I turned 18 in the Spring of 1973, and as required, filled out my Selective Service paperwork and sent it in. My Draft Lottery Number was drawn and I was supposed to report a few days before Thanksgiving. By then, Kissinger had negotiated the end of it, but I called down to my local recruiting office, and got hold of a been-around Army sergeant:
He's says, 'Son are you and Appointee to West Point? Have you already signed up otherwise?'
'No sir'.
'Well, son, they're about to start sending men home, and I'm not taking anybody right now, but if we need you, we'll call you'.
I turned 71 a while back, and I doubt they're going to call, they haven't so far.
I'd have gone, but I gotta admit I wasn't looking forward to it.
And oh yeah, rich kids didn't go, they'd all get deferments. Poor people somehow didn't. I saw it over and over.
I was 5 years old in 1960, and the whole world was like Ozzie & Harriet and Leave It To Beaver. I was 15 in 1970, and after the Kennedy and MLK killings, drugs, hippies, Nixon, Viet Nam, liberation for all kinds of subsets of the population, Civil Rights, Duck and Cover and The Cuban Missile Crisis, and the vast changes in music from Elvis to The Beatles and the British Invasion, Soul music, Motown, Stax, the Summer of Love and the whole West Coast music, well, anybody that didn't live through it has NO clue how the whole of American turned upside down and inside out the way it did in 10 years.