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In Quayle's case, he served in the Indiana National Guard, a part-time assignment that consisted mostly of writing press releases for a small public- affairs unit. That alone might have been embarrassing for the hawkish Senator, but Quayle grudgingly conceded that he had used his powerful family's connections to help him win this bullet-free billet. In his initial press conference, Quayle did not aid his own cause when he callously suggested that he joined the Guard because "I did not know in 1969 that I would be in this room today, I'll confess."
The day after the convention, Bush accompanied his new running mate to his hometown, Huntington, Ind. There, as the Vice President stayed secluded in city hall, Quayle fended off press questions about his war record in a scene eerily reminiscent of other embattled vice-presidential nominees: the Richard Nixon of the Checkers speech; Thomas Eagleton dumped from the Democratic ticket in 1972; and Geraldine Ferraro, who in 1984 endured withering scrutiny of the financial affairs of herself and her husband, Real Estate Executive John Zaccaro.
The reason Quayle's Viet Nam quagmire caused such controversy is that millions of Americans could instantly relate to what he had done and had not done. At 22, upon graduation from DePauw University in 1969, he planned to go to law school. But he had already passed his pre-induction military physical, and fears of being drafted were realistic. Later that year, Quayle would receive a draft lottery number, 210 (out of 366), which would put him on the cusp of those spared conscription. The National Guard was a beguiling option: generally it meant six months of training and then weekend-warrior status for six years, with virtually no chance of being mobilized for Viet Nam.
Enlisting in the National Guard instead of being drafted is not, as Quayle ( repeatedly pointed out in Huntington, a dishonor. But for a conservative trying to run on a banner of hawkish patriotism, it is a potential liability. The far more explosive political question last week was whether the Quayles had pulled strings to get him into the Guard. The Indiana Guard at the time was at 98.4% strength, meaning that there was a waiting list for slots in many units. Dennis Avery, 41, a Democratic state representative from Evansville, Ind., told TIME last week that he had considered enlisting in the Indiana Guard before being drafted in 1969. "I was told that the National Guard had a long waiting list," Avery said, "and that it would be futile, a several-year waiting list." But Indiana Guard records indicate that there were vacancies in the headquarters unit Quayle joined in May 1969.