Collin walks into our commune on 25th St. in the City and he is both pissed off and scared. It seems he’s just received his draft notice. He’s pacing our living room telling us there’s no way that he’s going to Vietnam to fight and die for some senseless bullshit cause. Joanne rolls up a fatty, lights it then hands it to Collin telling him to kick back and toke on this awhile so he can get things into perspective. He takes the doobie and sucks in a hit as he sits down next to Joanne on the sofa saying he just don’t know what to do. All he knows is, he ain’t going in no fucking army. Since Collin is both young and good looking Joanne decides to give him a little aid and comfort. She gets up telling Collin to come on downstairs to her bedroom where they can talk about it. Collin smile then gets up and follows Joanne taking the joint with him.
A few weeks later we’re having a party to celebrate the summer solstice and in saunters Collin, who’s looking much more calm and relaxed. I offer him a beer and a toke then ask, “Howzit hangin’ bro?”
He takes a hit, holds it then lets it out. He smiles real big saying, “Man, things are great! I’m on my way up to BC Canada in a couple days to wait this draft shit out. But who knows, maybe I’ll like it so much I just might stay. I mean, I hear the beer is cheap, the grass is potent and the babes are free and easy.”
I laugh as I hand him a brew saying, “Well, good luck man, but I hear the cops are watching the border pretty good these days just looking for dudes like you. And if they catch you they send you right to the nearest Army fort where they immediately cut your long-assed hair, turn you into a grunt then ship your butt straight to the thick of the action in the Nam.”
Collin looking serious glances around and drops his voice telling me, “That’s not happening to me man. I met a dude who fixed me up with some genuine fake Canadian ID.”
I asked him, “What the hell is genuine fake ID?”
Collin tells me, “It’s an ID with a real Canadian’s name and birthdate except it has my picture on it. Plus I got the birth certificate to go with it.” I had to admit that was a pretty sweet deal and since I probably wouldn’t be seeing him again, wished him luck.
Over a month later Collin walks into our commune and he is both pissed off and scared. Needless to say we are quite surprised to see him asking him just what the hell is he doing back here in the City?
He sits down of the sofa and after smoking a hooter regales us with this twisted little tale; “Oh man, you ain’t gonna believe what happened to me. I hung around the City partying until a week before I was suppose to be inducted the split for more northern friendlier climbs. I hitched up to Seattle and stayed with some people I knew. Partied a bit with them then set out for Vancouver. I got a ride to Blaine then sat there on the on ramp for most of the day. There was plenty of traffic but no one was stopping so I figure I’ll just walk across then hitch from the other side. I mean, it couldn’t be no worse there and as least I’d be safe. Or so I thought.”
“Well, I stroll across the American side with no problem so I think I got it dicked. Then I walk up to Canadian Customs and flash them a smile. One of the dudes asks me my citizenship. I tell him Canadian. He asks where I was born. I tell him Toronto. He asks why I’m walking across. I tell him I’m hitching and the rides are slow, and since it’s such a beautiful day well, I’d though I’d just hoof it. He asks for some ID. I whip my genuine fake out and hand it to him. He asks me what I was doing in the US and how long I was there. I tell him I was visiting some friends for a few months. He looks at it then checks some book he got in front of him. Up until no everything is cool. He looks bored just doing his job. Then all of a sudden his face changes. In fact, he looks kind of scared."
"He tells me to follow him that there’s just some routine question that needs to be cleared up. I don’t like what’s happening but what can I do? So I follow him into the Customs shed. He tells me to take a seat. I do. He walks into the back. The next thing I know there’s bout a dozen Mounties standing around me with guns drawn telling me to get face down on the floor NOW! Or they will blow my fucking head off. Jesus H. Christ! I’m so frightened that I just sit there. One of the Mounties then grabs me by my hair and throws me to the ground telling me if I move I am a dead man. They yank my arms around back and cuff my hands real tight then jerk me up on my feet all the while telling me if I try anything funny that I will be very sorry. Man, I tell ya I am in a state of total shock. I don’t know what the hell is going down but I do know that it ain’t good.”
