California town in 1972, the war in Vietnam was probably not a high priority subject in Dave’s life. In fact, those thoughts never crossed his mind until the day he received a notice from the federal government that he was required to register for the draft within 7 days from the date of the notice. With no end in sight in the de-escalation of even more troops being sent to Southeast Asia, along with the draft being reinstated in 1969, young men were told they had to register for military service. The alternative was to refuse, under penalty of law, register as a conscientious objector or consider going to Canada. Now, almost anywhere else in the United States you didn’t have to worry about the government tracking you down, patriotic supporters of the war in Vietnam would have done that for free and you would have been arrested for treason, or worse. A week before graduation, military recruiters had already visited his high school trying to entice voluntary enlistment by offering special incentives like cash bonuses for specified job skills or free college money. Of course, they failed to mention that that offer came with the threat of being shot, killed or captured by the enemy.
Dave, despite a difficult, un-supporting homelife, had a gentle nature. When not hanging out with other schoolmates at the center sharing the latest jokes, shooting a game of darts or being teased about his long hair, he preferred nature. No matter what challenges he may have encountered, on any given day, Dave knew he could find a haven of safety and solitude on any of the woodland trails he frequented. He could sit for hours in a patch of soft green ferns or a field of fragrant wildflowers, amazed at the expanse of life that surrounded him. He didn’t need bonus money, a dull green uniform or a cold hard black rifle to complete his world. And he didn’t need Vietnam.
Dave had to take a step back in shock. “Who the hell is this?”
Dave already knew of someone that had returned from a 13-month tour in Vietnam, a friend of his that went over as a Chaplain. Alan Farie felt he could use his recent graduation from the Santa Barbara seminary institute to quell some of the life and death issues soldiers would have to face in an active combat zone. Dave had just entered his senior year when Alan enlisted. Alan and Dave had formed a friendship several years ago because both had grown up in cold, distant and dysfunctional family settings. Parents that seem to care more about their careers and social status, children were considered an unfortunate liability.
When Dave found out that his friend had returned, he went to visit. When Alan answered the door, after several persistent knocks, Dave had to take a step back in shock. “Who the hell is this?” he immediately thought. The stranger who now stood in the place where his friend used to be, frightened him. Alan had left California a bright, intelligent seminary graduate. A smile or kind word to all he met despite his difficult childhood where the only measure of value was a dollar sign. Vibrant suntanned skin and shoulder length dark blond hair had been stolen by the trauma of jungle warfare, leaving only scars, three-day old beard stubble and a buzzed flattop.
In a low, almost menacing tone the man in the doorway growled, “Do I know you?” After a few seconds, which seemed to last an eternity a wave of recognition washed across his face. “It’s good to see you Dave. Everyone else I know is afraid to come over here, not even a damn phone call-nothing! I can’t say as I blame ‘em. My brother John did visit a few times, I guess he’s worried about how little I leave the house. To be honest, between the protesting and the noise, I don’t want to leave the damn house, I just want to be left alone. Hell, even your folks ducked into the beauty parlor when I came walking down main street the other day. It’s too bad the grocery store won’t deliver.”
Dave shrugged his shoulders as he lowered his head. Glancing up to meet his friends stare he faltered, his voice now subdued, “Well, they never did care about either one of us anyway, or any of my other choices in friends. When I received my notice to go and register for the draft all my dad could mumble is, “Should we care?” My mom didn’t say a word but, I could see by her expression that she felt the same way.
In an almost pleading manner Alan spoke in a resounding tone. “Don’t do it! Leave town, leave the country, do whatever it is you have to do but, don’t do it, please.”
folks had to coax me out from under a pile of scrap lumber when a car backfired
Leaning back to take a deep breath, Dave stuck his hands deep into his pants pockets. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Do you remember Alex, he lives three houses down from us, he offered one of his seats in his VW van? He says he knows about a side road out of town, somewhere up east of a town called Blaine.” Feeling at ease, now that Alan seemed to relax a little Dave took one hand out of his pocket and thumbed a gesture toward the street. “Why don’t we go down to the center, maybe throw a game of darts? It’s only a few blocks.”
Brushing past his friend as he closed the door behind him, Alan cocked his head, a slight smile beginning to form. “I have to warn you. Last week I went downtown, folks had to coax me out from under a pile of scrap lumber when a car backfired. I guess 13 months of performing church services during an enemy mortar attack will have that effect on a body. During one Sunday service we had a firefight erupt in the middle of our prayers, I was offering communion and penance with one hand and last rites with the other.
After spending most of the day reconnecting with his friend Alan, Dave was unsuccessful in obtaining any further details about the past 13 months. Even when Alan’s brother, John stopped in for a visit, all he got out of him is, “You know, he just won’t talk about it, so it’s best not to ask. Whatever happened over there-has to stay over there.”
A week later Dave was sitting at the bus stop in front of the local drugstore waiting for the number 47 to take him down to sign up his draft card at the public works building. He had spent the last three days trying to consider all options. There were only three. He didn’t want to leave his country; he knew very little about immigration laws in Canada. His friend Alex who had offered a seat in his van was extremely vague about what happens if they did manage to cross an international border, illegally. The possibility of becoming a federal fugitive, according to the warning on his notice didn’t appeal to him either. Of course, if his number got picked, he’d be on his way to foreign soil anyway. In the end, it really boiled down to being able to live with himself. If he didn’t go and someone else was sent in his place, could he live with that? He knew the answer to that one.
Mr. Alder, who owned the corner drugstore had waved a friendly hello from inside when he noticed Dave walk up and take a seat on the bus stop bench. Coming out say hello and take a break he stood beside the bench holding a tobacco pipe. After tapping his pipe bowl on the corner of the backrest he clenched it between his teeth and re-lit it. Looking over Dave’s shoulder he took notice of the paper Dave was holding, he knew it was draft registration notice. Reaching down, he gently took the registration paper out of Dave’s shaking hand.
“Don’t need this no more. Ain’t you heard; they’ve done rescinded the draft?”
Dave turned his head to look up at Mr. Alder, with a questioning expression. “What are talking about?”
Handing the notice back he laid a reassuring hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Ain’t you heard, it’s in all the papers. They’re not sending anymore of our boys over there, at least by drafting them.”
***
Dave, like many other young men were faced with a difficult decision in 1972. Despite the growing opposition to the war in Vietnam, much of the public were still in favor of the United States continuing to send troops into Southeast Asia. Protests that had started out as peaceful gatherings were now turning violent. A small Bank of America branch was burned to the ground in Santa Barbara when local anti-war protesters found out that the bank supported the U.S. involvement in Vietnam. Many young men did leave the country, even though Canada was beginning to feel the strain from the influx of people crossing their borders to escape being sent to fight in a war they opposed. Others chose to stay and protest by burning their draft card along with many others who felt the same way. Canada was also feeling political pressure from the U.S. congress. The draft was due to expire in 1971, President Nixon asked congress for a two year extension, which California got amended to 1972. In April 1973 the last helicopter left the U.S. embassy. The official end of the Vietnam War was not until 1975. How many Children of “72” are still left?