I was drafted in 1970. They took 115 in that first year of the lottery, and I was No. 112. I reported to Fort Ord, Calif., in October.

After one night in the transit billets, a movie ("Mash," which was a first for the Army, as it had been banned until then), a haircut and an issue, we were off for our first shot. (I think the shot was for typhoid since it was given with a needle.)

While we were in line, our drill sergeants came down the line, attempting to intimidate the new recruits. I was the oldest in the bunch at 24, and intimidating me was not going to be easy; after all, I had been ripped away from my family and was not in a receptive mood. The drill sergeant that came nose-to-nose with me put on his fiercest face, pointed to his hat and roared, "Do you know what my hat is called?"

I had heard the answer 20 times from the line behind me of course, but with my most serious and naive face, I said, "Of course, drill sergeant. Everybody knows that it's a Smokey Bear hat."

For an instant, a knowing look came over his face that I was going to be trouble, followed by a "I must not laugh" look. He quickly recovered and said, "It's a drill sergeant's hat." I immediately replied, "Of course, it's a drill sergeant's hat, drill sergeant."

With similar aplomb, he moved to the next guy, succeeding in intimidating another of my fellow trainees.

Although that drill sergeant was with the Fourth Platoon, and I the Second, he subbed for our instructor for a time and we actually became friends. That was how it was in the new Modern Volunteer Army.