Work Text:
Tuesday, June 10, 1969
Sleepyside, New York
Dan Mangan turned his '62 Buick onto the long, winding, dirt road that led to the cabin. He was tired after a hard day's work and he wanted nothing more than to go home and sit on the couch.
Dan worked in a door factory in White Plains. The pay was good and he'd been saving his money. In three months, he'd finally be starting his freshman year of college. Even though Dan had graduated from high school a little over a year ago, his scholarships had fallen through due to a technicality and he had to put college off for another year. So he got a factory job that paid well and he saved his money.
Dan navigated the car over the rough road that wound its way through the trees in the Wheeler's game preserve. Soon, he reached Mr. Maypenny's cabin. Dan killed the engine and wearily he got out of the car. Mr. Maypenny was sitting in a chair, next to the front door, and his gnarled, work roughened fingers were working to repair a snare. He looked up when he heard Dan's car pull up.
"Long day?" he asked the younger man. He noticed how tired Dan looked.
Dan nodded. "These ten-hour days are starting to get to me," he replied. The factory had received a surge of orders and Dan had to put in overtime. He was growing weary of working fifty-five hours a week, but he told himself that in a few months, he'd be quitting to go to school. And all the extra money he was making was just more that went towards his tuition.
"There's coffee on the stove if you want some," Mr. Maypenny told him. "Oh," he added. "And you got some mail today, too."
Dan trudged into the cabin. The mail could wait until he had a chance to unwind a bit. He figured that what came in the mail for him was probably a letter from Mart. Mart was currently in the Army. Last April, Mart got his orders to go to Vietnam.
Dan poured himself a cup of coffee and he settled on the couch to watch some television. The news was more of the same. Dan thought about Mart and he thought about some other people he knew that were sent overseas and couldn't help but think how much things had changed in one year.
A year ago, Dan graduated from high school, Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, Class of '68. Among his classmates were Mart Belden, Lester Mundy, Shrimpy Davis, and Ruthie Kettner. All of them had hopes and dreams and plans for their futures. Things didn't quite work out that way for any of them.
In the span of one year, things had changed dramatically. Besides Dan having to take a year off to work before he went into college, the other's lives had changed as well. Mart Belden enlisted into the Army instead of going to college, all because he wanted to take the burden of his college tuition off his parents. Now he was in the jungles of Vietnam.
Earlier in the year, Shrimpy Davis got drafted. The last Dan had heard, Shrimpy got lucky and ended up going to Germany. In March, Lester Mundy also got drafted. In a rush, Lester proposed to Ruthie and the two of them were married in a small ceremony at the Congregational Church in town. Dan remembered their wedding. Ruthie wore a mini-skirt, much like the one Priscilla wore when she married Elvis. They rented the VFW Hall at a discount, because Lester's father fought in World War II and was a member of the VFW. They hired a DJ for the entertainment. Lester shipped out in April, while Ruthie lived with her parents. Last month, Ruthie found out she was pregnant.
Dan thought he was lucky that his number hadn't come up yet. He didn't want to go to Vietnam.
Mr. Maypenny came inside and he started supper. The cabin was a little more modern than it had been when Dan first came to live here. Mr. Maypenny was starting to get on, even though Dan didn't know how old the man really was. Out of concern, Mr. Wheeler convinced the older man to have some of the cabin modernized in some ways. Even though a new, electric stove sat in the kitchen, Mr. Maypenny still used the old woodstove for cooking.
Dan was so tired; he didn't realize that he had dozed off for a bit until he felt Mr. Maypenny shaking his shoulder.
"Time to eat," the older man said.
Dan rubbed his eyes and he slowly got up and went to the old, handmade table. Supper that night was a venison roast, presumably from a deer that Mr. Maypenny had shot the previous fall. Alongside the roast were potatoes and carrots, all home grown.
Dan poured himself more coffee before he sat down. He ate slowly, as he was still tired.
"Your mail is still over there," Mr. Maypenny said, pointing to a long, white envelope that sat on the other side of the table. Dan glanced over at the letter. Instead of the return address and the mailing address being handwritten, the return address was pre-printed, and the mailing address was typewritten.
Dan wondered what was in that official looking envelope. He thought it might be something from NYU. Dan was going to NYU in the fall. He was going to major in criminology and minor in psychology. After he got his degree, Dan was going to join the police academy, so he could become a police officer, just like his father had been and just like his father's father had been.
Dan put down his fork and picked up the envelope. The return address wasn't what he thought it was.
The return address said, Local Draft Board 8, White Plains, New York.
Dan felt a chill go through him. He felt numb, almost paralyzed with sudden dread.
"What's wrong?" Mr. Maypenny asked him, obviously concerned. He didn't like the look on Dan's face.
No, Dan thought. Not now. This can't be right. This can't be happening. This is all some bad dream and I'll wake up.
