I was "safe" with a number well above 125, which I think was the cap for that year. In contrast, the camp cook got a very low number, was inducted, trained in rocket artillery, sent to an artillery unit based in Germany, and was soon reassigned as a chaplain’s assistant, which subsequently inspired him to become an ordained member of clergy after his honorable discharge.
I recall that the lottery was held when I was a camp counselor between my freshman and sophomore years at Univ. of Calif. at Santa Barbara. All the males on the camp staff had logged their birth dates with the camp administrative staff. When anyone’s birthday was called, one of the camp secretaries would tell that young man what his number was. On two or three occasions, I remember the camp public address system was used … e.g., "Bill Jones, Bill Jones, you’re number 85."