#draft board

Draftee Daffy (WB, 1945) - dir. Bob Clampett

And what I wonder now is, what will I say if sometime during the four-day meeting of the Four Hundredth Engineers some friendly nostalgic old soldier comes up to the desk and wants to know, old buddy, how it was with me back then? What the hell do I say and keep peace in the house?

Some forty years ago I spent what seemed hours trying to get it said to my draft board, ending up with one line, an obscenity, that neither then nor now could be considered as well spoken by a man of peace.

Well, old buddy …

Maybe he won’t listen. God knows the draft board didn’t. They talked and I listened.

There were five of them in a little, dirty store-front building on a side street, with folding metal chairs, like a store-front church, the flag, big, against one wall, as incongruous as would have been the cross, and the five men, true and belligerent believers all—be not deceived, this is a holy business we’re about—fat men, all but one, and all with large rings, glittering watches on their wrists, jeweled tie-clasps, cuff-links—I somehow remember this—their girth and the signs of affluence so at odds with the bus station smell, the common dirt, the bare-but-for-the-flag evidence of pure grassroots democracy at work. One big, fat, unfriendly bastard did most of the talking.

(The question, theoretically, was not whether or not the pacifist position was defensible, but whether or not the individual appearing before the board was, in their mutual estimation, a pacifist sincere. Only that.)

I had expected at least a certain pari-legal formality, civility. It was not to be.I was made to sit in a small folding chair at what seemed the room’s center, while my questioner stood and walked about, and the others, uneasily, it seemed, grouped themselves in a half circle facing me, more as though spectators to the event than as participants, but standing also, so that —it seemed—my youth and their adulthood might the better be established. Perhaps this was accident. In truth, except for the angry man questioning me, no one seemed to know exactly what it was that was supposed to be going on or how to go about it.

I remember that I had no idea what to do with my hands. I held them, unnaturally, in my lap.

What was going on, I soon realized, was a kind of inquisition meant to unman me.

By and large, it did.

I had not anticipated so loud a voice, such obvious anger, unbridled contempt; so aggressive an attack so heatedly advanced.

(It seemed to surprise the others, too, but nothing was said.)

Equally, also, with his hostility, the man’s stupidity unnerved me, for he pressed his attack through only the most obvious and familiar of cliches, and with a strange sincerity, as though he really believed these arguments were of his own discovering and were then and there new to the both of us, and must surely prove compelling on me in the end.

At the start, the fat man reminisced. I listened while he told me how it had been with him in World War One. Made a man of him right off, and no fault of his that it hadn’t been the war to end war after all. Still, an experience never to be forgotten, good friends who had died, given their lives, but that was the price. A price that any decent American would always be willing to pay. Which he would be willing to pay even yet.

Slowly he circled me as he spoke. Often his words came from behind me. It was as though I was blindfolded. In such a way, I thought, are thieves interrogated.

And what made me think I was so different, so special? he asked. Why, for instance, if I was religious, if—and he quoted—religious considerations entered into my petition for recognition as a conscientious objector to war, why, then, did I list my religious affiliation as none?

I was not allowed to reply. Obviously he considered me an imposter, and apparently not too bright a one.

He continued. So I didn’t like violence? He didn’t like it. But what would I do if someone—just think on this, boy—if someone came up and tried to rape my mother? (she was already dead, raped by an automobile.) Or my sister? Wasn’t it—the truth, son—simply that I was afraid?

“No sir.”

What, he wanted to know, was wrong with me that I was such a prey to fear, when all those other young men weren’t afraid, had the courage to do what had to be done? Why should they go and not me? Every man in that room had served. All my friends would be serving. How could I be so craven? Such a coward?

It disgusted him.

Or was it simply that I didn’t care for my country? Did I understand how the American people felt about traitors? Wetzel. A German-sounding name. Was I German? Did I speak German?

Or was I Jewish perhaps? They’re killing Jews over there. By the thousands. I wasn’t Jewish? Then maybe I didn’t care about the Jews? Was that it?

It was not.

A terrible thing, the man said, that people would go that far against the Jews.

Then back to me, as though such an exercise in compassion had redoubled his anger. But—and think, now boy—what would happen to this country if everyone felt as I did? Just think real hard about that.

He paused that I might think about it.

I said a few stumbling, ineffectual words about Gandhi, Debs, Thoreau.

He didn’t care what they thought; he wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me.

(I wondered then, and I have wondered since, how much of such shit is a nineteen-year-old youth supposed to be able to deal with intelligently?)

He put his face down in mine, and his breath stunk. He was fed up. What was I anyhow, a bed wetter?

And then in tears I hated, was wretchedly ashamed of, tears of simple hurt, but tears of anger, frustration, shame at my failure, too—I had expected more of myself, if not of him, and I had just sat there, a boy— handing him back the piece of paper he had shoved at me, a treasured momento, a letter, signed by a World War One Major General, I think, I answered him finally. “What have I got to say?” (Through my tears, goddamn it!) “About this? Oh, shit. I don’t know. Shove it up your ass.”

That was it. The five went off in a corner, out of earshot, to talk it over. To hell with it. I’d go to prison. I’d thought it the better way all along.

..

But—and God forbid that it had to do with my tears—in their huddled conference they decided, up the leader’s ass or not, that I was sincere."

2019 NHL draft top 100 prospect rankings

Here is my final ranking of the top 100 players for the 2019 NHL draft, which begins with Round 1 on June 21 in Vancouver, British Columbia.

Each ranked prospect includes a scouting report, with a more comprehensive look at the top 10 names on the board.

Note: Heights and weights are via Central Scouting and/or NHL combine testing, stats are from Elite Prospects and ages are representative of…

2019 NHL draft top 50 prospect rankings

As the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs draw to an end, we begin to look ahead to the 2019 NHL draft. Prospect seasons are either over or ending shortly, leaving interviews and the scouting combine as the last two major steps in the process before the league descends on Vancouver, British Columbia, for the draft on June 21.

Here my top 50 players for the NHL draft, updated from my Feb.…

2018 NFL Draft: What Cowboys Look For In LBs

As we continue to move through the Cowboys’ positions of need and construct their overall draft board, we now take a look at what Dallas tends to look for in linebackers.

The Cowboys have some real questions to answer within their linebacker corps this offseason. Sean Lee is an obvious stud, but his injury history makes him a bit unreliable. Jaylon Smith began to come along later in the season,…

Discover Draft board Industry Market Report including Historical and Future Trends, 2012-2022

For Full Report Click On @ https://www.reportsandmarkets.com/reports/global-draft-board-industry-report-1481804 The Reports and Markets provide this report is an essential reference for those who look for detailed information on global Draft board market. The report covers data on national, regional, and global markets including historical and future trends for supply, demand, prices, trading,…