Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  Suddenly, Jerry and his friends burst through the doors, not only startling Jan and his secretary but challenging them as the situation immediately took on a confrontative character.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Jan.

  It was Jerry who acted as a spokesman for the group. “The building’s closed. Time to button up and go home.” His menacing stance said more than his words. He stood defiantly, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, head tilted to one side, an angry snarl on his face. “This campus is on strike, and we want you out of here right now!”

  Jan responded angrily, “This is preposterous! Either you clear out of here or I’ll call Campus Security and have you removed.”

  Jerry walked slowly to the telephone on the desk near Jan, picked it up and threw it forcefully onto the floor. The plastic assembly split apart and pieces of the internal mechanism scattered in several directions. He then moved to Jan, savagely grasping the man’s shirt-front in his clenched fist. “I don’t think you understood what I said. This office is closed!”

  The reality of the situation dawned upon Jan. The anger in Jerry’s face, which was now only inches from his own, the obvious belligerence of the other four men who stood by in brooding silence, and the late hour with no available help from any quarter all produced fearful feelings. At this critical moment these feelings quickly displaced concerns about the unfinished project that had been gnawing at him since early morning when he had commenced his marathon effort.

  From the other side of the room there was a slight movement and Jan’s secretary spoke in a thin voice that betrayed her fear. “Please, don’t hurt us.”

  Jerry loosened his hold on Jan’s shirt and backed up slightly. He motioned towards the door with his head. “No one’s going to hurt you. Just get out and make it fast!”

  Jan eyed the contents of his briefcase scattered out on the desk, together with the sheaf of pages he had been reviewing, and decided to simply walk away from it all. Without any further resistance he and his secretary moved towards the door and Jerry barked an order to two of his lieutenants.

  “Pip and Lenny! Go upstairs with them; have the guys let them out.”

  The two men fell in behind Jan and his secretary, whereupon Jerry motioned for the other two men to follow him.

  “Come on, let’s go through the building and see what our situation is.” The three men moved down the hallway, checking each door as they went. Most of the office complexes had been locked for the night. There were two exceptions: a staff lounge in the basement hallway and the Placement Center on the second floor. Here there was a lounge area and a glassed-in secretarial station. One of the walls was covered with a large bulletin board containing postings of job opportunities across the country. In one corner there were several bookshelves and a number of reference volumes on job searches, preparing for interviews, compiling resumes, and the like. There was a low table in the middle of the room with stacks of various forms for student use. The doors to two inner offices and a secretarial station were locked.

  Jerry had determined several days earlier that these rooms would become a headquarters area during their occupation of the Administration Building. He now ordered one of the men to get the secretary’s office opened so they could use the telephone. They would need it! The basement lounge was designated as a place for this small contingent of militants to sleep in shifts as it became necessary. Several ice chests and boxes of food were strewn along the adjacent hallway, together with overstuffed armchairs and a coffee table that had been removed from the lounge. Some of the coolers contained cans of beer while others were stuffed with cold cuts of meat and a variety of cheeses. There were also several sacks that contained loaves of bread and pastries. Soon the refrigerator in the staff lounge was full of foodstuffs that had been removed from some of the chests. It was apparent that Jerry and his crew intended to make the Administration Building their home for as long as necessary.

  Meanwhile the cleaning crews had arrived at the side doors and were surprised to find them wired shut. A check of another entrance revealed the same circumstances. After a few minutes of bewildered deliberation, they left and went on to other campus buildings. Shortly thereafter Campus Security arrived at the front door. They had come in response to a concerned call from Jan Ridgeway. The lights were now on in the second-floor hallway, but the ground floor remained completely dark. Soon, shafts of light glared through the glass doors as the uniformed security men peered inside with flashlights in hand.

  The students, who had positioned themselves so they could not be seen, watched the befuddled security men as they wandered back and forth from the lawn to the front steps, seemingly trying to decide what should be done. They had come with some comprehension of what was going on inside, but there was no contingency plan for such developments. Three men had appeared on the scene initially, and within the next two hours five additional men arrived, awakened from their sleep by an emergency call from the Campus Security Dispatch Center.

  The Security Division lacked the sophistication of a municipal police department and seldom was involved with problems that went beyond traffic control or minor student incidents. Although the force was armed, there had been virtually no confrontations in recent years where any show of force had been necessary on campus. Most of the men had received only limited training in the use of these weapons, which were regarded as being largely cosmetic. The Security Division had been noticeably present during the recent days of escalating demonstrations, but it had carefully avoided clashes with student groups.

  As the designated date for the campus strike had drawn near some plans had, in fact, been set in place to deal with student violence and property damage should such conditions arise. But no one had anticipated this development. After considerable discussion it was determined that guards should be placed at each of the building entrances, and that the front of the building should be cordoned off from the campus quad with a system of physical barriers – saw-horses, cones, and lengths of nylon twine. It was anticipated that the quad would become the scene of massive student demonstrations as the following day dawned. A “wait and see” posture seemed to be the wisest course of action, at least until morning when a further assessment of the campus situation could be made.

