If It Takes A Bloodbath

“If it takes a bloodbath to silence the demonstrators, let’s get it over with.”  These were the words of the governor of California, Ronald Reagan, on April 7, 1970.

I was in New York City on May 4, 1970, when I heard that a bloodbath had taken place.  American soldiers had killed four American civilians on American soil --- not in California, but in Ohio. 

Exactly three months before Kent State, I was an American soldier.  At the time of the shootings, I was an American civilian.  The news chilled me.  People like me had just killed people like me. 

A demonstration was being arranged in the nation’s capital to protest the shootings; I resolved to go.

I needed to borrow my parents’ car.  I have no idea how I presented this request to them, but they agreed and let me drive their car to Washington DC.  I arranged to stay with a friend there, and headed south.

As I drove into Washington, I saw soldiers on rooftops looking down at my parents’ car.  My first thought: how nice that they are protecting me.  But then I realized that they weren’t protecting me; they were protecting the buildings from me.

The protest took place on a Saturday morning at the Lincoln Memorial.  It came off without a hitch; there was a feeling of great goodwill in the air.

That evening, my friend had to go to work and I was alone in his apartment, which was on a nice quiet tree-lined residential street.

Uh oh --- not so quiet.  I heard a sound I knew from being a soldier: bootsteps.  I looked out the window.  Troops were marching down the tree-lined street.

Then a smell hit me.  It was not tear gas; it was CS --- a crowd-control gas I knew from Basic Training.  I made sure the apartment window was shut tight, and stepped away from the window.

American troops had killed American civilians only a few days before; American troops were now marching down the street outside.

I sat there alone with the sound and the smell and the darkness --- I had never felt so alone in my life.

I waited until morning before going out to inspect my parents’ car.  The troops had been lobbing CS, and I was afraid that canisters had dented the car. 

There was no damage; I exhaled.  I headed north and returned my parents’ car. 

I did not tell my parents that the nation’s capital was an armed camp.  I did not tell them that I had been afraid.  I did not tell them how thin the membrane is between being a soldier and being a civilian, and if this had all happened when I was in uniform, I do not know what my role would have been.

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A 3-minute You Tube video "Ohio" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnOoNM0U6oc

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com