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Definitely Not Dressed to Kill
"Had I anticipated parading through any part of Brooklyn in my underwear, I might have not chosen my pale blue boxer shorts. But there I was, wearing only leather loafers, dark ankle-length socks, and broadcloth boxers. To complete my ludicrous ensemble, a bright yellow motorcycle helmet hung from my arm, like a flower basket. It was filled with socket wrenches. This was how it had been ordained I would meet my fate."
In July and August, we looked through AH's Hicksville lens to watch the first Baby Boomers grow up. This month, we'll see how the magnitude of the Boomer cohort overwhelmed Selective Service, and made difficult times worse. Along the way, we'll focus on my own summer of 1968.
