Every time I hear “Sky Pilot” by Eric Burdon and the Animals it hits me in the gut.

I graduated from high school in 1971, not yet eligible for the draft. In 1972 I turned 18. The war was winding down, and the number of American soldiers ‘in country’ was significantly reduced from the peak in 1968. Still, the word on the street was that young draftees were being sent to the front lines to replace the guys who had survived tours of combat and wanted to go home in one piece. The young grunts were easy meat for the more experienced and war-tough Viet Cong.

A great Marine recruiter had approached us senior boys at my high school before graduation, and I thought about enlisting, but after graduation, with help from my dad and my young wife, I was able to afford college and bypass military service.

1972 was my first year eligible for the draft lottery, and my number was 228. That year only the first 95 birthdates were drafted.

I was relieved, of course, at the time. Still, I had a gnawing ache that so many of my brothers had served and died in ‘Nam, and I didn’t. I saw the war protests on the nightly news, along with the reports of guys returning from the war being vilified as “baby killers”.

To this day, over 50 years later, there is a special place in my heart for Vietnam vets, who served our nation in that ugly war, without really knowing how their spilled blood made a damn bit of difference in the USA. Some were driven by pure patriotism, and some were just unfortunate draftees. All of them laid it on the line for their buddies.

Throughout our history, America has lost many brave young men on the battlefields, including more recent conflicts in the Middle East. Some Americans would have us send our young to Ukraine for God knows what purpose. I’m a patriot, and have reverence for all of our lost soldiers and war veterans. But I don’t ever want to experience the national heartache of the pointless Vietnam War again.

Tom