Commentary Like many of my generation—and this is not an excuse, merely, shall we say, a “chronological” notation—I never served in the military. Indeed, thinking myself morally and politically opposed to the Vietnam War, I did what I could to avoid the draft. 1964, the year of my college graduation—I was only twenty that June, or was it still May—it never entered my head I could possibly volunteer for the Army, Navy, Marines or Air Force. I was going to graduate school, my trusted 2-S exemption in hand. My only sacrifice, if you can call it that, was that I had to forego a dream I now see as more than a little pretentious, to go to film school in France. My draft board insisted on domestic study so off I went to the Yale School of Drama for a somewhat dubious MFA in playwriting and dramatic literature. This left …