It was 1971. I was getting my B.S. in Aerospace Engineering (A.E.). I was ready to take on the world. And other worlds as well. We had already gone to the Moon, and now I was going to be a part of it.

    Unfortunately (for me, at least), we had gotten there a little too soon. The Moon happened in 1969, the Apollo space program was pretty much winding down, the shuttle wouldn’t be for quite some time, and the job market was tanking. I had spoken to a number of seniors in 1968 and 1969, and they were getting tons of job offers, but just three years later, there was little available.

    I had good grades, yet jobs in Aerospace were hard to find. So I thought about getting any kind of engineering job and encountered the first of a couple of “Catch 22”s. I was told that some companies were looking for Mechanical Engineers or Civil Engineers. I had taken M.E. and C.E. courses, but my classes were primarily based on Aerospace. I thought to myself, a bridge, a building what’s the difference between them and a plane or a rocket? I am oversimplifying, but hopefully, you get my drift. Nevertheless, I was turned down. Here is where the 2nd Catch 22 came into effect.

    Since I wasn’t getting a job, I thought maybe I should go for a Master's Degree. I had become disappointed with A.E. and, with my newfound love of computers, I wanted to go for an advanced degree in what was then called Operation Research Systems Analysis (ORSA).

    So I went to the ORSA department and asked if I could apply for a fellowship. They looked at my grades, and they were acceptable, but they said that if I had a Bachelor’s Degree in ORSA (which I didn’t) they would consider me. Then I went to the Aerospace Department and asked if I could get a fellowship. I was told they would consider me for a fellowship for a Masters in A.E. but not for ORSA.

    I didn’t want to pigeon hole myself any further, so I was despondent. Thinking I went to school for four years to wind up waiting tables or driving a cab, it was not the happiest of forks.

    The silver lining, I guess, was that I was able to “escape” Viet Nam because I was in college. That would have been one hell of a fork.

    In December 1969, I got my draft lottery number, based on my date of birth. It was 155 out of 365. Were I not in college, it was a pretty safe bet I would have gotten called. When I graduated in 1971, I retained the same number and had to go down to Fort Hamilton by the Verrazano Bridge and take my physical. That was a trip in itself. I was classified 1-A, and then had to sweat it out to see if they got to 155. They didn’t and, after being eligible for a year, I was in the clear. Whew!.

    Note: If we’re talking about unhappy forks, there is a little, kind of “mini” fork that happened in 1971. I had gotten a job working second shift at a computer center after graduating. I had driven a coworker home and stopped at a light on my way back to my house. Suddenly I heard squealing brakes, and the next thing I knew, I was looking up at the roof of my car. I had been rear-ended, and my body threw the seat back, so I was lying down. My car wound up being totaled, which was bad enough, but to this day, I have issues with my neck.

    Suffice it to say, 1971 was not my best year.