Terminal Event

by Robert Vaughan

  THE OTHER SIDE OF MEMORY

  CHAPTER 2

  It did not seem at all unusual to Jake that he was now Tony Cordelli, nor did it seem strange to him that he was standing in the quadrangle of Washington University in St. Louis. He was not Jake Elliot, occupying Tony’s body, he was Tony Cordelli, with no awareness of ever having been anyone but Tony Cordelli. He had never heard of the space shuttle, personal computers, or Michael Jordan. He had never heard of them, because such things were yet to be.

  It was exactly 2:37 in the afternoon of Friday, April 23, 1967.

  Tony was watching an anti-war demonstration. According to the student newspaper, the plan was for the protesters to assemble in the quadrangle, then move the rally from the college campus down to the river front under the recently constructed Jefferson Memorial Arch. While not offering any official approval of the event, the university did cancel all its classes for the rest of the day.

  As the rally grew it began to take on its own identity until it had all the trappings of a great, outdoor party. The surging of the crowd gave the young men and women ample opportunities to grope each other. Beer cans and marihuana cigarettes were passed openly from student to student, and the very air was charged with electricity, like ozone in the atmosphere before a great storm.

  Although Tony was observing the demonstration, he was not a part of it. In fact it could be said that he was one of the targets of the protesters, for Tony was a Senior Cadet in the ROTC program and among the many "Get out of Vietnam" signs, and peace symbols, were several signs demanding that the ROTC leave Washington U.

  Tony recalled an editorial he had read in Student Life, the Washington University newspaper.

  The anti-war demonstrations of the sixties have supplanted the pep rallies and bonfires of the fifties. How refreshing it is to have today's college students more concerned for world peace than whether or not their star running back can score a touchdown against Saturday's opponent!

  The next week, in a letter to the editor, one of the more conservative students answered the editorial.

  It isn't world peace you hippie freaks are concerned about. It's where you're going to get your next toke and who you are going to sleep with that night. If you want to use the anti-war movement as a means of letting you drink and smoke dope and sleep around, then fine, do it. But don't be hypocritical about it. Don't try and tell the rest of us that you are engaged in some noble purpose for the good of mankind.

  Officially, the university expressed appreciation for "the frank exchange of ideas between our students." Unofficially, they wished it would just all go away so the campus would be quiet again. However, some of the more liberal of the university's professors were actually participating in the rally. They carried signs and chanted anti-war slogans to show the university administration that they were in unity with their students.

  The remainder of the staff and faculty, as well as the nonparticipating students and hundreds of citizen onlookers from the neighborhoods around the university, were drawn to the campus by curiosity. They stood around the periphery, looking on in confused concern as the thousand or more demonstrators trampled the grass, broke down shrubbery, and destroyed flower beds that had been carefully tended through decades of dedicated landscaping.

  "Come on, Tony, let's go," another cadet urged. "These long-haired hippie bastards make me want to puke. Besides, we'll be late for ROTC class."

  "All classes have been canceled for the rest of the day," Tony replied.

  Like Tony, the other cadet was in uniform and had his hair cut very short. And, while the young men in the protest crowd were wearing jeans, or bell-bottoms and tie-dyed tee shirts, even when Tony wasn't in uniform, his idea of "casual" dressing was a pair of slacks and an open-collar shirt.

  "Then I'm goin' down to Bear Tracks. You want to go?"

  "No, you go ahead," Tony said. "I think I'll stick around and watch for a few more minutes."

  "Yeah, well, you watch 'em if you want to, but I've got better things to do," Tony's friend called back as he left.

  The organizer of the demonstration was Eric Holmes. Eric had dark-brown hair which fell to his shoulders. Lavender sun-glasses shielded his eyes, and a peace-symbol hung from a chain around his neck. He was wearing a white tee-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Tony couldn't see Eric's feet through the crowd, but he knew that the young man would be wearing open-weave sandals.

  Tony had known Eric for his entire life. They had been next door neighbors and childhood friends. There had never been anything to indicate that the two friends would, someday, arrive at such differing philosophies.

