Things Done and Left Undone, Chapter 18, Battle Lines Being Drawn

There’s battle lines being drawn,
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong.

Stephen Stills, “For What It’s Worth"

Monday, August 26, 10:45 p.m.

The six of us ventured out into the street, walking west on Schiller to Wells, where we turned north. The traffic was heavy for a Monday night, both on the street and on the sidewalk. Quite a few of the people we passed were either drunk or stoned. Wells was the main drag of Old Town, with its mix of trendy boutiques, head shops, and bars. With both police cars and members of the Headhunters motorcycle gang cruising the street, we stayed in a tight group, with Sam and Helena in the center. We headed east on Eugenie and entered the park. While the police were there in force, they were making no moves. By my watch it was after eleven. Perhaps Mayor Daley had listened to reason and decided not to clear the park.

We could hear a lot of noise directly ahead of us--the sound of wood striking wood. As we got closer, it was clear that people were piling up picnic tables, trash barrels, and anything else they could find.

“We need more tables for the barricade,” someone shouted.

This isn’t the French Revolution, I thought. Gregory must have been thinking the same thing.
“This is madness,” he said. “You’re in the middle of a park. The cops can just go around this thing, or come in from the other side. Or they can just drive through.”

The man he was addressing lifted a wastebasket onto the barricade and walked off to look for more. The mass of the crowd was a hundred feet or so behind the barricade. We heard the familiar sound of “Om” from what must have been the center of the barricade, where television floodlights had created an island of light. There was Allen Ginsberg, sitting cross-legged, with several others, chanting the mantra. A chorus of Om could be heard up and down the barricade, which may have been around 100 feet long, and through the main crowd. It did have a calming effect.

It was just after 11:15 when a police car began driving around the park, loudspeaker blaring, “Anyone remaining in the park from now on is in violation of the law. Please leave the park. This includes the news media. The park is now closed.”

Last night, Ginsberg and most of the Yippie leaders had urged people to leave the park. Tonight, even Allen was staying. There was going to be a confrontation. Neither side would yield.
My instinct was to leave for the edge of the park. But Helena wanted to stay with Allen, while Sam believed it was his mission to remain. We stayed. Every ten minutes or so, someone would yell, “They’re coming,” and you could feel the tension building up. Only in the small circle around Allen did calm prevail.

At 11:45 the police car--Greg said it was a traffic safety car--rolled by again announcing that the park was closed. Then a thin young man walked along the barricade, saying that it looked like the police would let us stay. Chants of “Stay in the park! Parks belong to the people! “ “Dump the Hump!” and ‘Hell, no we won’t go!” came and went, drowning out, but never stopping Allen’s chant. I was scared and nervous, and I looked around our little group. Helena sensed it, and embraced me. The other two couples did the same.

“This is no time for love,” I heard a voice say behind me. It wasn’t a Yippie, but one of the SDS organizers. And it caused Allen to break his chant.

“No time for love?” he said. “Those couples may be the only sane ones in this madness.” He looked up at us. “Helena,” he said, “you and your friends should join my circle. Your love could make the difference.”

We joined the circle and began Omming.

“Something’s coming,” someone whispered. I broke my concentration from the mantra and looked around. I could see the outline of a car, moving slowly toward us, lights out. Suddenly the lights came on as it moved through the crowd behind the barricade. Panic erupted, except in our little circle. People scurried around, while Allen continued chanting. The car, with two officers in it, drove right up to the barricade, pinning a teenaged girl between the right side of the car and a trash basket. She began screaming.

The girl managed to escape, while a mob descended on the police car, pelting it with rocks. I heard the car’s engine roar to life--it must have stalled at the barricade--and I could see it move slowly zigzagging through the crowd.

The main police force was on the other side of the barricade, with light trucks that combined with the TV lights to make the area almost as bright as daylight. Something came over the barricade, trailing a long gray stream of what looked like smoke.

“Throw it back at the pigs!” someone shouted. More of the things came sailing over the barricade.

“Walk, don’t run,” I heard a woman’s voice say, and a man repeating it with a shout.
Another voice yelled, “Breathe through your mouth. For God’s sake don’t rub your eyes!” I realized that the things were tear gas canisters.

We all got up off the ground and began walking away from the barricade, and toward Stockton. The six of us stayed together, but we became separated from the rest of Allen’s group. Helena and I were in the lead, with the Sniders behind us, and Greg and Liane acting as rear guard. Behind us we could hear the battle--the thud of rocks and nightsticks, and the screams, and shouts of the demonstrators. But those gave way to coughs and retching. We had managed to avoid most of the gas, though my eyes were stinging.

When we made it out of the park, Liane suggested that we all go back to her apartment to wash our faces and our eyes, and decide what to do next. We avoided the huge crowd in the Eugenie Triangle, and started walking back to the apartment.

“Isn’t that Hugh Hefner?” said Greg, as we approached a knot of people. It was. Hefner, with a long-legged beauty on his arm, was with another couple, seemingly just out for a stroll. He did a double-take when he saw Helena.

“Miss,” he said, “would you consider posing for my magazine? We pay well.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Hefner. I take my clothes off only for the one I love.” She put her arm around me. I’m sure I turned beet-red.

“Our loss is your gain,” he said to me. He saw Liane. “I don’t suppose…”

“No, Mr. Hefner,” she said, “I’m of the same mind as Helena.” She brought Greg closer to her. “But I’m flattered by your offer.”

“Call me Hef.”

At that moment we heard someone saying, “Keep moving.” It was a cop. He was waving his baton around, just looking for an excuse to hit someone. We moved to the edge of the sidewalk to let Hefner and his party go by, He didn’t move quickly enough. I heard the thud of the baton against Hefner’s back. Hefner turned and gave the cop what must have been a withering glance.
“You just hit Hugh Hefner,” said Greg. “Give him your badge number.”
The cop, who was wearing no badge, quickly moved past.

“Are you all right, Hef?” Greg asked.

“Maybe a minor bruise. Nothing like what’s going on in there.” He motioned to the park. “And if either of you ladies change your mind, look me up.”

We all said good night, and started walking west on Eugenie. Most of the crowd was now out of the park, but was massed in the Eugenie Triangle. As we turned the corner onto Wells, we saw the blue-helmeted police move in on the Triangle, and heard the all-too-familiar sounds of the attack. People were running in all directions to escape the line of police.

“Just keep walking,” said Greg. “We can’t do anything here. But running will make us a target.”
As we were walking up Wells, there was a patrol wagon on the other side of the street. Two cops had grabbed a young couple. One cop was holding the boy, and another had dragged the girl down and was hitting her with his baton. Liane focused on the cop doing the beating. The cop dropped his baton and the girl ran to her boyfriend. The first cop put the couple in the back of the wagon.

“I hope I did the right thing,” Liane said.

“It was the best you could do--that perception thing, I believe,” said Sam. “I don’t think they’ll be beaten any more.

“You know a lot about our craft,” said Liane.

“I learned the hard way. Helena can tell you about it later,” Sam replied. “A metaphysician almost destroyed our marriage.”

The rest of the walk back was without incident, except for a group of Headhunters motorcyclists who nearly ran us down when we were crossing Schiller. But when we entered the foyer of the building, the glass in the inner door was smashed. Someone had broken into the building.