I forgot about Chicago. By 1968, I was a political activist. I sneaked out of the house to work in McCarthy's campaign. The media focused on elite college students and I dreamed of being one so I thought I would get practice. There were college students galore, tons of them. My espionage career was sidetracked when, despite promises to the contrary, some McCarthy volunteer called and my JW abusive father answered the phone. To back Honors Thesis assertion a tad, my father was a Humphrey union devotee. Humphrey was prowar. We went into Humprhey's local campaign office and pretended to volunteer. We threw the lit they gave us to hand out in the trash and then made calls for MCcarthy. I was meeting young men, my type. My father did not kill me. He mentioned they called. I am still in shock. Part of me believes he would have been a high union official if it were not for the Witnesses.
He grew up in the coal mines when John Lewis organized. The difference was enormous and practical. So he may have thought I was following in his foodsteps. I wanted to go to Chicago and demonstrate to stop the war. And also to meet guys. Everyone who was anyone went. JWs don't go to Chicago. I was too young. So I visited his relatives near Pittsburgh. Jesus protected me, literally. The police riots were horrid. Students, peacefully working on a major presidential campaign were dragged out of the rizy hotel and beaten with billy cubs. Radical students showed America that college was no longer Norman Rockwellian. Civil disobedience no longer reigned with the assassination of Martin Luther King. Riots, Riots, Riots.
My father was very agitated. The crowds were chanting something over and over for hours. First, I thought they were screaming, We are all for McCarthy. Cancelling any delegate movement to McCarthy. The press reported they were chanting, The whole world was watching and the entire world saw America beat its students in the head and cart them off to prison. I was never the same. A few years older and those clubs and hoses would be on me. We were used to black people being beaten. Now the struggle was home in a different way.
One of the reasons I chose my university was that it shut down completely when Columbia needed to build a new gym. Harlem protested university expansion. Mark Rudd led the students who thought a separate entrace to accomodate community members was racist. Soon, Germany and the Sorbonne, a whole slew of European schools were closed. I was so impressed with Columbia'a activism. Now, however, when I realize the damage and what education truly means, I cry when I see references in films and documentaries. I weep hard. Columbia students received draft deferrments. They became leaders of the society they trounced. Later, the people on W.10th St. surfaced from underground. I get agitated when I hear they were admitted to the NY Bar and practice at large Wall St. firms. The Harlem people did not have the benefits they did.
Sometime soon after, we drove in to see the house W.10th St where a bomb exploded. Total devestation. The only thing that remained was one side wall. It was the library wall, full of books and a college diploma was clearly visible from the massive pile of rubble. Several people were killed. the Weatherpeople were making bombs.
Woodstock, awesome music, man on the moon and destruction. Don't you know you can count me out.
I weep when these events are recalled. It was high times and very low times.