"It's from the draft board," Dan said in a quiet, strained voice. He knew he should open the letter, but he didn't want to open it. Somehow, he managed to open the envelope and he pulled out a sheet of white paper. The words "Order to Report for Armed Services Physical Examination" screamed at him. "It's my draft notice," he added.
Mr. Maypenny frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked Dan.
Dan nodded. Then he read from the paper, "'You are hereby ordered to present yourself for Armed Forces physical examination by reporting at Assembly Room 4th Floor, Federal Building, White Plains, New York on June 20, 1969 at 7 a.m.'" Dan looked up from the paper at Mr. Maypenny and the older man was distressed by the helpless look on Dan's face.
"I'm sorry," he said. He wanted to say that it was a shame, too. He knew how hard Dan Mangan had worked over the years, not only to turn his life around, but to realize his dream of becoming a police officer. Just as Dan was about to go to college, the first step in realizing that dream, this had to happen.
Dan didn't sleep well that night, despite of his fatigue. His mind was on that piece of paper, that one brief and to the point letter that had the power to alter his future.
Dan didn't want to go to Vietnam. The war was unpopular. It seemed, even though the government said one thing, the reality of what he saw on television seemed to say something else.
Dan wondered if maybe he could tell the draft board he was a conscientious objector. It wouldn't work because he'd have to prove it. Then he remembered something he'd heard once about Paul Trent's younger brother, Sam. Sam Trent, as the story went, got out of going to Vietnam because he had the audacity to cut off a couple of his own toes, making himself physically unfit for service. Dan wasn't about to go that far to get out of this.
Dan thought about Canada. He thought about taking that piece of paper, burning it, and going to Canada. But then he remembered something else.
On his eighteenth birthday, he, his uncle Bill, and Mr. Maypenny all went into the city to meet with Judge Armen. Dan's original sentence was up for review. While he was able to show the judge that he had indeed turned his life around, Dan wasn't quite off the hook yet. He no longer had to report to a probation officer, but the judge reminded him that his juvenile record would not become sealed until Dan turned twenty-one. Although the judge didn't believe that Dan would get into any kind of trouble, he reminded Dan that he was still young enough to go to juvenile hall and he still had a police record. If Dan broke the law between now and his twenty-first birthday, any judge could take that record into consideration in sentencing.
Dan didn't want to risk what he had worked so hard for. He didn't want "draft dodger" to appear on his record, nor did he care to go to jail. Above all, though, Dan didn't want to be known as a coward.
Running was the coward's way out. That was one thing he learned in the gang, probably the only thing he learned that had some use to him after he left. When something came out of left field, be it someone wielding a knife, or some curveball life lobbed at you, you stood your ground and you faced it. You didn't run.
Dan could either run or he could face this, take his chances with the draft board and see where that ended up. He knew that this life he led, all the hard work he had done to turn himself around, and the friends he had gained would end up going down the drain if he decided to steal off in the middle of the night to Canada. What he had gained in the past four years was far too precious to him to throw away.
Dan really had no choice in this matter. Whether he liked it or not, Dan had to go to the draft board in ten days. He'd serve his two years if that meant he wouldn't mess up what he had now. Maybe he'd get lucky and they'd send him to Germany like they did for Shrimpy Davis.
Now the hard part was to come. Dan didn't know how he was going to tell the others about this.
The next day, Dan took the letter with him to work and he showed it to his supervisor when he asked for the time off.
Dan's boss, John Magee tried to reassure Dan. "This is just for the physical. It doesn't mean that you're going to get drafted for sure," he pointed out to Dan.
"But it puts me in the running, though," Dan replied.
"You don't know that, Dan," John replied. "You were in the running when you signed up for the Selective Service."
"But it ups the ante," Dan said.
John regarded the younger man seriously. "You don't want to go, do you?"
"To Vietnam?" Dan asked. "No," he said. "I don't want to go. But if they call me, I will. I hope they don't, but I think they will."
"You don't know that," John said again, reassuringly.
"I don't have any excuse to get out of it," Dan replied. "I'll pass the physical."
John Magee clapped Dan's shoulder. "Try not to worry about it, Dan. It may be quite awhile before your number would come up. You'll still get to go to school in the fall." The older man smiled and tried to sound convincing. John Magee had a son in Vietnam, whose number also had come up. John Magee didn't want to see anymore young men shipped off to fight in that war.
Dan wanted to believe his boss, but he found no comfort in the man's words.
After work that day, Dan headed up to the stables. He still had to tell his uncle. He also had to tell the girls, too. And he also had to tell Marianne. He wasn't sure which one was going to be the most difficult.
"Oh, hi Dan," a voice said, intruding into his thoughts. Dan looked up into the hazel eyes of Honey Wheeler.
"Hi, Honey," he said in a distracted way.
