In June of 1968, a month after graduating from Macalester College, I was drafted to fight a war I hated. I was twenty-one years old. Young, yes, and politically naive, but even so the American war in Vietnam seemed to me wrong.
The draft notice arrived on June 17, 1968. It was a humid afternoon, I remember, cloudy and very quiet, and I'd just come in from a round of golf. My mother and father were having lunch out in the kitchen. I remember opening up the letter, scanning the first few lines, feeling the blood go thick behind my eyes.
I spent the summer of 1968 working in an Armour meatpacking plant in my hometown of Worthington, Minnesota.
he left toward canada
the old man let him take refuge with him for several days, no questions asked
the old man gave him a chioce, swim to canada or go back home. he chose to go home.