Chapter 29: The Letter

THE NEXT WEEK, Ronda and I packed up and headed for Tenbrook early Saturday morning. We went through Rockford to pick up Anna and were in Tenbrook well before noon. Then I dropped the two girls off at their parents’ homes for a visit and picked up Patricia and Toni to go down to visit my parents. We’d agreed on this delayed birthday celebration because of our trip to Canada on my birthday weekend.

Dad gave me a quick hug and then had Toni in his arms to love on as the little girl giggled and tugged at Dad’s new beard. I guess I was being a bad influence on my father.

Mom and Kat hugged Patricia and me, welcoming us home and wishing me happy birthday. They had a birthday dinner prepared even though we usually ate more heavily at night than at noon. Mom made my favorite beef stroganoff and we had fun telling about the place in Canada and how school was going. Patricia and Kat jumped up to clear the table and do the dishes. Kat was maturing more each time I saw her and looked like a young lady as she joked and talked with Patricia. I took Toni into the living room and sat with Mom and Dad.

“You have mail you should attend to,” Mom said, handing me a batch of envelopes, some of which had been forwarded from Tenbrook. My eye went immediately to an envelope from the Selective Service.

“What do these bastards want?” I said beneath my breath.

“Language, Nate,” Mom said. Might know she’d be able to hear me. Dad took Toni from me so I had both hands free.

I opened the letter and read through it. Then I read it again as it wrinkled in my hands, I was gripping it so hard. I stood up and left the room without saying anything. I went out the kitchen door and then I started in.

“Goddamn fucking son of a bitch! You filthy assholes! You should have your heads cut off and shoved up your asses. You goddamned fucking bastards! Fuck you all to hell. God damn it!”

I went on for a while, but I didn’t know that many curse words, so it was really repetitive. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Patricia next to me with tears running down her cheeks. I guess I was crying, too. I hadn’t noticed that until the tears spattered on the letter. Patricia gently took it from me and read the contents. Then she handed the letter through the door to Mom and collapsed against me, crying.

“We ... have a home in Canada,” I gasped. “We ... need to ... pack.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” Dad said coming through the back door and pulling Patricia and me against him in a hug. “We can still fight it. It’s not an induction notice, it’s a reclassification. Appeal it.”

I nodded, choking back my tears. A lot of people had a lot to answer for and I intended to name them all. Mom stood up from where she’d been kneeling on the kitchen floor inside the door. Kat held Toni and our little girl was puckering up to cry. Patricia rushed to comfort her and I hugged Mom and Kat.

We all went back to the living room and sat down.

To Nate Hart, birthdate 9/27/1949:

It has come to the attention of your Local Selective Service Board that the college in which you are enrolled, Columbia College, is not an accredited institution. Therefore, your college deferment is ruled to be invalid. Since you are now twenty years old, you will be reclassified I-A and eligible for induction into the United States military forces on January 1, 1970.

You have thirty days from the date of this letter to appeal your reclassification. Please state your intent to appeal and request a hearing before your local selective service board if you wish to appeal.

Sincerely,

Clyde Warren, Secretary

Hunter County Selective Service Board

“How can they even be called a college if they aren’t accredited?” I asked. “They sent the official forms in. I have copies.”

“That’s the first place you need to get information from,” Mom said. She had a pad of paper and was writing down notes as we talked. “The second is to fight any change of classification that originates with Clyde Warren. If I were a betting woman, I’d lay money that none of the rest of the board has reviewed this decision.”

“Number two-A,” I said. “Talk to Miss Ludwig. She’s been researching the demographics of selections since Warren joined the draft board, compared to before.”

“Get a lawyer,” Patricia said. “That’s something Tony and I just didn’t consider. Get someone who understands the draft law to represent you before the board. Don’t try to go in alone. Beth’s father will know someone good.”

“Number four ... maybe move it to number one. File your intent to appeal with the Board and make sure it goes to each member. If Clyde Warren is the secretary of the Board, he probably sees every letter that comes into the office and filters out what he doesn’t want others to see,” Dad said.

