by Lorraine Ray
“Oh it was so far out. So groovy. Man, I’m so glad I went today and so glad I got to be part of it,” Meredith began. “I protested the war. We’ve got to stop it if we can. Protests can probably work. Everybody says that. Man, things are really exciting. We can make a difference. You know Jack is going to have to register for the draft next year and that’s really pretty soon. It’s going to be real for him.”
“I’m going to write Senator Goldwater on Mom’s typewriter,” I bragged.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea, write a letter to him, but I don’t think that’s going to do much. He’s a hawk. We have to get out on the streets and make noise. We’ve got a personal reason to think about what is happening and do something about it, because it’s Jack they’re going to take. Too many young men like Jack are being drafted and killed. What’s happening in Vietnam is shocking, not cool. We are abusing the people there just to benefit the Military Industrial Complex, man, it’s not justified what we’re doing. We have to be the voice of reason because the older people can’t see the truth and they aren’t paying the price for what is happening in Southeast Asia. Just because we know people going to college and they get deferments from the draft isn’t really right because lots don’t, even here in town. People I knew in high school who are older and they’ve already gone there and been killed or wounded. The protest was incredible. Bunches of people coming from all over. We were all together on it and we felt like we were really doing something to help the country. What a good time. When I got there a big group was already forming in the street. People had guitars and drums and the guitars were leading everyone in songs. We got a bigger group every minute, practically. There was plenty of weed, too, but we didn’t make that too obvious because we didn’t want to get arrested for pot when the main idea was to stop the damn war in Vietnam. We really discussed what the war meant and why we had to get out, out now, not five or ten years from now. Peace with honor; it isn’t happening. Nixon is such a creep. People had really groovy ideas about how to get change rolling. Everybody is thinking of ideas for protests that might work, so you could think of some too. We’ve got to get through to the newspapers and radio and TV. Somebody gave us the actual numbers of dead and wounded from the war so far which was mind-blowing, man. McNamara is lying about this war, about what is happening to people and to war armaments; it’s the arms industry that has the power; he is increasing the number of dead. I have a feeling that the arms industry is behind this whole thing and that isn’t groovy. We have to fight the war machine that is built in this country. This machine is making sausage of young men, just grinding them up and spitting them out as cripples. They did that in World War One, made thousands of cripples and blinded people with gas. Now were the ones. We’re dropping bombs that make the leaves fall off the trees so we can see the enemy. The Vietcong are going to win because the South Vietnamese don’t even care about us being there. They want us out. They’re killing this generation. Nobody in power has the right to kill a generation of the young. They think they died in World War II so we have to die too, but that kind of thinking is what needs to die. That’s when we decided the numbers were big enough that we could block Park Avenue. We made that decision together and it felt great. We started walking slowly and the police formed a barricade. We really protested and blocked the whole intersection. Damn, the damn fuzz. The fuzz were everywhere down there. Their faces were so cold and angry. I didn’t know they had hundreds of policemen to spare on one little protest, you know? They had out their batons but no one used them on us, thank goodness for that. There were guys with no legs and stuff with us. I didn’t want them beaten up. It wasn’t about me. They could beat me up; I didn’t care. We shouting a lot but no one threw bottles or anything. We were peaceful and the whole thing was great. One guy burned his draft card and the fuzz rushed him like he had murdered someone. Nobody got into the protest who would bring it down to be violent. We can’t fight violence of the war with violence. No bad souls. We were pure and everybody thought good thoughts about it all. Then the city brought in the police helicopter and buzzed us several times but we didn’t back down. The war is going to be ended by people who won’t back down no matter what. We’re going to keep going. We can end this war. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. Casualties like we’re having aren’t acceptable any more in a modern war. We just kept marching around and it was great. We were shouting “One, two, three, four, what do we want? No more war?” Everybody was together on it and it was so groovy. We just knew we all had to be arrested. That was the next thing that happened. I got arrested. I was held for a few hours and was released on my own recognizance. They arrested three hundred people. We went off in a bus.”
“By cracky,” Mother began, “you are just giving your father ammunition to go on with his idea of disowning you. And he visited with Harry Han who was his old schoolmate and is a lawyer now. He started the paperwork to disown you and he talked about getting you committed. Now you’ve been arrested? Well, I never. You’ve no more sense than a goose about what you’re doing. All this protesting. What does it amount to in the end? Now you have an arrest record that will follow you around for the rest of your life. What do you say about that?”
“It’s fine with me. All I ever wanted was to be an artist. Being arrested might be good for an artist.”
“Good luck with that. A nurse is a better profession for a young woman. You don’t want to be hanging around with nude models and people like that. Hangers on to artists. They’re a bad lot, the whole bunch of them.”
“Maybe so. Maybe so.”
Meredith met me in our bedroom. I perused my record albums, studying their covers and planning a new beginning to another novel.
“Actually that protest was kinda strange. I think I’m done with Lance forever.”
“Really?”
“All he wanted during the whole demonstration was to cop a feel. He was all happy that I wasn’t wearing a bra because he could cop a feel. He didn’t care about the significance of not wearing a bra. He didn’t care about my freedom. He didn’t care at all about me. He only cared about copping a feel, apparently.”
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. I just thought of it myself. While it was happening I wasn’t processing it, but now I really am. I horrifies me that he was so insensitive. I mean there were a few really injured vets there, armless, legless, among us and it really felt creepy to have him fingering my boobs every few seconds. And he was giggling like he was crazy. We were there for a protest and he keeps copping a feel all over the place. What the hell? Is that all he wants to do besides going to war? He doesn’t want to go to Vietnam so he can be here and cop a feel? I guess that’s really all there is to it. I’ve had it with him. It’s over. You know it’s over with things like that. It’s a feeling that comes over you when you’re getting groped. He’s feeling and you’re feeling, too, you know. Copping a feel.”
“He could do that in Vietnam.” I pointed that out logically speaking.
“Sure.” Meredith agreed.
“But he might die,” I added.
“Yeah. That’s the part he doesn’t like,” Meredith explained.
“I was arrested by Officer Commie. Really. The arresting officer was Officer Commie. I’m not making that up.”
“What!”
“Officer Commie.”
“Gee!”
“I couldn’t make that up.”
“No, you couldn’t. No one would believe that.”