"Going out for a ride?" Honey asked. She held a bridle in her hands. "Regan's been on the warpath about exercising the horses again. I tell you, between my summer job and the boys being gone and this, I feel like I need a vacation." She sighed.
"No, I wasn't going for a ride," Dan replied, again, his mind on other things like Honey Wheeler's reaction when he told her that he got a letter from the draft board.
Honey noticed Dan's distracted manner and her brow knitted in concern. "Are you okay, Dan?" she asked him.
"Um, yeah," Dan replied. "Have you seen my uncle? I have to talk to him about something."
"He's in his office," Honey said. "Although I'd knock first before going in."
Dan tried to grin but the weight on his shoulders made that grin into more of a half-smile. "Thanks for the warning." Dan started walking in the direction of his uncle's office, but Honey's voice made him pause.
"You know," she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "With you working all summer and me working all summer and Trixie and Di working all summer, we don't get to see each other anymore. And then in a couple months, we'll all be going off to college."
I might not, Dan thought to himself. He didn't dare voice that out loud.
"Anyway," Honey continued. "I was thinking that maybe we should have a picnic down at the lake, oh say, on Sunday. Cook will make all the food and we can go swimming and bring the radio down and just have some fun. What do you think? You can invite Marianne if you want."
"Sounds good to me," Dan replied. And the three of you will all be there, and I will only have to tell you about this draft letter once. Dan tried to push that thought out of his head. It's just a fun little get together with some friends. Maybe you can tell them after. "I'll call her later."
Honey smiled. "I'll talk to Trixie and Di about it. I'm sure they'll say yes," she said excitedly. "See you Sunday?"
"See you Sunday," Dan replied. Then he walked to his uncle's office.
Heeding Honey's warning, Dan knocked on the partially opened door. Bill Regan looked up from his paperwork. "So, you've come to help exercise the horses," he said.
"No," Dan replied, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "I mean, sorry to disappoint you, Uncle Bill. I have to talk to you about something."
Bill studied the serious expression on his nephew's face. Something was definitely on Dan's mind. "Are you going to stand in the doorway and tell me or are you going to come in?" Bill asked. Dan walked into the room slowly and he took a seat in the chair that was in front of his uncle's desk.
"What's on your mind?" Bill asked Dan. "Girl trouble?"
"No," Dan said. "It's not that."
"So everything is going okay with Marianne, then," Bill said cautiously.
"Yeah," Dan said. "It is."
Bill leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Then what is it?" he asked.
Dan suddenly found himself mute. The words he had rehearsed in his head refused to come out of his mouth. It had been a lot easier to tell his boss about this.
"Dan," Bill said. "What is it? Are you in trouble? Is Marianne in trouble?"
"No," Dan replied, a bit annoyed with the last question. Why does everyone still assume that I'm either in trouble or I got some girl in trouble? Since his mouth refused to form the words, "I've got a letter from the draft board", Dan reached into his pocket, pulled out the official letter, and set it on the desk in front of his uncle.
"What's this?" Bill asked.
"Read it," Dan said in a strained voice.
Bill picked up the letter and read it silently. To Dan, the time Bill took to read that piece of paper, seemed to be an eternity. He watched the expression on his uncle's face change from impassive to concerned.
"This is from the draft board," Bill said quietly. "They drafted you?"
"It's for the physical," Dan said quietly. "To get my classification so they can draft me."
"Oh, God," Bill said. He felt a sense of dread overcome him. For one moment, he pictured himself opening his office door, facing two soldiers in dress uniform who had come to deliver the news that Dan wasn't coming home alive.
Dan was the only family Bill Regan had left. He loved his nephew dearly, but he thought he could have done better as far as his involvement with Dan was concerned. Bill wished he had let Dan come live with him in his apartment. Bill never did because two people in an efficiency apartment was just too crowded and Dan seemed to be fine living with Maypenny. Other regrets crossed his mind, like how he handled things when Dan first came to Sleepyside.
Dan was the last link, that last connection that Bill had to his sister Kathleen. Kathleen Regan had run off with Tim Mangan and Bill never saw her again. He never had the money or the resources to find her. That was another regret Bill had. Maybe if Bill had found her earlier, Dan never would have gotten into trouble because he would have had a male authority figure in his young life. Maybe Kathleen's cancer might have gone into remission if Bill had been around. The Wheeler's would have made sure that she had the best care possible. Maybe if Bill had been around, the Wheeler's would have offered Kathleen Mangan a job, she and Dan could have moved out of the city, and Dan never would have fallen in with that gang. Maybe…
If Dan went to Vietnam and the unthinkable happened, Bill had no one. Family was important to Bill. Dan meant a lot to him. Just when he thought he was all alone in the world, he found out he wasn't.
Dan wasn't going to Vietnam. Not if Bill had anything to say about it.
"You're not going," Bill stated emphatically.
"What?" Dan asked, obviously taken by surprise.