“Number five, take me to Canada with you,” Kat said. “I don’t want to lose my brother and my sisters.” She hugged Patricia.

“We might just start a colony,” Dad said.

We all laughed a little at that.

The birthday cake celebration was a little somber, but I choked down a slab of German chocolate cake and ice cream. After hugs all around, Patricia, Toni, and I headed back to Tenbrook.

I swung by the library, not remembering when it closed on Saturday. It was four o’clock and we got there just as Miss Ludwig was locking the door.

“Nate! How good to see you,” she said when she saw me.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in lately, but it’s been hard to get free from Chicago since we got back from Las Vegas.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve been busy,” she said.

“I hate to ask about the research you were doing on the draft demographics in the county,” I sighed.

“That’s what has kept me so busy. That kind of information is difficult to track down. It’s there, but they don’t exactly publish it. And since the research definitely points to interference by our former constable, I didn’t want to approach the board directly.”

“It does point to Warren?” I said hopefully.

“Oh, yes.”

“I got a letter from him this week. He’s reclassified me as I-A, effective the first of the year because my college isn’t accredited.”

“Be thankful the county fulfilled its quota for this year already. I’m sure he would have made the reclassification effective immediately if it wasn’t.”

“I have to file an appeal and appear before the board before November 11. I plan to get a lawyer.”

“I will package up all the material I’ve found. Your hunch was dead on. Since Clyde Warren joined the board, every minority male who became eligible for the draft has been inducted. Our generally white county hasn’t noticed it because only fifteen percent of our population is racial minority. But Caucasians are drafted at a rate of one out of five. Blacks at a rate of five out of five.”

“You have my new address. I’m definitely going to fight this. We own a home in Canada now, but I’d rather not be forced to move there as a fugitive.”

Patricia and I went to the hotel and called Ronda and Anna. They were with us in fifteen minutes.

“Those imbeciles!” Ronda screeched when she’d read the letter.

“When do we move?” Anna asked.

“Those were my exact reactions, only with more profanity and a lot of tears,” I chuckled. My stomach was still tied in a knot and I wondered how long I was going to have acid burning in my throat. I grabbed another Rolaids from the bottle my mom gave me before we left Sage. It wasn’t fair for this news to upset me after my favorite meal and favorite cake.

“What’s next?” Patricia asked.

“I’m going to call Jordan,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be able to direct me to a good lawyer. And I suppose I’d better let Uncle Nate know, too. I just need to be calm when I talk to him.”

“He does kind of come in with guns blazing,” Ronda giggled.

I called and talked to Jordan, even though it was dinner time on Saturday. He said he’d find me an attorney, but that I might not hear until sometime on Monday. That was good. I was going into the provost’s office on Monday morning and raise holy hell. Then I called Uncle Nate.

“This is the same guy who gave you problems when he was constable, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. After he was fired from the village, he somehow got a job with the draft board. He led the effort to deny me my conscientious objector status when I appeared after my eighteenth birthday. I’m pretty sure he manipulated things to get Tony drafted so fast after graduation. We believe he’s been manipulating the call up to make sure all minority kids are called first.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Uncle Nate, please don’t confront him. At least not yet. We have several strategies for appealing and possibly for getting him fired again.”

“Oh, I won’t do anything illegal. He simply needs to know he can’t get away with this shit. I’ll talk to your father before I do anything.”

“Okay.”

I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Dad could come up with some pretty wild ideas. Like threatening the town with a civil rights march with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. if they didn’t get rid of Warren as constable. He had great ideas, but they weren’t always something he could make happen.

I wasn’t the most enthusiastic person about returning to Chicago on Sunday afternoon. We dropped Anna off in Rockford after ‘camping’ for an hour along the way. Having had my cock in Patricia Saturday night and Anna Sunday afternoon made me feel a lot better. Ronda promised me time that night, which we really made the most of. Just sleeping with her cuddled next to me helped settle my stomach.

