The third talked with me during church youth group outings. Her brother, clearly a skeptic, played chess with me, and the piano, stunned me with unconventional ideas – "babies are blobs, not fully formed; I’ll talk to my kid when he’s eight or nine, not before, when he’s smart enough to think intelligently." I remember only 3 outings alone with her. We’d played out an imaginary drama on a playground fire escape; she – the queen above, me – the peon skeptic questioning her authority. I ran holding her hand once. And I listened to her play the piano at her parents’ home. I did far more things with her brother, played chess or went for drives. She was too young, just a high school senior.

And I had other assorted friends. With the car my mother had bought me I would visit others often, playing tennis with one young man, sitting between matches and talking.

It was then, during my days in paradise, that the Draft Board sent me a letter. I’d observed two demonstrations; one at the newspaper office, one at the campus. Happiness colored the atmosphere. Freedom to search for "truth", to question habits, rituals and authority, to express and feel, filled the air. My Mother had given me a "heinie" for the last time. I still kept my hair neat, though a bit longer than she liked.

I’d picked up a hitchhiking young woman who’d camped on the "oval" lawn in front of Main Hall. She was a one-person protest. Her enthusiastic spirit of the "no more war" variety was fascinating. She encouraged me to think about where to stand with regard to the Viet Nam War. I paid closer attention to a local radio talk show on which draft resisters were interviewed. And I talked to friends. Spirited search was invigorating and I was firmly grounded on the edge of adulthood, having just earned more freedom through my degree. I’d put in my time doing the things others told me to do. Now I was set to evaluate and decide how I fit into the scheme of things.

I went to our minister asking him to send a letter to the draft board explaining and defending my developing pacifist convictions. "Jesus was a peacemaker, would not have picked up a gun, gone to war." He refused to honor my request quoting "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and reminding me that Jesus drove the money changers from the temple with a whip." For an hour I respectfully challenged and disagreed with him. It was I think the first time in my life that I’d had a strong opinion and shared my convictions. I felt a heady self-confidence despite his rejection as I met with the draft board; my friend was waiting outside on the tennis court. I spoke well in requesting my conscientious objector status. The Draft was, without a doubt - subjugation, having nothing to do with "freedom". Students just released from "the system" were being asked to resubmit for a dubious purpose. They questioned and I answered with conviction.