

WILKESBORO, N.C. | Sally Ferrell bounded from the truck and grabbed a posterboard sign that read: "War is not the Answer."

Over the years, she's organized dozens of peace vigils like this one being set up in a parking lot. Find common ground, she has always preached, and any conflict can be resolved.




Recruiters have turned to high schools to help fill the ranks of the all-volunteer military. And they need them more than ever. After five years of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan and longer deployments, the military has been hard-pressed to meet recruitment demands. They say U.S. casualties - more than 4,600 soldiers killed and 64,000 wounded in both wars - have dampened recruiting.


In recent years, thousands of people like Ferrell have joined dozens of counter-recruiting groups. They say recruiters have given young people misleading information about military service and often target high schools in poor and rural areas where options for graduating students are limited; the activists want students to know they have prospects besides the military.

Most schools have allowed counter-recruiters inside. Wilkes County's opposition could trigger a legal battle.


Tucked in the eastern slope of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Wilkes County has a military tradition going back to Col. Benjamin Cleveland, a Revolutionary War commander who helped defeat the British in the Battle of Kings Mountain.




Helen Clark, another activist, recalled the night Ferrell decided to become a counter-recruiter. They were having dinner with friends, including several high school teachers. She said the teachers were upset that recruiters were at the county's five high schools weekly and approaching students in the lunchrooms.



For Ferrell, the conversation brought back memories of when her son Jesse was in high school and a recruiter kept calling her home - even after she told the military to stop.

Ferrell knew she would never let their son enlist. Growing up in a Quaker household, she remembered her mother, Anna Schuder, espousing nonviolence. She heard stories of how her grandfather, a World War I veteran, was exposed to mustard gas and committed suicide when he returned home. She watched her parents counsel Vietnam-era draftees about becoming conscientious objectors.

Ferrell was already familiar with the counter-recruiting movement: Her sister was involved with a group in Connecticut. So when she returned that night to her three-room cabin in the mountains above town, she planned her strategy.

She began collecting materials from anti-war groups like the Quaker House in Fayetteville. She filled her home with boxes of pamphlets, including index cards with a list of questions students should ask recruiters.

One thing Ferrell didn't count on was the push back from the school district.

Superintendent Stephen Laws reviewed the materials and told her in the spring of 2005 that he wasn't going to allow her in the schools. He said the military was a good career choice for students who weren't going to college. He also didn't think people should say anything negative about the military.


Disappointed but determined, Ferrell called every school board member and even spoke at a board meeting. The board backed Laws' decision.

In September 2005, Ferrell turned to the ACLU. Two years passed before the group reached an agreement with the board: Ferrell would be allowed in the high schools twice a semester.

Ferrell set up a "peace table" in the hallways, where she handed out materials and talked to students about AmeriCorps and other alternatives to the military.

"All we want to do is make students aware that there are other ways to find college money and serve your country without joining the military. We want to save lives," she said.

But by December, Laws said he had enough. A principal had complained to him about some of the materials, and Laws told Ferrell her message was no longer welcomed.

"We allow recruiters into the schools to recruit for post-high school opportunities. But she wasn't offering that," he said.

He said he grew tired of her disparaging remarks about the military and decided to take a stand - even if it led to a lawsuit.

"We're just not going to allow her to do that anymore," he said, adding that administrators have authority to regulate who speaks in schools.


Recruiters say the controversy has made it more difficult for them to do their job.

Before Ferrell's campaign, they had unfettered access to schools and students. Now, they can only visit twice a semester. And when they do, they have to stand at a table outside the cafeterias. They can't sit down and talk with students while they're eating lunch.

"I may not like it, but you have to live by the rules," said Army Sgt. R. Scott Gianfrancesco.

High schools are still the best place for leads, said Gianfrancesco, 38, who became a recruiter in 2003. Under federal law, schools are required to turn over students' names, addresses and phone numbers to military recruiters. The Army wants 80,000 enlistees a year. He says his office has to sign up four people a month.

After the Sept. 11 terrorists attacks, there was a surge of patriotism and enlistments shot up.

"Now I hear the same chorus from many parents: 'I don't want my son or daughter to get shot.' But I tell them that just because there's a war, not everyone goes. But that's a hard message to get across - especially when you come across parents who watched 'Full Metal Jacket' one too many times. It becomes very difficult," Gianfrancesco said.

Said Gianfrancesco: "It's all about opportunities. We give them a chance to leave and make a better life. There aren't many opportunities here for young people."

Some students say they don't mind the recruiters. But others say they're too aggressive.

"It's a sales job," said James Robinson, 17, of Wilkesboro. "They try to make it sound glamorous. But what they don't tell you is you could get killed."