"You're not going," Bill repeated. "Go to Canada."
"Are you serious?" Dan asked incredulously. He studied his uncle's resolute expression. "You are serious," Dan said. Dan sighed. "It's just for the physical. It doesn't mean I'm actually going to get drafted." Too bad you don't believe this when other people tell you the same thing.
"You're not going, Dan," Bill said. "Go to Canada."
"I'm not going to Canada," Dan said quietly. "I can't."
"Don't tell me you want to go to Vietnam," Bill said.
"I don't," Dan replied. "But I'm not going to jail, either."
Bill set the letter down. "You won't go to jail. Not if you're in Canada."
"So I'm just supposed to run away," Dan said. He was still trying to comprehend the fact that his uncle was suggesting that Dan actually break the law. Federal law, at that. "I'm supposed to run away like a coward because I might have to do something I really don't want to do." Dan placed his hands on the desk, leaning down so he could look his uncle in the eye. "I'm not a coward. I am not about to throw everything I've worked for away, either. How can you even ask such a thing? You know how hard I worked to turn my life around.”
"You could get killed," Bill pointed out.
"I could drop dead tomorrow from mysterious circumstances," Dan said, now pacing in front of the desk. "I could get hit by a car. I could be walking down in front of Town Hall and Hoppy could fall on my head." He stopped his pacing. "I can't run, Uncle Bill. I can't. I couldn't live with myself if I ran off. In two years, my juvenile record gets sealed. What I did in the past will disappear forever." Dan waved his hand slightly like a magician waving his hand during a trick. "I don't want draft dodger on my record. I have no choice."
"What about school?" Bill asked.
"I can go later," Dan said. "I can still go in the fall. I can go later, if I have to."
Bill wasn't convinced. "I still don't want you to go, Dan. If you get killed…"
"Who says I will?" Dan interrupted. "Who says I'll even get called to actually go? I'm not a coward, Uncle Bill. Mangans are not cowards."
"Dan…" Bill started to say.
Dan wouldn't let him finish. "You know," he said. "I bet my father wouldn't have argued about this. I bet my father wouldn't suggest that I break Federal law. My father was no coward. And neither am I."
"Your father's not here, Dan," Bill said quietly. "You don't know what he'd say about this."
"And you do?" Dan snapped. "You didn't know my father, so how would you know what he'd think?"
"You're right," Bill replied. "I didn't know your father. But," he pointed out. "Your father died before all of this Vietnam stuff even started. How do you know what he'd think about this?"
"My father was a cop," Dan replied. "My father understood things about honor and duty. He understood what it means to do the right thing, even if the right thing is something you don't want to do."
"Are you suggesting that I don't understand those things either?" Bill said quietly. This was going nowhere. And Dan, as mature as he was, had reverted back into a rebellious teenager at the moment. Why didn't he understand? Why couldn't he see?
"Maybe you don't," Dan snapped. Why didn't Uncle Bill understand? Why did he even think that Dan would willingly throw everything he worked for away?
"If you'd just listen to me for a mo-"
"I have listened," Dan said. "And I can't do what you're asking me to do." He sighed. This conversation was going nowhere. "Don't say anything about this to the girls," Dan said. "I want to tell them myself." Dan looked down at the floor and then up again.
"I hope one of them can talk you out of going," Bill said.
Dan chose to ignore that last remark. "I've gotta go," he said. He reached over and took the letter from the desk. Then he left the office.
Saturday, June 14, 1969
The 9a Outdoor
They had come to see the 9 pm showing of "True Grit", but Dan wasn't paying attention to the movie. Nor was he doing what most couples did at the drive-in, either. Dan stared at John Wayne, hoping that maybe the Duke would be able to channel some sort of energy or courage so Dan could tell the young woman sitting next to him about that letter he received earlier in the week.
Marianne Ingersol, Dan's girlfriend of a little over a year, rested her blonde head on Dan's shoulder, snuggling up closer to him, hoping that maybe if she did, whatever it was he was preoccupied with at the moment would temporarily go away. Marianne noticed that Dan hadn't said much to her the entire evening.
"Penny for your thoughts," Marianne said softly.
"Huh?" Dan replied, startled from the jumbled thoughts and apprehension in his mind.
"Something's on your mind, Dan," Marianne said. "You've hardly said three words to me all night." She looked up at him in the darkness, able to see his face from the dim light coming from the movie screen. She noticed his troubled expression. "You want to tell me about it?"
Dan supposed he should. "I got a letter the other day," he said. "From the draft board."
"The draft board?" Marianne asked. "You mean…"
"It's for the physical," Dan said. "I'm not drafted. Yet."
"Yet?" Marianne asked. "You think they will?"
"They will," Dan said. "I know it."
"You don't know they will," Marianne replied hopefully. "Maybe they won't."