  Eric climbed up onto one of the concrete benches to address the crowd through a hand held, battery-powered bullhorn.

  "Why are we at war with a country the size of Tennessee?" Eric shouted. "Are the Viet Cong coming up the Mississippi River?"

  "No!" the crowd responded.

  "Are they invading the California coast?"

  "No!"

  "Hawaii, then?"

  "No!"

  "Are they threatening any country, anywhere?"

  "No!"

  "No, my friends, they are not. They are merely freedom fighters, trying to wrest their own country back from the Saigon puppets, the military dictatorship that the U.S. Government has put in power! Well, we say this to you, Mister Lyndon Johnson, and to you, Mister Dean Rusk. You can find someone else to fight your illegal war, because the young men of this country are serving notice that we won't go!"

  Eric's last shout was answered with the chanting: "Hell no, we won't go! Hell no, we won't go! Hell no, we won't go!"

  When the chanting ended, Eric took up the bullhorn again.

  "What do we want?" he shouted, falling back on one of the tag lines of the movement.

  "Peace!" the crowd responded.

  "When do we want it?"

  "Now!"

  "Hey, hey, LBJ, how many babies did you kill today?" someone shouted, and again, the crowd took up the chant.

  "Hey, hey, LBJ, how many babies did you kill today?"

  Suddenly Tony felt something soft and wet hit him in the arm and when he looked down he saw that someone had thrown a plastic-bag full of ketchup at him.

  "What the hell?" he said aloud.

  "Get used to it, baby killer!" someone in the crowd shouted at Tony. "You'll have blood on your hands soon enough!"

  The heckler, a skinny, long-haired, bearded youth stepped out of the group toward Tony. The sign he was holding read: "Fascist ROTC pigs, get off our Campus!" His right hand was red with ketchup, evidence that it had been he, who threw the plastic bag.

  "You son-of-a-bitch!" Tony shouted, starting toward him.

  The heckler, suddenly realizing that he was without the protection of the others, turned and darted quickly back into the crowd. Tony started after him, then thought better of it and stopped.

  "Come on!" Eric shouted to his followers. "There are enough cars and vans in the parking lot at Francis Field to take us all down town! Let's show St. Louis where we stand!"

  "One, two, three four! We don't want your fuckin' war!"

  Repeating the chant, the demonstrators began moving en-mass toward the football field. In disgust, Tony watched them leave, then he took out his handkerchief and started trying to wipe the ketchup off the sleeve of his uniform.

  "Are you all right?" a female voice asked.

  When Tony looked toward the sound of the voice, he saw one of the demonstrators about twenty feet away. It was a girl with long, straight blonde hair which she held in place with a flowered head band. On the headband were two buttons. One was the peace symbol, the other was white, with purple lettering, reading: "War is unhealthy for children and other living things."

  "Yeah, I'm fine," Tony grunted.

  "I'm sorry about that."

  The girl was wearing no makeup of any kind, not even lipstick. Her glasses were wire-framed, which seemed more appropriate for an old lady than for a young girl. She had on blue jeans and
a man's blue chambray shirt which was pulled and tied just beneath her breasts, leaving her midriff bared.

  "Sorry about what?" Tony asked gruffly. If there was anything he didn't need right now, it was some harmony-and-understanding peace-bitch showing how she could love even a Spartan.

  "I don't approve of what he did," the girl answered. "He had no right to throw paint on your suit. We're supposed to be protesting violence, not perpetrating it."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly sure what you're supposed to be doing," Tony said. "Anyway, it's not a suit, it's a uniform. And it isn't paint, it's ketchup."

  The girl smiled. "Ketchup? Oh, well, if it's just ketchup, I'll bet I can get it off for you. If you'll let me."

  "Don't bother," Tony said. "Your friends are leaving you behind. You'd better catch up with them or you'll miss all the excitement."

  "Please, let me clean that off for you."

  "How?"

  "I've got some solvents and cleaning agents in my apartment," she said. "I just live across Millbrook on Trinity."

