CHAPTER 2
Some folks are born made to wave the flag. Ooh, they’re red, white and blue. And when the band plays “Hail to the Chief.” Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord – “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)
One of the things that impressed me the most about my friend, Ted, was that he’d gone to Europe for a couple of months before we graduated from high school. I envied his stories about hitchhiking, camping, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. To me, it sounded exotic and romantic. I saw him as a modern-day Jack Kerouac, and I was intrigued.
Ted talked a lot about a guy named David O’Connor, a lively Irishman from Dublin whom he met somewhere in Germany. They had traveled together for a while and had many adventures, some of them with the local girls, most of them in a drunken state. Hearing these stories about life on the road made me long to have similar experiences. The idea of sticking out my thumb and waiting to see what came along really appealed to me.
One day, to our great surprise, David showed up on the doorstep of our apartment. He had hitchhiked from New York City to Los Angeles in only three days, and he told us how lucky he was to have pulled it off with only four rides. A couple of long haul truck drivers who had been heading in that direction took him most of the way.
David arrived with a small, weather-beaten, cardboard sign he’d made with only one word on it: WEST. He used that sign to hitchhike across America. We tacked it up on our living room wall and laughed about it for days. The three of us hit it off right away, and we had a great time for the next few weeks just drinking and hanging out together.
Our friends fell in love with David. None of us had ever met anyone quite like him. He was a completely charming Irishman, who looked a lot like a young Rod Stewart, his idol, and he even acted a bit like him too. David was tall and skinny with wiry, light brown hair. He was very mischievous, over-the-top dramatic, and always a real hoot to be around. Rod Stewart’s record “Every Picture Tells a Story” was constantly on the turntable in the apartment, with David often lip-synching and striking classic Stewart poses.
“I took the money I had in the bank along with the cash I stole and bought some American Express traveler’s checks.”
On one warm evening, the three of us were out on the balcony where we had a water bed. We were rolling around on it, drinking beer, and watching the movie “Casablanca.” We started talking about life on the road and the allure of faraway places like Casablanca as well as the rest of Africa.
It had been about two weeks since I’d gotten my lottery number, and the stress about my future was overwhelming. I was trying to figure out what to do if the Selective Service ordered me to report for duty. With such a low number, I was sure they were going to draft me. I was slowly coming to the realization that leaving the country was the only real solution. Now I just needed to decide where to go and how to get there.
David and Ted suggested that I go to Europe, and their stories of traveling around the continent made it sound pretty inviting. A lot of people in my situation were going to Canada, but I preferred the idea of doing something entirely different.
I had the same feeling that you get on a roller coaster. It was a lot like the sensation of slowly going uphill, reaching the crest, and having your breath sucked away as you hurtle downward. I could feel an empty pit in my stomach every time I thought about what I was about to do, and I thought about it almost all of the time.
One thing I had going for me was my new job. I had quit Gerlach’s Liquor Store and found employment in the electric shaver shop at a major department store. It was a job I’d just fallen into thanks to a friend of mine who was the manager.
After working there for a few months and learning how to sell and repair every brand of electric shaver, my friend began teaching me how to steal money from the place. It started out simply enough, but it quickly escalated once I got better at it. Basically, the scam was to repair a customer’s shaver and keep the money, without leaving any record of the repair.
Of course, our real job was to sell the customer a new shaver instead of repairing his old one, but by pocketing the repair charges it was possible to pick up hundreds of extra dollars a week. Besides, we still sold plenty of new shavers, so nobody missed the money. The shop was a busy place, and business was very good.
“It started sinking in that I was about to leave the United States, and it was entirely possible that I might not ever be able to return.”
Often, a customer would stop by the counter with his old shaver that had stopped running or was just giving him a lousy shave. We’d tell him to do some shopping and come back in about 30 minutes. Usually, if I just took the thing apart, blew out the dirt and sprayed some lubricant on it, it ran as good as new. I would charge the guy whatever amount I felt I could get away with.
Occasionally, if the customer needed a new part, like a new set of blades, I’d only ring up the blades while pocketing the money I charged him for the labor. It was a foolproof way to steal, because I wasn’t taking any merchandise. I was just keeping the money I earned from my own labor. That made it easy to rationalize, and I didn’t really feel guilty about it.
A few months later, my friend who got me the job quit, and I was promoted to manager of the shaver shop. Now I was doing all of the repairs myself, and the money was adding up quickly. On some weeks, I brought home nearly $300 on top of my regular paycheck.
Everything was happening really fast since I made up my mind to leave the country. I’d gotten rid of most of my personal belongings, and my parents let me store the rest at their house. By the time I quit my job at the shaver shop, I had about $3,000 in an envelope under my mattress.
I took the money I had in the bank along with the cash I stole and bought some American Express traveler’s checks. Then I bought an airplane ticket on Icelandic Airlines to Luxembourg. David and Ted had told me about the airline’s low prices. Icelandic Airlines was a very popular way to travel to Europe because they sold a round-trip ticket from New York to Luxembourg for about $300, and the return trip was good for a year.
Ted was pretty confident that I could get some kind of work in Europe. David was going back to Ireland soon and said he would help me out any way he could, including letting me stay with him for a while.
On the day my passport arrived in the mail, it really began to hit home how extreme my plan was and how close it was to actually happening. It started sinking in that I was about to leave the United States, and it was entirely possible that I might not ever be able to return.
“I was going to pretend that I’d never gotten the letter from the draft board, and I would tell them that I was in Europe when it arrived.”
A few days after receiving my passport, I got a letter from the Selective Service System ordering me to report to my draft board at the Army Center in Los Angeles for a physical examination. That empty-pit, roller coaster feeling in my stomach returned with a vengeance, and I was having trouble breathing. As I opened the letter and read it, my heart was pounding.
“This is really happening,” I thought to myself. “They know where I am, and they’re coming after me.”
I already felt like a fugitive.
My parents were mostly aware of what was going on during this time, but they had no idea just how close I was to actually leaving. They knew I’d decided to travel abroad rather than be drafted, but they didn’t know that I already had my passport along with $3,000 and a plane ticket to Europe. I needed to tell them right away.
When I finally sat down with them, they were very shocked and concerned. Fortunately, they had been supportive of my decision and knew they could never talk me out of it. I was grateful that they didn’t give me a hard time.
My dad, as he had done so many times before, gave me some of the best advice I would ever get from anyone. He suggested that I find a Selective Service Attorney and get some legal counsel before making a decision that I might regret later. It seemed like a sensible thing to do.
About a week later, with my dad’s help, I had a chance to speak to an attorney who explained to me how the law worked. The main advice he gave me was to not break the law if I didn’t have to. He strongly advised me to remain in touch with my draft board, in case they needed to contact me.
I felt a lot better after talking to the lawyer, and I had a clearer picture of what I was about to do. I was going to pretend that I’d never gotten the letter from the draft board, and I would tell them that I was in Europe when it arrived. I’d drop them a line in a few weeks from somewhere, and then I would casually let them know where I could be reached.
Before I left the country, my dad asked me to do one more thing. He wanted us to do something together that we’d talked about so many times, just in case we never saw each other again.