"They will," Dan said. "I'll go in, have the physical and be found fit to serve."
"Well, you are fit," Marianne pointed out. "I mean with all the work you do. But being fit isn't a bad thing. At least for me." Marianne tried to sound light. Dan found little humor in it. They fell silent.
"Who else knows about this?" Marianne asked after a period of silence.
"You, Mr. Maypenny, and my uncle," Dan replied. "I was going to tell the others tomorrow at the picnic."
More silence. Then Marianne asked quietly, "If they call you, will you go?"
"I don't have a choice," Dan replied. "I'm not going to jail for dodging the draft. Don't ask me to go to Canada. I can't do that."
"I know," Marianne said softly. She, as well as most of Sleepyside knew that Dan had been in some sort of trouble when he first came to town and that he'd been sent to the little town to straighten out. She also knew about Dan’s record and how he turned his life around. "I wasn't asking you to go to Canada," she added. "But if you did, I'd go with you. I just thought you should know that."
"You'd do that?" Dan asked.
"Of course I would," Marianne replied. "Why wouldn't I?"
July 23, 1969
It was hot and sticky out that day. As Dan pulled his car onto the dirt road leading to the cabin, the sheen of perspiration made his t-shirt stick to his back. What made this feeling worse was the vinyl seats of his car.
His day at work was long and tiring. The factory was hot, and Dan's throat felt scratchy from the sawdust that flew around the factory. All Dan wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and crawl into bed. Fifty-five hour work weeks were tiring. The heat and humidity made it worse.
Dan told the girls about being called for his physical. He was relieved that their tears were minimal. But then Trixie remembered something she’d read about the last in line deferment, for children whose fathers were deceased. “It’s worth a try,” she said.
However, Dan’s hopes were dashed when he went in for his physical and was told that this specific deferment only applied to sons whose fathers were killed in war. Dan’s father died when he was off-duty from the NYPD.
Dan decided to attend school this fall and hope that his draft notice would come in September. That was the only hope he had left of not having to serve.
Dan parked his car and he went inside the cabin. He saw Mr. Maypenny sitting there with a grim expression on his face. Dan grew alarmed. Mr. Maypenny wasn't usually in the cabin during the day, as he was busy working on the preserve or working around his land. Something was up.
Dan was about to ask the other man what was wrong. Mr. Maypenny spoke instead. "You've got mail today." The older man gestured to a single white envelope lying on top of the table.
White envelopes don't look threatening. White envelopes were white pieces of paper folded and glued together and meant to hold other pieces of paper.
Dan had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He picked up the envelope and he didn't read the return address. He didn't have to. He already knew what was in there.
Carefully, he opened the envelope and he pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and read.
Selective Service
Order to Report for Induction
The President of the United States
To:
Daniel T. Mangan
Rural Route 1, Box 492
Sleepyside-On-The Hudson, New York
GREETING:
You are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces and to report to Assembly Room 4th Floor, Federal Building, White Plains, New York on August 30, 1969 at 7 am for forwarding to an Armed Forces Induction Station.
IMPORTANT NOTICE
(Read Each Paragraph Carefully)
If you are so far from your local board that reporting in compliance with this Order will be a serious hardship, go immediately to any local board and make written request for transfer of your delivery of induction, taking this order with you.
IF YOU HAVE HAD PREVIOUS MILITARY SERVICE, OR ARE NOW A MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL GUARD OR A RESERVE COMPONENT OF THE ARMED FORCES, BRING EVIDENCE WITH YOU. IF YOU WEAR GLASSES, BRING THEM. IF MARRIED, BRING PROOF OF YOUR MARRIAGE. IF YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL OR MENTAL CONDITION, WHICH, IN YOUR OPINION, MAY DISQUALIFY YOU FOR SERVICE IN THE ARMED FORCES, BRING A PHYSICIAN'S CERTIFICATE DESCRIBING THAT CONDITION IF NOT ALREADY FURNISHED TO YOUR LOCAL BOARD.
Valid documents are required to substantiate dependency claims in order to receive basic allowance for quarters. Be sure to take the following with you when reporting to the induction station. The documents will be returned to you. (a) FOR LAWFUL WIFE OR LEGITIMATE CHILD UNDER 21 YEARS OF AGE…original certified or photostatic of a certified copy of marriage certificate, child's birth certificate, or a public or church record of marriage issued over the signature and seal of the custodian of the church or public records. (b) FOR LEGALLY ADOPTED CHILD…certified court order of adoption; (c) FOR CHILD OF DIVORCED SERVICE MEMBER…(Child in custody of someone other than claimant)--(1)Certified or photostatic copies or receipts from custodian of child evidencing serviceman's contribution for support, and (2) Divorce decree, court support order, or separation order; (d)FOR DEPENDENT PARENT--affidavits establishing that dependence.
