Synopsis
On September 14, 1969, Private First Class Judy Talton celebrates her nineteenth birthday by secretly joining the campus anti-Vietnam War movement. In doing so, she jeopardizes both the army scholarship that will secure her future and her relationship with her military family. But Judy’s doubts have escalated with the travesties of the war. Who is she if she stays in the army? What is she if she leaves?
When the first date pulled in the Draft Lottery turns up as her birthday, she realizes that if she were a man, she’d have been Number One—off to Vietnam with an under-fire life expectancy of six seconds. The stakes become clear, propelling her toward a life-altering choice as fateful as that of any draftee.
The Fourteenth of September portrays a pivotal time at the peak of the Vietnam War through the rare perspective of a young woman, tracing her path of self-discovery and a “Coming of Conscience.” Judy’s story speaks to the poignant clash of young adulthood, early feminism, and war, offering an ageless inquiry into the domestic politics of protest when the world stops making sense.
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Praise
“Rita Dragonette has written a strong-hearted and authentic novel about a naive young girl and her struggle to reconcile the dissonance between the world she sees and the world she was raised to believe in. Judy is truly a quiet hero; you won’t forget her.” – Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of The Deep End of the Ocean
“A brilliant depiction of how the urgency of political commitment complicates the self- absorption of adolescence. This is a novel for those who marvel at the profound decisions we were called upon to make so young, but also for a new generation facing the crucial questions of the turbulent world that will define them.” – Barbara Shoup, author of Everything You Want
“An often fresh take on the collegiate anti-war movement in small-town America.” ―Kirkus Reviews
“. . . beautifully written with compassionate and thoughtful narrative and engaging characters who play out all the angst of the era set on a Midwestern college campus when America was at its most vulnerable. Dragonette show us what we can be, both in our best and our worst.” ―Windy City Reviews
Excerpt
Lottery Night
(Excerpt from The Fourteenth of September)
They had decided they would all watch the lottery drawing at David’s dorm, since that’s where most of them lived. However, after his outburst about women not understanding what the guys were going through, Vida suggested the girls stay together, and they all agreed, except Marsha. Howie wanted her to be with him.
They took places early, along the wall in the back of the north T.V. room. Judy watched David and the others take over the front row as the rest of the crowd gathered.
As the room began to fill, the guys practically walked over the women, pressing them toward the last-row seats, then taking over the standing room.
“What about space in the back?” an irritated voice called out.
“That’s girls,” someone answered.
Judy felt a wave of shame and grabbed Vida, pulling her by the sleeve.
A blonde she didn’t even know looked up as they left. Judy jerked her head, motioning her to follow as a look of recognition and guilt came over her.
“I didn’t think,” the blonde said, once they were out in the hallway.
“It’s all right,” Judy said, “me neither.”
“Wait up,” Marsha called. “I told Howie I couldn’t take up a seat. He’s sitting with David. I think he’ll be fine.”
They joined a crowd of women in exile in the adjacent student lounge. They waited.
“Ron’s been a mess,” one girl said, furiously twisting her ring. “He looks at me, and it’s like he wants me to say something, but I don’t know what.”
“Al, too,” another said. “And no matter what I say, it’s not what he wants to hear. He can get real mad.” She bowed her head. “It scares me.”
“I’m going to leave,” Marsha said. “I can’t take this.”
“Stay,” Judy said, holding her by the arm. She continued in a whisper, “Later won’t be any better.”
“What if—” Marsha began.
“No, don’t,” Judy said, “not yet.”
They waited in silence, prayer, and concentration. Hair was twisted, lips bitten; fingernails wouldn’t make it through the night. They smoked, even if they didn’t. They played with their pieces of paper that had birth dates of brothers and cousins and boyfriends at other schools.
“I want to scream,” Marsha said, grabbing her hair with her hands and holding her head between her knees. The smell of fear, something like sulfur, thickened the air.