  The young woman was insistent, Tony had to grant her that. And if she was understating her makeup and clothes to detract from her sexuality, it was having just the opposite effect. As she came nearer to him and Tony was able to examine her more closely, he realized that the natural look she was projecting was actually very sexy.

  "It'll only take a few minutes," the girl said, continuing her pitch.

  "All right," Tony agreed. "If you really think you can do it. I guess it beats sending it to the cleaners."

  "My name is Maggie Morris," the girl said as they started toward her apartment.

  "Tony Cordelli."

  "Just Tony? I mean, you're wearing that uniform, shouldn't it be lieutenant, or sergeant, or colonel or something?"

  Tony laughed. "This is just an ROTC uniform," he said. "I'm still a cadet."

  "But you are going to be something?"

  "When I graduate, I will be a second-lieutenant in the army."

  They stood at the curb of Millbrook waiting for a Volkswagen bus to pass. The bus was liberally decorated with daisies and peace symbols, and as it passed, the driver held his hand out with the forefinger and middle finger forming the letter "V." Maggie flashed the peace-sign back at him.

  "You know him?"

  "That's Paul Palmer," Maggie said. She giggled. "I guess he's wondering what I am doing, walking with someone like you."

  "The enemy, you mean?"

  "No, I mean the uniform. Tell me, Tony, why do you want to be in the army, anyway? Almost everyone else I know is trying to avoid it, and you are volunteering for it." They crossed Millbrook and started up Trinity.

  "I guess it will sound corny to someone like you, but I feel that it is my patriotic duty."

  "Patriotism doesn't sound corny at all," Maggie replied. "I believe that protesting the war is patriotic."

  "What about the guys who burn draft cards, or find some way to avoid the military? Are they patriots too?"

  "Patriotism can also be standing up for what you believe, even if it means defying authority. Do you think the only way to express patriotism is to be in the army?"

  "For guys, yes. If not the army, then some branch of the military. I believe everyone should have to serve. I think it's what we owe the government for being Americans. And if I'm going to serve in the army, then I intend to serve my time as an officer. On the other hand, if any of these...demonstrators... come in," He slurred the word, demonstrators, "they'll come in as enlisted men." Tony smiled. "And when they do, they'll be under me."

  "You would like that, wouldn't you? Then you could be hard on them."

  "I would be tough...but fair," Tony joked.

  "This is where I live."

  They had reached a long, two-story brick building. Maggie led him through the main entrance, then down the hallway to her apartment on the bottom floor, half-way down the hall on the backside of the building.

  "It's not very large," she apologized. "But it sure beats living in the dorm."

  Maggie was not wearing a bra and as she bent over to unlock the door, her shirt fell forward. Tony’s eyes followed the cone of one of her breasts all the way to the nipple, which he could see nestled against the blue chambray cloth. He felt a charge of sexual excitation, then a flush of embarrassment and shame for peeking at her, and he looked away.

  "You have a roommate?" he asked, using the question to cover his embarrassment.

  Opening the door, Maggie straightened up, then brushed a fall of hair back from her face. Her eyes were light blue, flecked with a golden matrix. "I did have, but she went home at mid-semester. When I come back to school next fall, I'm going to have to get someone else to live with me, or move back into the dorm. I can't afford an apartment by myself."

  "Are you a senior?"

  "No. I waited two years after high school before coming to college, so I'm just a sophomore. What about you?"

  "I'll be graduating in six weeks."

  "Why don't you take off your jacket and have a seat over there?" Maggie offered, pointing to a sagging sofa. "I'll see what I can do."

  "Thanks."

  "I have a new Beatles record on the stereo," Maggie said. "Or, maybe you don't like the Beatles."

  "No, I like the Beatles. Just because I'm not a peacenik, doesn't mean I don't like music."

  Jake walked over to the stereo and began examining the records.

  "So, what did you do?" he asked.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "The two years between high school and college, what did you do? Did you have a job?"

  "My dad owns a drug store over in Jefferson City, so I worked for him for a while. And I traveled. I was down in Mississippi and Alabama."

  "You have relatives down there?"

  "No. I went with a group of kids on a Freedom Ride and voter registration drive."