Bring your Social Security Account Number card. If you do not have one, apply at nearest Social Security Administration office. If you have life insurance, bring a record of the insurance company's address and policy number. Bring enough clean clothes for three days. Bring enough money to last 1 month for personal purchases.
This local board will furnish transportation, meals, and lodging when necessary, from the place of reporting to the induction station where you will be examined. If found qualified, you will be inducted into the Armed Forces. If found not qualified, return transportation, meals, and lodging when necessary will be furnished by the place of reporting.
You may be found not qualified for induction. Keep this in mind when arranging your affairs, to prevent any undue hardship if not inducted. If you are employed, inform your employer of this possibility. Your employer can then be prepared to continue your employment if you are not inducted. To protect your right to return to your job if you are not inducted, you must report to work as soon as possible after the completion of your induction examination. You may jeopardize your reemployment rights if you do not report for work at the beginning of your next scheduled working period after you have returned to your place of employment.
Willful failure to report at the place and hour of the day named in this Order subjects the violator to fines and imprisonment. Bring this Order with you when you report.
That was it. Dan's number had come up. He was going into the Army and most likely to Vietnam. He had about one month to get his affairs in order.
You don't know that. You could end up in Germany like Shrimpy Davis did.
Dan stared at the piece of paper. For one moment, a plan began to form in his mind. It was a simple plan. He would call Marianne and convince her to go along with him in the middle of the night down to Maryland so they could get married. And then when Dan had to report for induction, he could bring along the certificate and tell them that he was sorry that he couldn't be drafted, but he was the sole source of support for his eighteen-year-old wife.
No. He couldn’t do that. Dan didn't want to get married and he wasn't ready to take such an important step. If he got married, there was no way he could go to school, Marianne could go to school, and still support her and pay the bills. Her parents would not warm to the idea of the two of them living with them. Dan didn't want to live with her parents, either. They were nice people, but he thought that when he ever got married, he and his new wife should have their own place to live.
Marriage didn't work for Lester Mundy, either. He got married and he still had to go.
"I'm sorry," Mr. Maypenny's voice broke into Dan's thoughts.
"It was going to happen," Dan replied quietly.
"When do you leave?" the older man asked.
"The end of August," Dan replied. "I have until then to get my affairs in order."
Suddenly, Dan felt suffocated, smothered. He wanted to be alone for awhile, to sort this out, and to accept that school was going to have to wait again because he was now going to be a soldier in a war in which he did not want to fight.
"I'm going for a walk," he announced. Mr. Maypenny nodded in understanding.
Dan walked through the preserve until he reached a rock. Throughout the years he'd been living in Sleepyside, Dan would come to this place to think or to be alone. He leaned against the big stone and he let his mind just race, hoping that the thoughts would tire themselves out enough after awhile.
Dan knew what was going to happen when he told the others that he was now drafted. Trixie, Honey, and Di would be upset. Marianne, though, would cry the hardest. Mr. Maypenny would walk around with that grim expression on his face. Uncle Bill would still try and talk him into going to Canada. Everyone else would say, "I'm sorry."
Despite his one plan of eloping, Dan knew that he was going. He knew that on August 30, he would report to the draft board in White Plains, hop a bus to wherever the induction center was, be examined and be drafted into the service. He knew that he would be sent to another place, a base, for boot camp. He knew they'd make him cut his hair and he knew he'd take the oath and he'd put on the uniform, carry the weapon, and be sent over to Vietnam. There was no question in his mind that he was going to Vietnam.
Dan Mangan was going to go through with this because Dan Mangan was not a coward. Dan Mangan spent almost two years in a street gang. Dan Mangan went to jail once. Dan Mangan's world fell apart when both of his parents died. This was small potatoes compared to all of that stuff. His honor and his integrity would not allow him to run off to Canada. Jim Frayne did not have the monopoly on honorable behavior.
August 30, 1969
It was early. Dan had to be at the draft board in White Plains by 7. Most of the others had said their goodbyes last night. This morning, Marianne planned on stopping by to say goodbye to Dan somewhere where they could be alone. Tom Delanoy was waiting in the Wheeler's car. He was to drive Dan to White Plains. Bill couldn't bring himself to do it.
Mr. Maypenny was in the kitchen, cleaning up the last remnants of breakfast. Dan ate very little. He didn't have much of an appetite this morning. Dan picked up his bag. "I suppose," he said nervously. "I should get going."
Mr. Maypenny stopped what he was doing and glanced at the clock. Then he came over to Dan, who was standing by the door. The older man cleared his throat nervously. "Take care of yourself," he said, his voice tinged with nervousness.
"I will," Dan replied, himself feeling nervous. "I'll try not to get shot at." He tried to grin, but it was a nervous grin.
Silence fell over the cabin. Mr. Maypenny cleared his throat again. He had more to say, but he was not known for someone who was outwardly emotional. But he had to say this and he had to say it now. He might never get the chance to say it again. He shifted nervously and looked at the younger man. "I can't let you leave without saying this," he said to Dan.