Sounds filtered through from the T.V. room like little pockets of pressure, exploding as they called each number. Sometimes hoots of relief. Sometimes the hiss of a loud, disbelieving expulsion of air. Snap, crackle, pop, dud, silence. They couldn’t figure the code for the noises. No one came out.
Suddenly, Fish was running to her. He picked her up and spun her around, as if it were VE Day on the Champs-Élysées, then planted big kisses, wet as hell, all over her face. “I’m 327!” He fell to his knees with a beatific look on his face and a huge smile. “I love you! You know how much I love you?” He stretched his long arms wide. “I love you this much.”
Judy laughed nervously as he turned to the blonde and called out, stretching his arms even wider.
“I love you this much,” he repeated, “on the map!”
Judy was confused. If Fish was 327, they must be almost done. Could it mean that everyone she knew had a high number? Could they possibly be that lucky?
Achilles walked out somberly, and she held her breath.
“Ninety-six.”
“That’s almost a hundred, Achilles. You’ll be safe.”
“Yeah, great.” He walked past her toward the elevators. “I’d rather it was just nine. At least I’d know. Now I’m in no-man’s-land.” He stepped into the elevator, and she heard his voice die as the doors closed. “Fucking no-man’s-land.”
She heard Marsha shriek and turned to watch Howie come out, skinny and smiling.
“Take me to McDonald’s,” he said, then engulfed her in a bear hug. “Three forty-three,” he yelled with a clenched fist in the air and his old guitar-playing grin on his face.
David walked out slowly but deliberately, his gaze fixed at a spot on the floor, about three feet ahead of him. Judy could feel her fear rising, her heartbeat so intense it seemed to be coming out of the top of her head. She wasn’t breathing. She would not cry. She could not cry. She touched his arm and he stopped his march.
“Two thirty.”
She burst into tears and moved to hug him, but he pulled back. “But David, that’s nearly halfway. You’ll be clear.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” He headed to the elevator.
“Don’t follow me,” he called back at her.
“But . . .”
“Don’t.”
Judy turned in circles as others walked out of the room, not sure what had just happened with David. She strained her neck looking for Wil, Wizard, Meldrich.
“We have a Number One!” she heard someone say, followed by a chorus of disembodied voices.
“Number One. September fourteenth.”
Judy sat down in the middle of the floor, jelly legs giving up. “My birthday, too,” she said out loud to people who weren’t listening.
The post-lottery pandemonium went on above and around her. Someone just walked over my grave, she thought, and then had the sensation of dropping, like a heavy stone, accelerating. She tried to steady herself with her hands on the floor. In my family I was supposed to be a boy, she thought. It was to be a boy first and only then a girl.
“September fourteenth is my birthday, too,” she said out loud again to stop her fall.
Judy felt she should find the Number One and tell him that were it not for a flip of the chromosome coin—one extra more or less—she would be in his place, random, just like the lottery. She really could understand.
She tried to picture herself in a uniform, a helmet, but the closest she could get was to see her little brother, the same hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
This face and figure froze in her mind as she felt the digit 1 burning into her forehead like a private scarlet letter. This had to mean something.
She wandered outside. It was December. The cold hurt. She took her hands out of her pockets and forced them down at her sides as the icy air coated them, penetrating in daggers of pain to the bone. It was the least she could do.
And then she remembered. She knew who was #1.
Excerpted from THE FOURTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER. Copyright © 2018 by Rita Dragonette.
About the Author
RITA DRAGONETTE is a writer who, after spending nearly thirty years telling the stories of others as an award-winning public relations executive, has returned to her original creative path. She is currently at work on three other books: an homage to The Sun Also Rises about expats chasing their last dream in San Miguel de Allende, a World War II novel based upon her interest in the impact of war on and through women, and a memoir in essays. She lives and writes in Chicago, where she also hosts literary salons to showcase authors and their new books to avid readers.
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