  Early the next morning the phone began to ring on President Michaelson’s bed stand. He fumbled for it in the darkness and finally managed to get the receiver to his ear. It was the Vice President in charge of campus and student affairs. “Gene, this is Ted. Sorry to disturb you so early but we’ve got big problems on campus.”

  Michaelson struggled to get the sleep out of his voice and, after clearing his throat, sputtered out a response. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “A group of students have barricaded themselves inside the Administration Building. Somehow they managed to get in late last night. They’ve been holed up in there ever since. It’s too early for any sympathizers on campus yet, but I suspect that the stage is being set for a major demonstration. We’ve got campus police down there now, but they’ve made no effort to force their way inside the building. I think we can assume that once the day gets under way, these kids will have a list of demands for the Administration.”

  Now, fully awake, Michaelson was thoughtful and precise in his response. “Ted, the press will be after us for a statement of some kind. Contact all of the administrative staff as soon as you can and make it clear to everyone that there are to be no official comments. There will be time for that after we have hammered out a procedure for dealing with this. The next thing you’d better do is see to it that everybody who works in the Administration Building is told to stay home until they are notified otherwise. Go through the division heads and try to make phone contact with as many as you can before people prepare to leave home. I want everybody to stay away from that building – no incidents, do you understand?”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “I think we should have an administrative staff meeting
at my home as soon as we can get everyone together. Let’s say around 8:30. Are you okay with that?”

  “Who do you want there?”

  “You decide. Bring those from the administrative staff that might be most helpful, and maybe the head of Campus Security. Oh, and one other thing, get somebody stationed down there on campus to keep an eye on everything that’s going on. I’d like a phone report every half hour or so until we know where this thing is heading. In the meantime, I’ll make some calls to Sacramento.”

  “See you at 8:30.”

  As the two men hung up, both wondered what kind of unprecedented events might be a part of this troublesome day.

  Somewhat later in the morning Paul’s phone rang. It was Kristel. “Jerry just called me,” she said. “The Administration Building is sealed off. Everything’s going according to plan. He wanted me to call you and see if he can talk to you later on in the day.”

  “I’ll call him right now. Where can he be reached?”

  Kristel gave Paul the number and he dialed the Placement Center extension. He was unacquainted with the student who answered, but the moment Paul identified himself he was given the deference that might well have been accorded a visiting head of state. A few moments later Jerry picked up the receiver.

  “Hey, you missed all the fun, man. We had us a little party here last night, compliments of Eugene Michaelson.”

  “Well then, Jerry, it sounds like congratulations are in order. Anything unexpected?”

  “Not really. We did have to escort some people out of the building last night, a man and a woman who were putting in a night shift in the Data Processing Center. We just used a little friendly persuasion to help them on their way. We will put in calls to the Tribune and the TV station a little later this morning. That’ll spice things up for us.”

  “Who’s handling things on campus?”

  “We got us a pro,” chuckled Jerry. “You may remember my telling you about John Sanders. He’s a ‘red-hot’ from Berkeley and is bringing a bunch of people with him. It’ll be like the Fourth of July around here when he starts pulling out all the stops. We’ll have thirty or forty of our best people working with him.”

  “What time?”

  “At noon. They’re setting up a stage out on the quad right now.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything organized. I’ll check in with you a little later today.”

  “I’m not going anyplace,” said Jerry good-naturedly, as he hung up the receiver.

  By eleven o’clock the quad had become a hotbed of activity. Large numbers of students were milling about in every direction as a makeshift stage was readied for a full-fledged “happening!” A gasoline-powered generator had been brought in to provide electric current for a gaggle of speakers that would project a blare of sound across the campus.

  Security kept their distance, uncomfortable about pressing the issue as to whether permission had been granted to construct the large platform on the quad. A festive mood prevailed among the students and many were already in the throes of drug-induced euphoria. It was a little early in the day for all of that but then, who cared?

  As the noon hour rolled in a rock band literally turned themselves on with explosive lyrics and even more explosive heavy-metal sounds. Some students stretched out on the grass in the San Diego sun while others sat in circles smoking pot. Others danced along the sidewalk.

  There was ample cause for arrests on drug charges, but there were none.

  All of this continued for a couple of hours until the number of students in the center of the campus swelled to two thousand or more. Many of these were imports from other campuses further up the coast from San Diego. The word had gone out and the people had come. At this point Security began to fret about control. Obviously it would be impossible to hold a group of this size in check. Whatever struck their fancy would likely happen without any real possibility of restraint by the authorities. Indeed, there were no “real” authorities!

  Suddenly the music stopped and John Sanders, a blond-haired baby-faced boy dressed in full hippie regalia, took the microphone at center stage and began to speak with the persuasive force of an evangelical minister. Though there was some effort to make his remarks cogent, his appeal was largely emotional. He commenced with a mantra-like interrogatory, repeating it over and over.