Dan waited expectantly for Mr. Maypenny to say what else he had to say. Mr. Maypenny took a deep breath and then he spoke.
"I just want you to know," he said. "That I'm proud of you, Daniel. I'm very proud of you, of how you turned yourself around."
Dan didn't know what to say. He thought he should say something, but the words refused to come to him.
Mr. Maypenny went on. "I've enjoyed having you here," he said. Then he thought that didn't sound quite right. "I've enjoyed having you live here," he amended. That sounded a little better. "This old place is going to seem empty when you're gone," he said with an odd catch in his throat. He cleared it away and he spoke again, this time his voice was stronger. "Daniel," he said. "In the time that you've been living with me, I've come to think of you as the son I never had. I know that we're not blood kin, but I love you like you were my own flesh and blood."
Dan, again, was at a loss for words. He really didn't know what to say. He knew how he felt, though. Dan had a certain affection for the older man, too. He felt his eyes tearing up a bit.
Mr. Maypenny spoke again. "I suppose you'd better get going. I hear the military doesn't like it when you're late."
"No," Dan said. "They don't." Dan cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that suddenly formed there.
Mr. Maypenny approached Dan, and before Dan knew it, he was enveloped in a big bear hug. "Take care of yourself, Daniel," the older man said again.
"I will," Dan promised.
The hug broke and Dan grabbed his bag. He placed his hand on the door knob, opened the door, and then paused. He looked back at Mr. Maypenny, gave a slight wave, and then he said, "You take care of yourself, too," he said.
"Been taking care of myself for a long, long time," Mr. Maypenny replied. "I think I'll manage." He smiled wryly.
Dan stepped outside and he didn't see Marianne. Tom was waiting patiently in the car. He checked his watch. He had a few minutes before he really had to get going.
As he waited, he looked around him. Dan looked at the trees, their leaves rustling in the early morning breeze. He heard the birds calling out to one another and he saw the beams of sunlight that broke through the tree branches, leaving dappled spots on the forest floor. Then he looked behind him at the cabin. There was something comforting about all of this. It was home. All of this was his home. No matter where he ended up, this place was his home. If, by chance, he ended up in Germany or he ended up at some base in the States or he ended up on the other side of the world, he would remember this place as home.
Dan checked his watch again and then he heard another car pull up. Marianne jumped out of the driver's seat once she put the car into park.
"I got here as fast as I could," she said breathlessly.
"What happened?" Dan wondered.
"Overslept," Marianne replied. Dan laughed a little. Marianne was not the most punctual of people. "I was hoping I'd still get here before you had to go," she said. "I don't know if I could go on without saying goodbye to you."
Dan didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to her, either. It would be a couple of years before he'd be able to see her again. Quietly and gently, he pulled Marianne close to him and held her close. He wouldn't get to do this for a couple of years, either.
"I'm going to miss you so much," Marianne said into Dan's chest after a period of silence.
"I'll miss you, too," Dan replied softly.
"I'll write you every day," Marianne promised him. Then she said in a hopeful voice, "Maybe you won't be fit for…"
"We can't think of that," Dan reminded her. He seriously doubted that he'd be found unfit for service and he refused to pin any hope on that. He couldn't let Marianne do that, either.
"I know," she replied. "I shouldn't get my hopes up or I'll just be disappointed." She raised her head to look up at Dan and Dan saw the tears that were falling down her face. He reached out to wipe them away.
"I'll wait for you," Marianne vowed. "Even if you're gone for ten years or two, I'll wait for you. I promise." Then she said, "I love you, Dan."
"I love you, too," he replied. Then he tilted her face up and he kissed her, long and sweet, savoring the sweet taste of her lips. It would be a long time before he could do this again, too.
When the kiss broke, Dan held Marianne close to him, not wanting to let her go at all. However, he had to when he heard an impatient honk from Tom.
"I have to go now," Dan said reluctantly.
"I don't want you to go," Marianne said.
"I don't want to go, either," Dan replied. "But I have to go." He picked up his bag and then he leaned down to kiss Marianne again. "I love you," he told her.
"I love you, too," Marianne replied tearfully.
Dan looked at her one last time, reluctant to walk to the car. Tom honked the horn again, breaking Dan from his spell. He waved at Marianne and she waved back at him. Then Dan got into the car. Marianne watched as Tom turned the car around and drove slowly over the rutted backwoods road. The tears flowed freely down her face. Today might be the last time she'd ever see Dan again. She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't help but think that the next time she saw Dan might very well be at his own funeral.
Marianne cried harder and she didn't hear someone else approaching her from behind, nor did she notice at first the hand that was placed on her shoulder. When she realized that she was not alone, she turned around and looked into the eyes of Mr. Maypenny.