Beth called about midnight from Atlanta. She was adamant that I had to fight it no matter what. She was sure she knew who her father would recommend as a lawyer and said I should follow his instructions to the letter. We were counting down the days now. She’d be home in two months.

I was shaking outside the provost’s door at seven-thirty Monday morning. I’d met Dr. Ranger before and he greeted me by name in the hall and invited me in. When we were seated, I simply handed him the letter from the Selective Service, which he read thoroughly.

“This isn’t right, Nate.”

“You mean Columbia is accredited?” I asked.

“That is a term that is still being argued over. There has been no requirement to have an independent accreditation for colleges. Especially colleges of the arts. The Illinois Board of Higher Education, established in the early forties, granted Columbia a certification to offer bachelor degrees in several fields. We are candidates for accreditation through the North Central Association Higher Learning Commission, but that process is a lengthy one and may not be completed for two to four years yet. It does nothing to devalue the degrees offered here under the certification from the IBHE. If we were not certified, you would not have been eligible for the State Grant that helps pay your tuition.”

“But the letter is correct then, and Columbia is not accredited.”

“Yes. You need to be aware, though, that there is no requirement for accreditation in order to be granted a student deferment. Our attorneys went through this with the State Selective Service Board and they confirmed that our students would be deferred as long as they meet certain requirements, of which you are well within,” Dr. Ranger said.

“I’m appealing this, of course,” I said. His explanation had helped calm me down and I was no longer shaking. “Can I depend on the college to cooperate with my attorney in defending my deferment?”

“Absolutely. I will personally respond to this letter and will forward a copy to you and your attorney. Let’s make a copy of the letter and I’ll put together a package. What is your attorney’s name?”

“I just received this notification Saturday and have not met with an attorney yet, but my girlfriend’s father is putting me in contact with one this afternoon,” I said.

“Good. Here is my card. Have him contact me directly.”

I was late to my chemistry lecture, but stopped afterward to explain the situation to my professor, who was sympathetic and noted that I was in good standing for both chemistry and chem lab. Both of which I found very interesting since I was mixing chemicals in the photo lab almost every day. I’d already found some techniques and precautions that I should be using and had begun wearing goggles when I was actually mixing the developer, stop bath, and fixative.

I went straight home after my last class at three o’clock and I’d no more than walked in the door when the phone rang and I met Lowell Graves, attorney at law. We set a time to meet at his downtown office on Tuesday afternoon.

“Mr. Graves, it’s nice to meet you,” I said. I was doubtful about that. Yes, he was obviously a lawyer, but he didn’t look any older than me. Surely you have to be in order to get through law school and pass that bar exam thing, don’t you?

“Please, just call me Lowell. Come on in, Nate. I’ll start off by answering your unspoken question.” He led me into his office and we sat on some comfortable furniture. He didn’t try to keep his desk between us. “I’m twenty-seven. I’ve been a lawyer for three years. I joined Jacoby and Associates as a probationary associate before I passed the bar. I’ve been here ever since. That dollar that’s framed on my wall? That’s the first lawsuit I won. We were awarded one dollar for attorney fees. My boss decided he’d just frame it and hang it on my wall. From then on, I get all cases for $10 or less.”

He laughed and I detected that he was making it into a joke. I laughed, too, but discounted the whole story. I’d seen the movie Barefoot in the Park with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda a couple of years ago. It was Redford’s line.

“The question is, can you get this draft thing reversed? The secretary of the Hunter County Selective Service Board is a racist enemy of mine who arranged to get my best friend drafted and killed. He’s been making sure every non-white in the county is drafted. My photos got him canned from his job as Village Constable in Tenbrook and now he’s out to get me,” I said, all in one breath.

Lowell took the letter and read it through. Then he looked at me so intently, I thought he might be reading my mind.

“No problem,” he said. “All we need to do is appeal the decision directly to the State Board. They’ve made it clear that even students in junior colleges and trade schools can be deferred. We can skip the local draft board completely.”

