THEY were all just trying to do their jobs; the woman at the hearing test, the guys who took urine samples and blood samples and X-rays and measured height and weight, they were all courteous.

Some of them even sympathized with the confused, anxious men, who wandered the dimly-lit halls in various stages of undress. A doctor, noting that one registrant had filled in as occupation, "Human Being," said to him, "This business isn't dehumanizing just for you. It is for all of us."

During a full day at Whitehall I saw only one soldier, a major who had been there since 1966, who evinced any enthusiasm for what he was doing. He looked like a soldier on leave in a June Allyson Korean War movie-crew cut, perfectly pressed uniform, shiny black shoes, braid on his shoulders and ribbons on his chest. He said things like "Chow will be at 1:00 sharp, men," and "When you receive your orders, proceed to your assignment, on the double." He was an anachronism, even there.

Most of the soldiers at the center had been there less than a year, long since the war and the military had come under serious attack. They certainly had no pride in their jobs and, one sensed, they might have been embarrassed by them.

The officer in room 204, the one who makes all final decisions about who does or does not pass the physical, had drawn peace symbols on his loose-leaf notebook. He spoke to each registrant softly and sympathetically and, in the end, rejected a startling number.

John Larga failed, again, because of something in his urine. A Czech, who had been in the country for two years and hoped to become a citizen, was rejected because he didn't speak the language well enough. Larry Stillman got his psychiatric deferment. A guy named Louie, a hustler of drugs and women, was judged immoral for the Army. Someone else got out on high blood pressure by squeezing the side of the chair with his free hand during the test.

In all, only five of the New Rochelle contingent passed the physical. And there was solace, even for them. As one of the unfortunates was told, by a luckier registrant wielding an X-ray like a bloody sword, "All you have to do is ask for a personal appearance in New Rochelle. The examiner there is a Dove and he'll put braces on you himself before he'll accept you."