"He'll come back," Mr. Maypenny assured her.
"How can you be so sure?" Marianne wondered.
"He's too much of a survivor not to," Mr. Maypenny replied. Then he asked the young woman, "Have you eaten yet?"
"No," Marianne said.
"Let's see what I can scrounge up," Mr. Maypenny replied. "Come inside. I've got coffee, too." Mr. Maypenny started for the cabin and Marianne followed him.
Epilogue
Ft. Sill,
Oklahoma
September 20, 1969
Dear Mr. Maypenny,
Well, it's me, Dan. I'm sorry I haven't written before, but this was the first chance I got to sit down and write a letter.
I'm in boot camp now. They sent me to Fort Sill in Oklahoma for basic training. Boot camp is not fun. Nobody here likes it.
They made me cut my hair for this. When I went to the induction center, I was found fit to serve, obviously (otherwise I wouldn't be writing to you from boot camp). Then they said I had a choice. I could serve for two years and go to Vietnam or I could serve three years and not go to Vietnam. I took the three years. Sure, it's longer, but I don't have to go. The guy at the induction center said that people who take the three year option don't get sent to Vietnam. They either get sent to Germany or they stay in the States. They classified me as E2, which means that I'm a private. Private Dan Mangan.
I'll be finished with boot camp in a few weeks. When I'm done, I have to go to school for more training. I've decided to go to Infantry School. I'm not going to make a career out of the Army, so I don't see the point in going into anything more specialized. I just want to do this and get this over with. And since I took the three year option, I'll probably get leave and be able to come home and visit.
Oklahoma is not like Sleepyside. There are few trees here. I haven't seen much of the state, though. It's also hotter here, too. I miss Sleepyside a lot. Have the trees started to turn yet? I'm going to miss that, too.
Tell everyone that I miss them. How are the girls doing in school now? If you see Marianne at all, tell her that I miss her, too, and I'll write to her as soon as I get the chance.
I suppose I should wrap this up. I have one more thing I have to say, something I've been thinking about since I left. I'm not very good at expressing a lot of feeling type stuff, but I have to say that sometimes I think of you like you were my father. I know you're not my father, and you never tried to take the place of my father, but you're the closest thing I have to a father. I miss you, too.
Well, I have to go now. Say hi to everyone for me and tell them that I miss them and I'll write the others when I get the time and that I haven't forgotten them.
Take care,
Dan
December 23, 1969
That evening, Dan had a few moments to himself. That day, he'd gotten a package from the folks back in Sleepyside. He was going through the contents of that package. Mrs. Belden put in some cookies and Mr. Maypenny put in some of his homemade donuts. Besides the food were wrapped gifts and a few cards. Today was Dan's twentieth birthday.
There was another package from Marianne that Dan went through. In that package was a long letter from Marianne. She talked about secretarial school and what was going on back in Sleepyside and how much she missed Dan. She also sent along his presents. One was a copy of the newest Zeppelin album and Dan was going to listen to that later. The other present was something that Dan wondered how in the world Marianne managed to get Trixie and Honey involved. The other present was some photographs of Marianne. Marianne said that they were meant for him to see and him only. In the pictures, Marianne teased up her hair, put on a very short skirt, and she pouted and gave sultry looks to the camera.
Dan was nearly finished with Infantry school. Other people were starting to receive their orders and Dan was still waiting for his.
"Mangan," another voice interrupted his thoughts. Dan hid the pictures and then got up and stood at attention. Another soldier had entered the barracks. He held a piece of paper in his hand. "Your orders came in."
Dan took the piece of paper. The other soldier left. His orders were written in official Army language. Dan read the paper carefully. As his mind absorbed the words, he started to have this sinking feeling in his stomach.
Another soldier who shared the same barracks looked up. "What's the matter?" asked Private Ronny Johnson. Private Johnson was from some small town in Nebraska. Like Dan, Ronny had been drafted into the Army.
"They're sending me to 'Nam," Dan said quietly. "I leave in two weeks."
"Then I'll save you a seat on the bus," Ronny replied. "I'm going, too."
Dan stared at the piece of paper again, trying to comprehend this. They told him if he signed up for three years, he wouldn't have to go to Vietnam. "But they said if I went for three, I wouldn't have to go."
"They told me the same thing," Ronny replied. "They told me that only the people who sign up for two years get sent to Vietnam." He sighed and then stood up. "We were taken for suckers, Mangan," Ronny said. "They told us what we wanted to hear and got more time out of us." Ronny went back to his bunk and sat down. "Some birthday present, huh?" he said.
"Yeah," Dan said in a distant voice. "Happy Birthday. You're going to Vietnam."
December 26, 1969
Dear Uncle Bill,
They lied. I'm going to Vietnam after all. I'm leaving after the first of the year. I got the orders on my birthday. Some birthday present, huh?
Dan
The End