For years there had been similar anti-war demonstrations on college campuses across the country, but this was the first time demonstrators had been fired upon. Quickly, over 450 universities, colleges, and high schools closed throughout the United States due to a student strike of four million students. Violent and nonviolent demonstrations raged for weeks. 30 ROTC buildings across the country were burned or bombed. And that was the intention of some of the demonstrators on that chilly day in May on the steps of Fogler Library.
University students were preparing for a final round of prelims and finals later that month. There was confusion and uncertainty. Should we support the strike? Should we go to classes? The faculty and the administration were largely silent, not wishing to fan the flames of dissent. I decided to go to my political science class to hear the debate. The professor sat silently at his desk in a class that was only half in attendance. He glared at the seated students for a few minutes before the leaped from his seat and began to scream.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE! HAVE YOU NO CONSCIENCE? WHAT OF YOUR FELLOW STUDENTS KILLED AT KENT STATE? GET OUT OF HERE! YOU DISGUST ME!
On to Microbiology... where the professor made it very clear that nonattendance and failure to complete all the course work would result in a failing grade. Confusing.
As I walked back to my dorm, the chanting and shouts from the library steps drew me in. On one side of the steps were a small group of ROTC students in uniform and a larger, well known group of muscled athletes. The ROTC building on campus was attached to the field house and gymnasium at the other end of the quad. Kent State or no Kent State, these vocal students were definitely not in favor of burning the complex on this or any other day. They were threatening physical violence against anyone who might think otherwise.
On the other side of the steps, closer to the Student Union was a large, loud gathering of students, most with long hair and dressed in hippie garb. The leader of this motley and angry group was screaming through a bull horn. He was incensed. I recognized him immediately as the editor of the Campus Student Newspaper. I didn't learn until later that he was also the President of the SDS, Students for a Democratic Society, a radical, left wing organization.
After a long, emotionally heated screaming match, the groups were deadlocked, neither risking the violence which bubbled just beneath the turbulent surface. As the sun went down the Campus Police capitalized on the stalemate. They waded in with their own bull horns and ordered the groups to disperse. And they did. So confusing.
The semester ended early. The University wisely chose to defuse the powder keg by sending everyone home on summer recess. Each person in those turbulent times was left to deal with their individual conscience. Some people burned draft cards. Some participated in candle light marches. Some gave blood to support the troops. We all moved on in our own way, never forgetting the awful loss of life in Vietnam and on the college campuses.
That summer my student deferment ended and I became eligible for the draft. My mother was very nervous and I remember her approaching me at the top of the stairs in our home in South Portland. "If you are called for the draft, you are going to Canada. Do you hear me? You are not going to go to Vietnam!? I didn't know what I would do, but I was spared from that decision. My birthday was drawn number 339. It's the only time I have every won anything in a lottery. It was the only time it really mattered..
The vocal hippie leader of the anti-war demonstrators went on to graduate that May and to distinguish himself in other ways. He became an author and did quite well for himself, selling over 350 million books. His name... Stephen King.
Well done, Stephen. Guess it beats spending 30 years in jail for arson...
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