“They put me in a cell, uncuff me then leave without any explanation at all. I sit in that cell all night wondering what the fuck went wrong. I’m thinking, ‘Shit, they can’t be this pissed of just because I tried to cross into Canada with a false ID.’ Well, next morning when a guard brings me some coffee and donuts I ask him what’s up?"
"He glares at me saying, “You really think you could just waltz back up here after what you’ve done and be welcomed with open arms.’ He shakes his head then say, “You’re in for it now me bucko. Oh yes, they’re going to give it to you good.”
"I say, “But all I did was try and get into Canada with a fake ID.”
"But he’s already out the door. They bring me lunch and diner. When I try to question them about why I’m there, they just ignore me.”
“The next day after breakfast a guy in a suit enters my cell. He looks at me with real hate then says, “We’ll be transporting you to Vancouver city jail later today where you’ll await extradition back to Toronto. There you’ll be tried for the murder of Miss Mary Anne Stodard. And from the looks of the evidence against you, you’ll be found guilty and then spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in prison where you belong.”
"I’m dumbfounded but I know I gotta tell this guy that I ain’t that dude so I say, “Wait a minute man, I’m not Randall Owens.” Then I tell him the whole story about how I’m just a draft dodger with a fake Canadian ID."
"Of course, he don’t believe a word I say. He just gives me some more shit about going to prison for a long time then leaves. They come in a few hours later, cuff me hand and foot then put me in a van and drive me up to Vancouver. The whole time I’m trying to tell them who I really am but no one will listen.”
“Finally a couple days later my court appointed lawyer shows up and I tell him the story. I can tell he don’t believe me either but it’s his job to check it out. I sit there in jail while my lawyer has them sent my fingerprints to Toronto for comparison with the “real” Randall Owens. All the time I’m waiting for my prints to come back all the cops are treating me like shit telling me I’m lucky to have a cell to myself because the other inmates would just love to have a go at a guy who beat his girlfriend to death. I tell ya man, I was shit scared the whole time."
"Anyway, almost two weeks later they drag me into an interrogation room and tell me the prints don’t match. I feel real relieved until they tell me that I am now under arrest for trying to enter Canada illegally and can receive up to 6 months in jail for said offence. They take me back to my cell where I sit for another 3 or 4 days. Now the guards treat me a little better, more like just another dumb fuck up who did something stupid and got caught.”
"Well, one morning they cuff me again and take me to court. The judge reads the charges and asks how I plea. I tell him guilty. I mean at this point I don’t care because 6 months in jail sounds a whole lot better then life in prison. The judge lectures me about how irresponsible I was while I just hang my head. He then asks if I’ve learned my lesson."
"I tell him I sure have.
"He then sentences me to be deported from Canada for life telling me if I ever return that I’ll go straight to jail."
"Man, I am so relieved I actually smile and thank him. They take me back to jail where they give me my own clothes back then put me in a van and drive me back to the border. There they simply cut me loose and tell me to walk back across to the American side. As I’m walking I think, ‘man I sure hope they don’t check any book because since I didn’t show up for my induction, I am now officially a draft dodger subject to immediate arrest and jail time. But the US Customs don’t even hardly look at me. They just wave me through. Anyway after kicking back at my Seattle friends place for awhile I hitched back down here to regroup”
Wow! What a story. We all ask what is he going to do now? Now that Canada is out is he going to accept being drafted?
Collin leans back in the sofa, takes a toke then says, “Fuck no to that bullshit! I’m gonna hang out in the City dealing a little dope until I got enough bread to fly to Sweden and apply for asylum. I’ve been told it’s pretty easy to get once you’re there. And beside, I hear the beer is real good and the babes are beautiful and free with their favors.”
I remind Collin there’s probably not a lot of pot there but he just shrugs saying, “Well maybe not yet, but I plan on taking plenty of seeds with me. After all, a guy’s gotta make a living.”
We saw Collin a few times after that, then he disappeared and I always wondered if he made it to Sweden.