August 5, 1971

To say we’d lived a fairy tale six months would be no exaggeration. It hadn’t all been sunshine and roses, but every day we got to live as gay men, true to ourselves, was a damn good day.

After Richard had explained he was nervous about spending New Year’s in the city where there would be fireworks and loud celebrations, we took Kat’s van to Samuel P Taylor State Park for the weekend.

It wasn’t an overly popular destination, and most importantly there’d be no fireworks, so it was perfect. And as it turned out, we weren’t the only ones to have the idea. There was another man there named Jimmy who had come back from Vietnam. He’d brought his wife and kids to escape the fireworks as well, and he and Richard got to talking. As it turned out, Jimmy wasn’t able to return to his work as a carpenter, but he’d been working a few days a week at a Returned Veteran’s office helping others like him. He’d suggested Richard come into the office, and a week later, Richard started two days a week helping returned veterans. Be it as a work placement officer or simply an ear to talk to or a shoulder to lean on, and Richard was loving it.

He was making a difference and he was contributing money for rent and food, and it really gave his self-esteem a much-needed boost. He’d bought a little car—with automatic transmission for his leg—and the added independence helped him tremendously. He still walked with a cane and probably would forever. But he could drive, and he wasn’t reliant on anyone else to get him where he wanted.

So when I say the last six months had been like a fairy tale, it wasn’t too far-fetched. But that all changed on August fifth.

Everything changed that day.

The government held another lottery draw.

Birthdates were chosen like bingo numbers, only the winner didn’t win a door prize. They were drafted into the Vietnam War.

Richard, Kat, and I sat there in our living room and watched in absolute horror as July twenty-fourth was drawn.

My birthday.

We sat there in complete silence staring at the television. Then I could feel Richard’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. He stood up and walked into our bedroom, and it was then Kat began to cry. “What does that mean?” she asked. “What does that even mean?”

I turned slowly to face her, and I could feel the color drain from my face. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know.” Then I realized something… “I’m registered through college for those protests, remember?”

“You can’t go,” she said, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

I shook my head, numb and in total disbelief. “No. I can’t. I won’t.” I swallowed hard. “I just won’t go. They can throw me in jail if they have to, but I won’t take part in it. I’m not a coward. But I cannot kill another human being. I cannot. I will not hold a gun in my hand for war. For anything. I can’t.” Panic rose like bile in my throat and tears burned in my eyes. “I’ve seen what Richard went through, but it’s not even that. I just can’t… I believe in peace, not war.”

Richard walked back out with his duffle bag in his hand and threw it on the sofa. “You’re not going,” he said. “It’ll be over my dead fucking body that this government sends you off to that fucking place.”

I looked at his bag, which I realized was now half-packed. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” he answered. His expression was hard and determined. “We’re leaving. We can leave now, and we’ll be at the border by dawn.”

“Canada?” I asked.

“I know a lot of people who’ve gone. They ask for protection at the border and—”

“They defect?” I got to my feet. “Richard, I don’t know if I can leave my country—”

He looked me right in the eye. “You think your country cares about you? Do you think they give a rat’s ass whether you live or die? I can tell you, they don’t. And if that’s not bad enough, if you manage to survive fucking hell on earth, you come home only to get spat on when you walk down the street. No, all you’ll get from your country are nightmares that don’t go away and a letter that starts with ‘On behalf of a grateful nation.’ Grateful?” He shook his head and scrubbed a tear from his face and he laughed without humor. “They fucking despise us. They despise me. They have no idea what I went through. What I still go through. I watched men die over there, friends. I can still hear them scream.” He took a shuddering breath and more tears filled his eyes. “I can’t let you go through that. I won’t.”

“Richard’s right,” Kat said, now standing beside us. She put her hand on my arm. “Gary, you can’t go to war.”

I let my tears fall. “I know. I just can’t.”

Richard took my face into his hands and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “I love you, Gary. And I’ll go to Canada with you. We’ll start over there; I have contacts through work. And when the war is over, we can come back.”

Finally I gave a nod. What else could I do? Go to jail? I couldn’t go to war. I could not in good conscience or with any fiber of my being shoot at people and fight in a war I didn’t believe in. I stood for peace and love. I’d literally protested against the war, and if I had to choose between being a draft dodger or a killer… well, it wasn’t a choice at all.

The phone rang and made us all jump. Kat rushed to answer it and she looked at me with a nod. “Gary. It’s your mom.”

My poor mother was crying so hard I could hardly understand a single word she said. She’d obviously watched the draft lottery. “Mom,” I said through my own tears. “We’re going to Canada. Richard and I will be leaving tonight as soon as we’re packed. I can’t go to Vietnam, Mom. I just can’t.”

There was silence for a moment, then she managed to contain herself long enough to say, “Good. Oh, thank God, Gary. Yes, please go. Be safe.”

We spoke for a little while longer, and she made me promise to call when we got there and to please, please stay in touch.

I stood there with the phone to my ear, watching Kat and Richard pack up things and bundle belongings into bags, and it felt surreal; like an out-of-body experience. And when I finally hung the receiver into the cradle, Kat came out of the kitchen holding a shoebox. “What about this,” she said, taking off the lid. Inside was the golden carved Christmas angel.

“She comes with us,” Richard said. “I think we might need her.”

Kat gave a hard nod, and within the hour, we’d loaded the last things into Richard’s little car and we stood on the sidewalk. Lit only by streetlight, I could see Kat was crying again. She threw her arms around me. “I left some money in the coffee jar,” I told her quietly. “To help cover rent until you find someone.”

“Thank you,” she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Then she hugged Richard. “You take care of him.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Call me when you get there, and be safe. I love you guys,” she said and waved us off.

I’ll never forget it. It was ten past eight on a Thursday night, the air was warm, the skies were clear, and we were leaving behind the only country I’d ever known. It was the right thing to do, the only thing for me to do, I knew that. And like Richard somehow knew, he reached over and took my hand.

And together, we drove north toward an uncertain future. We had no clue what the next few days would bring, but we had each other, and that right there was worth the fight.