  Tony rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Don't you believe in civil rights for Negroes?"

  "Yeah, but I think some of the demonstrations were counter productive." Jake turned the stereo on and The Beatles began singing "I Want To Hold Your Hand."

  "Oh, that's one of my favorites," Maggie said.

  "Yeah, mine too," Jake replied. He returned to the sofa, then looked around Maggie's apartment. The walls were decorated with psychedelic posters and Monet prints. There was also a calendar with a picture of Busch Stadium and the 1967 schedule for the St. Louis Cardinals.

  "Are you a baseball fan? Or did the calendar come with the apartment?"

  "No, it's mine," Maggie answered. "I'm a Cardinal fan."

  "That surprises me."

  "Why would it surprise you that I'm a Cardinal fan?" Maggie asked, coming back into the living room, rubbing on the sleeve of Jake's jacket. "They don't just belong to St. Louis, you know. People in Jefferson City root for them as well."

  "I mean I'm surprised that you like any kind of sports. I thought people like you were against all the traditional things, like Norman Rockwell, John Wayne, apple pie, and all sports."

  Maggie chuckled. "Well, I think Norman Rockwell is a cartoonist, John Wayne is a bore, and apple pie is fattening. But I do like the Cardinals. Take a closer look at the calendar."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "You'll see."

  Tony stepped over for a closer examination of the calendar, then he saw the autograph in the lower right-hand corner. To Maggie, Best wishes, Stan Musial.

  "Hey, you've got 'The Man's' autograph! Where'd you get it?"

  "I went to his restaurant and ambushed him," Maggie said. She held the jacket sleeve out to examine it. "There, I think I got it all. I'll just lay it over here and turn the fan on to let it dry, and it'll be as good as new."

  "Thanks," Jake said, looking at his uniform. "Looks like you did a pretty good job."

  There was a knock on the door and when Maggie opened it, a tee shirted, bearded, red-headed boy stepped into the room. Tony saw that it was the same one who had been drivi
ng the Volkswagen bus.

  "Hello, Paul," Maggie greeted.

  "Maggie, what are you doing here? Come on! We've got to get down to the Arch. The TV cameras are there and everything! Things are already starting!"

  "The Arch is on federal property. I've got a feeling things could get a little out of hand," Jake said.

  Surprised that anyone else was in the room, Paul stuck his head around the door. He was even more surprised when he saw that it was someone in an ROTC uniform.

  "This is the guy you were walking with, isn't it?" Paul asked. Without waiting for an answer from Maggie, he turned toward Tony. "Who are you?"

  "Don't you know? I'm one of the fascist pigs you're protesting against," Tony replied.

  "Maggie, who is this guy? What's going on here?"

  "His name is Tony. Someone threw ketchup on his jacket and I cleaned it off for him."

  "Did you get it off?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Then give him his jacket and send him on his way. We've got a rally to make."

  Maggie hesitated. "Listen, Paul, why don't you go without me? I'd better not go tonight. I have to study."

  "You have to study? Are you kidding? This is Friday! You can study tomorrow, or Sunday, or hell, Monday morning like everyone else."

  "I'd better not go," Maggie said again, more resolutely, this time. "But thanks for asking me."

  Paul stared at Maggie as if he couldn't believe what she was telling him, then he took a long, hard look at Tony.

  "You know, Maggie, I think maybe you'd better figure out who your friends are."

  "Good night, Paul. Have a nice time," Maggie said coolly, closing the door behind him.

  "Listen, I'm sorry," Tony said after Paul left. "I hope my being here didn't mess things up between you and your boyfriend," Tony said.

  "My boyfriend? Paul?" Maggie replied. She laughed. "Come on, Tony. People don't still have boyfriends and girlfriends."

  "They don't? What the hell has taken its place?"

  "Well, I mean, it's not like in the old days, with Archie buying Veronica an ice-cream soda at the corner drugstore. It's more of an easy, open, relationship now. If a man and woman want to go somewhere together, they go, that's all. No boyfriend-girlfriend, and no hassle."