This has been happening to me a lot lately: I finish a post under the pressure of my large and enthusiastic dog making it painfully obvious that he wants a walk and won’t leave me in peace before he gets one, rush to get it up while he’s pawing at my arm, and then, on the walk, think of something I should have included in the post.
In this case, I should have mentioned the comparison with the military. We don’t want those suffering from mental and emotional illnesses holding guns and defending the country any more than we want them flying planes, but the standards are much, much lower. A “Section 8” draft deferment required far more serious symptoms than chronic depression.
Four famous movies had the issue of mentally ill soldiers at their centers: “Dr. Strangelove…,” “The Dirty Dozen,” “M*A*S*H,” and “Catch 22.” (I never could figure out what was the problem with Trini Lopez in “The Dirty Dozen” except for his obsession with songs about vegetation.) My father was somewhat bitter about the low standards WWII draftees were subject to, I assume because his foot was almost blown off because of a member of Dad’s platoon who had an IQ in the sixties.
