[If I'm correct, this Thanksgiving is the first in 20 years that US is not in a declared war. While we take this with a grain of salt, it is appreciated nonetheless by someone like me who really detests conflict and war. Every generation in my family (in US) for a the last 120 years has been born to parents who lived in traumatic war-times of varying degree.
I protested the Vietnam War. At age 18 (Dec. 1968) by law I registered for the "draft" (the Selective Service System) but enjoyed a deferment as long as I was in school/college. In those days, I had friends being called up, some going off, and I recall at least one neighbor who came back with a major injury. Two close relatives went to Nam. I was not going to.
As it happened, the draft went to a lottery system during my first year in college and every male was assigned a number (randomly drawn on the floor of Congress, broadcast on the radio!). I heard a pretty good number for myself, #156, which meant, on average, I would be much less likely to be called up (once my deferment lapsed).
I jump-started that process when I voluntarily dropped out of school about two years later, sending a letter to my local board, waiving my deferment and saying "put me in the pool" -- again -- I did not anticipate being called (and if you were passed by once, you would never be called up).
A few weeks later I got the letter we all dreaded that stated, "You have been selected by a board composed of your friends and neighbors..."
Turns out my one big mistake was not hearing my number correctly over the radio. My number was 56 (not 156!), and I was invited to my induction physical about 30 days hence. If you pass the physical, off you go - that day - into the Army. I began shitting bricks.
I weighed the choice of going to Canada, but instead chose to try for medical deferment on two counts - one of which was real, a prior accident/knee surgery (that's what their physicians eventually rejected me for).
But I had to go to the induction physical. Only seeing the specialist at the very end of the day did I find out I was rejected.
We finally arrive at the COOL MUSIC TO VAPE TO.
-and the rest of my tale...
Just about the biggest underground T-day tradition is the playing of Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant, often broadcast at noon on many radio stations.
I have a particular affinity, some of it is reflected in my long introduction here.
Arlo's physical was in Whitehall Street, lower Manhattan.
Mine was at Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn just a couple of miles from his.
Arlo came up with a crazy scheme to get out and, at least in legend, it worked.
My alternate angle for a physical rejection was the use of a yoga exercise that raises the blood pressure. I was checked in the morning, put on a list to come back later (they could hold you and keep checking for 3 days...) but the bad knee made that a moot point.
Arlo's father was Woody Guthrie, the iconic American folk singer.
My father was a singer and a musician; I am, too (mostly guitar, some piano).
So, I have listened to Alice's Restaurant every Thanksgiving Day for the past 50+ years. Sometimes I put it on during our family dinner, play it to a captive audience. But lately, I've turned to sitting quietly and hearing it undisturbed. I never get through it without voluminous tears. I think of all the people hurt by wars, all the damage done and the trauma of war that reverberates through a culture...
I hope the above can give a context to this "talking blues" in story-telling style.
Arlo makes comedy of it, but this was serious stuff.
"You may know someone in a similar situation -- or you may be in a similar situation -- and all you gotta do is..."]