Some moments scratch themselves onto the slate of your memory with a sharp, painful impression that time can never erase. You have your own short list: first kiss; JFK assassination; childbirth; 9/11; a spouse’s death.

Fate wrote such a moment for me during a hot Aug. 5 afternoon in 1971 while I rested in the shade with my buddies after cleaning harvest equipment. It was “lottery day” for every American male turning 19 that year. That would be me.

America was in the sixth year of deadly military intervention in Vietnam. Tens of thousands of Americans already had soaked the jungle soil with their lifeblood. Few people volunteered to follow them, making it necessary to draft young men to fight.

Until 1971 there existed many ways to avoid the Army draft and some estimate that up to 60 percent of eligible men did. The simplest way was to stay in school, then college, then graduate school. Others enlisted in military branches deemed safer because they fought from the sea or air, or pulled duty guarding against submarines in the Mississippi River.

Eventually the government realized it was patently unfair to allow draft deferments to those who could afford to stay in school or whose fathers were well placed enough to secure for them safe haven in the National Guard. Facing the draft was agony for millions and forced many to make decisions that tore them and their families apart. Or, helped to create them. 

The unfairness of deferments, combined with the fact that many employers were reluctant to hire and train young men because they were likely to be drafted and you can see something needed to be done to tip the scales toward fairness.

In 1969 a lottery was introduced to add some certainty for those at the top and bottom of the draw. And in 1971 education deferments were eliminated. You could be drafted out of college. Lucky me, I turned 19 in 1971 and that summer was anticipating my first semester of college.

To conduct the lottery two containers side by side contained 366 ping pong balls. In one, the balls were numbered one through 366. In the other, each ball had a date Jan. 1 through Dec. 31. A ball with a number would be drawn along with a ball with a date. That match determined the draft order for a man born on a particular date.

That August afternoon I was resting in the shade when a friend pulled up in his car. I asked him if he’d heard any lottery numbers on the radio that day. He said lots of them had been announced but he couldn’t remember any of them except that Dec. 4 was No. 1.

I thought he was jerking my chain and laughed. I asked, “How did you know my birthday is Dec. 4?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “If that’s your birthday, you’re No. 1.”

It is, and I was. It’s the only thing I’ve ever “won” besides the hand of Bob Carver’s loveliest daughter.

President Nixon said he would not draft anyone out of the middle of a semester, so I continued my plans to start college a couple weeks later. I made it through the first semester and dreaded checking the mail during winter break. No news was good news. I didn’t hear from Uncle Sam how badly he needed me until September of 1972.

After the draft peaked at 382,010 in 1966 it declined steadily until in 1973 just 646 received a notice in the mail telling them when and where to report for service.

So I’m one of America’s last draftees. No great shakes, since nearly 18 million of my fellow countrymen have been drafted since 1917 according to this website which lists the numbers by year.

Still, I’d like to find the last draftee for a long conversation over a pot of coffee and a story to share with you. Can you help me?

He’s probably someone born March 6 (No. 1); March 7 (2); Aug. 3 (3); April 21 (4); or July 21 (5) of 1953.

If America is going to keep policing the world, his status as the “last draftee” is in danger and I’d like to talk to him while it’s still valid.