  “I’m free to think and free to speak. Are you?”

  With each repetition there was an increase in the intensity and volume of his interaction with the crowd. Each time his voice rose with the question, “Are you?” a few more students would join in with a chorus of “Yes!” This continued until his words triggered a loud and energetic response that began to animate the students who filled the quad. There were more theatrics and heavy appeals to base emotions.

  Sanders’ listeners were soon welded together as an angry, seething mass of humanity. Then, with consummate timing and skill, Sanders burst into a vehement tirade of accusations against the administration at San Diego State.

  “I believe that Eugene Michaelson is interfering with your right to think for yourself. I believe this man is trying to silence one of the great professors on this campus. I believe that the President of this University is doing damage to your academic freedom. Am I right?”

  “Yes!” came the resounding shout that swept across the quad.

  “Are you going to let that happen?”

  “No!” came the angry response.

  “I’m not willing to allow bigots to control what people think and speak. I’m not willing to give any man that kind of power. Are you with me?”

  Again the unanimous cry was “Yes!”

  “Then let’s make this a day bigots will remember! Let’s teach power-mongers a lesson they’ll never forget. I say, ‘Power to the Students!’” With that he lifted his clenched fist into the air and began to repeat the phrase, “POWER TO THE STUDENTS! POWER TO THE STUDENTS!”

  The chant soon caught on and swept across the campus. It was as a galvanizing battle cry. Interrupting the frenzy he had spawned, John Sanders now drew his listeners back to his message. Listen to me! Listen to me!” he repeated until there was rapt attention. “Eugene Michaelson is not in charge of this campus today because we are. That Administration Building,” he shouted with a bold gesture towards the building, “is closed today. And who do you think closed it? We closed it! And who is in control of that building right now? We are! It’s a student voice that’s coming out of that building today, and just one hour ago that voice told the Administration that this building will remain closed – this campus will remain closed until the charges against Dr. Paul Kirkham are dropped. Do you agree with that?”

  “Yes!” came the response.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you willing to be heard?”

  “Yes!”

  “I can’t hear you!”

  “Yes!” came the deafening cry.

  “Eugene Michaelson can’t hear you!”

  And with that, mass hysteria seemed to break out as John Sanders jumped down from the platform. On cue, throbbing sounds of heavy metal music thundered out across the campus. This was followed by more confusion as shouts erupted from the other end of the quad. First, there were cries of surprise and then of anger in response to the sudden blast of a water cannon which spewed a spray into the students, knocking many to the ground and rolling them along like twigs caught in the torrent of a flood. Slowly the large fire truck inched its way onto the quad, its large hose emitting a 200-foot spray of water.

  The music now stopped and another kind of pandemonium erupted everywhere. It was a mob spirit that seemed to move hundreds of students as they converged on the fire truck. The driver was forced out of the cab and the fireman manning the hose was soon senseless on the ground. From somewhere a Molotov cocktail was thrown through the open window of the fire truck and the interior burst into flames.

  Now, with mindless, menacing anger, hundreds of students be
gan to converge on the Administration Building. The barriers went down and rocks began to pelt against the windows. A saw-horse was flung through an office window on the ground floor and students began scrambling up and into the office. Soon the halls and offices were alive with shouts from every direction as a wave of vandalism swept through the building. Amidst the confusion, came the cry of “FIRE!”

  How it started was unclear, but soon billowing clouds of smoke were rising above the Administration Building into the air. The doors, still wired shut, made it impossible for panicking students to escape. The only alternative was to break out the windows and jump to safety. Other fire trucks also arrived at the scene to fight the blaze, and efforts were undertaken to rescue students who were trapped within the building. Squads of San Diego City policemen also arrived, their ranks supplemented by officers from surrounding municipalities.

  When dusk came, soot and smoke hung low over the campus which was now empty and quiet, with the exception of some activity that continued in the Administration Building, it having been being secured against further acts of vandalism. A handful of University officials were involved in an inspection of the widespread damage throughout the building. By nightfall, National Guard troops had arrived and began positioning themselves on the perimeter of the quad and at other key points on the campus.

  The charred fire truck still lay on the edge of the quad, providing grim testimony of the explosive student violence earlier in the day. The heat of the blaze within the truck had become so intense as to ignite the fuel line and gas tank, precipitating an explosion that ripped the truck apart with a frightening blast. There were subsequent explosions when students knocked over two police cars and set them ablaze. There had also been many acts of vandalism against other buildings around the quad – especially the ROTC building which had again become the object of student fury.

  With the presence of National Guardsmen the campus atmosphere took on the aspect of martial law. No one was allowed on campus or in its buildings. In a very literal sense the campus had been shut down! By now the rabble-rousers from upstate California had left the area, congratulating themselves on what had happened. At his home, Paul paced the floor. The images of the campus riot burned their way into his mind as he watched the evening newscast. The San Diego debacle had easily become the lead story on the national networks, together with sharp commentary about student radicalism.