“But that still leaves this racist in power and puts all the guys in Hunter County at risk,” I said hotly. I intended to bring this bastard down. He killed my best friend and was manipulating the calls from Huntertown.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Lowell asked. “Here’s the thing: We can fight it at your local board and lose, then appeal to the state board, but you might be reclassified anyway as a resister and a threat. Jordan said you’re a conscientious objector, but the board put off making a decision while you’re in college. If we appear there, they will have to take up the matter again. It gives them the option of playing both sides. They reverse your classification of I-A and make you I-O, instead of giving you a II-S deferment. That would mean you are just as likely to be drafted into civilian service as you would be to be drafted into the army. Once you got your I-O classification, it wouldn’t make sense to appeal to the State Board.”

“But they would have to deal with the racist on the board,” I said.

“Probably. But not necessarily. You need to think: How did this guy who was fired as a constable end up in a government appointed job on the draft board? Some good old boy—either on the Board or in power to appoint—got him that job. They aren’t going to look kindly on being called out,” Lowell said.

“Who appoints the members?” I asked.

“The Director of the Selective Service, on behalf of the President. The director makes the appointment based on the recommendation of the governor or another equivalent public official. Could be a senator or representative. The governor who was in office when this guy was appointed resigned to become a judge. It would be hard to pin something intentional on him,” Lowell said.

I thought about the whole situation. It seemed like he’d get off unless we really dug up the dirt on him. I wasn’t sure how much of the evidence Miss Ludwig had gathered was just circumstantial and how much was hard evidence of wrong-doing. And even if I got rid of him, I could possibly still lose my deferment and be classified I-O. The application I made in the first place.

When I first applied, I was willing to start alternative service instead of going to college. I even thought it would be a good break and I’d earn a little money toward my education. When Tony was killed, Patricia gave me the peace symbol he’d given her. I considered it a vow to her as sacred as if we married. It had gotten me beaten twice. Yes, I was still willing to do alternative service and take a break from college. My photography business was doing well and I could continue to pick up courses in the future that would help me along. I didn’t really need a degree. I was only really in school for a deferment that I could afford and many guys my age couldn’t.

And that was really the crux of the matter. The draft preyed on the poor, and blacks, on average, had fewer financial resources and opportunities for continuing education. That left the balance of who was called distorted and out of whack with the population. A balance that was easy for a bastard like Clyde Warren to manipulate.

“No,” I said. “No, absolutely not. I am a conscientious objector. If I’m classified as one, that is the way it is. This guy needs to be held accountable for the pain he’s inflicting on others. It’s about racial and economic justice. I’ve been beaten twice for wearing a peace symbol. Being assigned a job emptying bedpans in a mental hospital is still better than serving in any branch of the US Armed Forces. I want to appeal before the local board.”

“Good. Then I’ll take the case,” he said.

“What?”

“If you were just in it to get a deferment and avoid service, I’d have drafted your letter to the State Board and washed my hands of you. But if you are willing to take the risk of being reclassified in order to bring down a racial bigot manipulating the draft, then I’ll join you and fight for you. Let’s start putting together our case.”

I was in for an intense few weeks. We got the package of research from Miss Ludwig and she mentioned that my Dad had been in to get some information from her, too. Uncle Nate called and said he and Dad were organizing support for us at my hearing, so get it set as soon as possible.

Lowell was not satisfied that any response would be made from the Board if we only sent a general letter that would have to go through the secretary. He sent certified letters to each member of the Board that required a signed receipt.

We were contacted with a date for appearing on November 7. Then it was all about putting together a logical transition from one point to another.

I asked Lowell what this was costing me, because I figured the check I got from my sale of photos to Adrienne and her sponsor was going to be spent on my draft appeal. He said not to worry about it. His direct expenses were being covered by a special defense fund and he was working pro bono.

“This travesty has been going on too long,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for a case that I could push for the end of the draft. If they can’t fill the army with volunteers, then they shouldn’t be off fighting an unjust and illegal war.”