Читать книгу Lion in the Night - Jack Armstrong - Страница 10

Dr. Robbin Fleming slowly rose, pushed his chair carefully under the table, and studiously gazed at his assembled colleagues. All leaders and scholars, many were also his friends, yet tonight they were far apart. As University of Michigan president, Dr. Fleming encouraged open discussion, but now needed consensus. In 1968, most of the academic faculty opposed the Vietnam War and were vocally in favor of the anticipated student demonstrations. The alumni representatives were both World War II veterans and were disturbed that students would not support the war effort of their own government against the nefarious communists. The administrative leaders were concerned about order; the university must appear in control. But order was difficult at best to maintain in 1968. Earlier, both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy had been assassinated, and racial riots had rocked Detroit the previous summer. All present were alarmed that the Ann Arbor mayor had called for support from the National Guard to line the street and quadrangle adjacent to the Presidential Mansion.

President Fleming was middle-aged, intelligent, alert, and clearly in charge. A trained labor negotiator, he was adept at gradually coming to and coordinating agreement from disparate factions. Patience and reason were his allies.

“We’ve agreed then that we will permit the peaceful student demonstrations against the Vietnam War tomorrow night. The faculty,” he said, nodding at the faculty chairman and vice-chairman, “may publicly express their views on the war and demonstrations, but not take part physically. The police and National Guard will keep order,” he said, his eyes shifting to the Chief of Campus Police, who looked both anxious and dyspeptic, “but avoid direct contact with the students. All those in agreement raise their hands.”

No one spoke or moved, but a few shifted in their chairs. Compromise always left everyone a little unsatisfied. Finally the faculty chairman, then the administrators, raised their hands, followed reluctantly by the rest of the group. Dr. Fleming smiled and nodded approvingly. He was a reasonable man. What could go wrong? As a parting comment, the Chief of the Campus Police pointed out that the National Guard was not under his authority.

Across campus, Malcolm sat down slowly in his chair, having just finished a passionate antiwar speech while urging nonviolence in the spirit of Martin Luther King. Malcolm was tall, black, and young, with long hair, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and horn-rimmed glasses. Malcolm was a graduate student and scholar as well as a member of the Black Panthers. Unlike most of his colleagues, he had witnessed violence up close and personal in Mississippi during racial protests. He knew the students were always the ones hurt. He agreed the protests were vital, but he also knew both the police and National Guard were being called out, which raised the risks for confrontation.

Gail rose next to castigate the capitalist pigs and their henchmen, the National Guard. Gail was dark haired, white, strikingly attractive, with fierce green eyes and a full figure daringly outlined by her tight t-shirt and jeans. As an economics major, she viewed the war and life as a materialist struggle of the people versus the powerful. She questioned if the Black Panthers were really black pussies, afraid of physical contact. After all, she reasoned, if there was violence, the press would be close behind and the antiwar movement needed exposure. Gail was an ardent Marxist who considered Stalin an aberration of a just ideology. She liked to refer to the triumph of her perspective as historically inevitable. Gail’s only exposure to violence was when her Connecticut lawyer father spanked the dog for an untimely accident.

The National Guard Headquarters was off campus and dated back to the thirties. The lead guard, Major Dennis, was in full uniform. Dennis was fit, tough, white, and hardened by combat. Recently returned from a Vietnam tour of duty, he was committed to winning the war. He had witnessed firsthand the militancy of the Viet Cong and the unfortunate fate of the South Vietnamese villages that resisted Communist pacification. His impatience with student demonstrations was visceral, and he often stated to subordinates that the naive students needed to be taught a lesson. He had two hundred troops to line South University Avenue, which passed by the old, stately main campus as well as the dignified Presidential Manson. Against the advice of his two young lieutenants, Dennis had ordered full combat dress, including fixed bayonets in case the demonstrations turned into a riot. His lieutenants were younger, recent students, and had no experience with either combat or violence— they were horrified by the idea of shooting or bayonetting University of Michigan students.

The Peon was the new student newspaper of the University of Michigan Medical School. Although the small editorial staff was, in general, against the Vietnam War, they were mostly preoccupied with the many real demands of learning all that was required to pass National Board Examinations. Study nights lasted until midnight, and morning laboratory work was often demanding. I was the new Peon editor and asked for a volunteer to cover the demonstrations. John, the assistant editor, mentioned a rumor that some of the protesters were looking for a fight.

“And by the way,” he said, “I have an actual date, a little joy for a tired and sequestered med student.”

The remainder of the staff thought the editor should go and tell us all about it. I agreed to go, and my young wife, Jean, thought it might be interesting to break out of their workaholic routine.

My previous assignment covering a big campus event had been a disappointment. The noted author, Ken Kesey, of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest fame, had given a speech at the University Undergraduate Student Union. Unfortunately, instead of discussing his brilliant novel, he read from the I-Ching while stoned and incoherent. We left quickly when they spotted drugs freely circulated among the equally stoned students.

Demonstration night was clear, and the students tried out a few chants as if we were at a football game. Unlike the Student Union crowd, no one was drunk or stoned. The National Guard was lined up across the courtyard, looking out of place in full uniform, helmets, and rifles. Gail stepped up to lead a chant, “Hell no, we won’t go!” and the student mass wobbled forward like shaken jello. The soldiers held their ground.

Malcolm was at the front of the student body; he leaned left then right, urging his friends to stay cool. Dennis, now only ten yards from the taunting students, gripped his rifle and leaned toward his lieutenants and stated, “Be ready. We will not give way.”

Dr. Fleming peered out his elegant window as the students approached the guards. He felt intense unease. He knew in his negotiator’s gut that this was not going well. With each step forward by the students, the chance for violence escalated. He turned quickly to his wife and said, “This doesn’t look good. I’m going out!” She sighed and reminded him his only useful weapon was his voice. He put on his coat and headed out the door.

To Malcolm’s surprise, Gail and her three friends had brought ripe tomatoes to the demonstration. They stepped forward and yelled, “Pigs go home,” and threw the tomatoes into the faces of the tense, young troops.

Dennis leaned over to his lieutenant on the right and ordered, “Let ‘em have it!” The lieutenant released the tear gas canisters at the protesters just as Dr. Fleming crossed into the thin space separating the demonstrators and soldiers. Two quick breaths and the President collapsed.

The demonstrators and soldiers both came to a halt and fell silent. “Oh, no, not Dr. Fleming,” said Malcolm. Malcolm, Gail, and Dennis reached Dr. Fleming together; he was breathing heavily and coughing. Dennis waved for the medics who hurried forward with a stretcher and oxygen. Malcolm and Gail motioned for the demonstrators to back away, then for everyone to go home. Dennis’s two lieutenants moved the troops back.

The Ann Arbor News criticized the University administration for allowing the demonstration. The Michigan Daily criticized Dr. Fleming as being a weak supporter of the antiwar effort.

In 1968, no shots were fired, no student or soldier was injured, because one man, Dr. Robbin Fleming, a hero, stepped forward.