50 what exactly happened between my friend and me. I don’t know if he finds the details distasteful or whether it’s just not important for him to know. Instead, he cuts right to the chase with what sounds like a prepared statement he always uses in situations like this. “I want you to know,” he says, “that many young men who have had homosexual relationships serve in the armed forces anyway and, as long as they keep it to themselves until they return to civilian life, they have no problem.” I stare straight at him, without expression, and let him continue. “I tell you this because this kind of deferment is a very serious thing and I want you to know that I have the discretion if you so choose to allow you to pass the physical anyway.” I act like I am giving his offer the serious consideration he thinks it deserves, and then, continuing to say as little as possible, I tell him, “It would not be my choice for you to ignore the letter.” “All right,” he says, quickly turning his attention to the forms in front of him and signaling that our interview is over. “I will report that you should be given a psychological deferment. You will be classified as 4-F.” After some final paperwork on another floor, I leave the Induction Center and go down the street to a place to eat that I noticed on my way in. I’m eager to get home to share my relief with Evy, but after so many hours under stress without food I have to get something to keep me going before I get back on a bus. The place is packed with other young guys who are there for the same reason so there are no completely free tables — only a few empty chairs next to people who are already eating. I scan the room and see a table for two that has one empty seat and a young Mexican-American just starting to wolf down a grilled cheese sandwich. I ask if I can join him, and he says it’s fine, so I sit down to eat a tuna sandwich and a banana to tide me over. We introduce ourselves. He says his name is Rafael, but a lot of people find it easier to just call him Ralph. He is medium height like I am but stockier. He says it took him a few hours by bus to get to the Induction Center from
CIRQUE the Central Valley where his father and mother work in the fields. He asks me if I was over at the Induction Center too and how did it go. “Fine,” I say. “No problems.” I don’t reveal more because I don’t know what he would think. “What about you?” I ask. “It went great!” he says, and breaks into a huge grin. “I have flat feet, and I was so afraid they weren’t going to take me. They saw my feet, but they decided to just let it go. My brother is in the army, and really I don’t know what I would do if they didn’t take me.”
Clifton Bates
Parallel Lines A Brief Memoir My dad, of course, had a much nicer fishing rod and spinning reel than I had. After he made a cast, I liked to hear the bail on his reel make the nice, solid clack when it shut as he started to wind in his line. Especially in the evening when the lake was calm and the sounds of people talking somewhere on the lake carried in the night air as I slowly rowed our way back to our cabin as he made casts. The only other sounds besides the distant voices and the clack of his bail were the wooden oars in the metal oarlocks and the occasional rustle of water around the bow. It was a large lake filled with a variety of fish. Some wooded areas, cabins, and a few nice homes were along its shore. It hadn’t been poisoned and stocked with hatchery trout as most of the lakes in the area had been. There were perch, largemouth bass, catfish, suckers, silvers and rainbows. Sometimes we would anchor and still fish for perch, catfish or suckers. In the evening we would cast a surface lure toward shore in a lagoon with lily pads looking for a strike from a largemouth bass, or we would slowly troll across the lake with a spinner or Flatfish for silvers or rainbow trout. My dad was certain these fish were wilder, tasted better, fought harder, and were healthier than the hatchery fish which he scorned. My spinning reel had a half bail which seemed to be the cause of many tangles and frequent loops and knots in my line. My dad’s was a full bail, and he seldom had issues with snarls. Often he would continue with his casts while
