Project 1968

All in One Country

May 16, 1968
by Janine Stephenson



We stayed at a motel last night, in Texas. It was out in the middle of nowhere and I swear, I thought I could hear a wild animal outside my window. Maybe that panting I heard was the wind, or maybe it was Becca and Craig in the next room.

Losing 10 hours wasn't in our plan. It's just that Becca and I were nervous driving Craig's car. Neither of us wanted to be responsible if anything happened.

Now we're driving through New Mexico and to be honest, I've never seen anything like it. I can't even imagine that Wisconsin and New Mexico are on the same planet, nevermind the same country.

What's even more astonishing is that one leader has to contend with both places. And New Hampshire too. Each place is so different, I'm amazed we all speak the same language. It's crazy.

I'm the first person in my family who has seen the desert. Neither of my parents or my little brother have been this far south. Yesterday, Mom made me promise that I'd take good pictures of what it looked like out here. I don't know how I'm going to describe the dryness, or the prickly branches, or the minor dust tornadoes that we see developing in the distance.

I wish we didn't have to drive so quickly through the area. Although Craig is just as amazed at the land as we are, he also wants to get to California quickly. He's afraid Ron is going to be mad if we are any later.

In the News: May 16, 1968

Withholding

May 15, 1968
by Amy

On my way to get coffee for Glasses this morning, I crossed paths with a little boy riding a tricycle. Meandering down the sidewalk, he seemed so sweet and happy. There’s so much that he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. All he wants to do is his part, which right now is just being a little boy.

I tried to think back to a time when I was little girl. Before I knew about war and unfairness. Before I knew that there was a city called Chicago and a crazy mayor who ran it. I remember a time when I wasn’t scared of police and the names they might call me if I passed them on the street.

I feel melancholy and lost. I think the main problem is that I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk with. Lesley is coming back this weekend. Coleman is doing things I don’t understand – like joining our group for instance. I haven’t seen my Father because he still doesn’t know about how I broke my arm. Dumb, but I just can’t bring myself to tell him. I can hear him now, “Oh Amy” he’d say, so disappointed.

With Lesley gone, Bea and I have gotten closer but I don’t feel like I can really talk with her. She seems to be going through some things herself. She’s pissed about something.

Maybe I’ll try to talk to her tomorrow. See what’s going on.

Toward California

May 15, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

We just got word that The Senator lost in Nebraska. Badly. Now all the reporters are telling people that The Senator's campaign is in trouble and that the race is between Bobby and Humphrey. Or as Becca likes to say, Booby and The Hump. And while I think that name-calling is thoroughly immature, I also think that when all else fails, it can make you feel good. In this case, there's nothing wrong with it. As long as we don't do it in public.

Craig has decided to take a southern route. We're all going to take shifts sleeping and driving. I'm nervous about driving Craig's car. It's a shiny black 1963 Ford Galaxie. He's very proud of it. It's certainly a gorgeous car. Since the weather isn't calling for rain, he put the white top down. I love laying down in the backseat and falling asleep while the clouds go by. We have to make sure that none of our papers or signs blow out of the car. Craig put an blanket over the brochures, though some of the signs have nearly gotten away from us.

I'm not sure it's a wise idea to drive straight through to Los Angeles. What if we get lost and can't find the city? Craig has the name and phone number of our contact there. He will set us up.

None of us have ever been to California. I wonder what it will be like. In Los Angeles, you have to dress nicely all the time. I bet people are prettier and cleaner out there. Everyone always looks polished on TV. Maybe I'll even get to meet some stars. I would love to meet Hayley Mills.

Craig has been scaring Becca by telling her that California is going to drop off into the ocean. But I would love to be in an earthquake, just to see what it feels like. To have the earth move and the buildings shake would be something. Obviously it's far more exciting than snow.

Reminder: Call Mom and Dad during our next Ladies Room break.

In the News: May 15, 1968

Goodbye Indiana

May 14, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Dear Mrs. Stoutmiller,

I bought this postcard for you a month ago and forgot to send it. I'm sorry we let you down in Indiana, but we're on our way to Los Angeles. I can't wait!! It's going to be so much fun - and so much work. We're going to win CA for you and The Senator. Bobby won't stand a chance!

Keep us in your prayers,
Janine, Becca & Craig

In the News: May 14, 1968

Coleman Joins the Group

May 13, 1968
by Amy
I wonder if there's a file on me, locked somewhere in a maze of government offices. I suppose there would be since my Dad is a columnist. I even imagine that he's got a file, though he's often come down more on the side of the police than anyone else. Which is what's made the past few months hard for him, hard for the newspaper and difficult for his readers. Now he's changed his thinking, and people can't get used to it.

If my Dad can change his mind about the war and the police, anyone can.
Today, our group met in the park. One of the guys held a beetle up and said, "Look, bug!" and we groaned and then laughed. The press committee reported that the newspapers are still being used as a tool against us and we held a long debate about whether we should protest. We decided against it.

Then Glasses asked us what we thought about Coleman joining our group. Someone asked if he would be both a reporter or a group member. Glasses said that he would be both. It's fundamental that we enlist everyone who wants to help and with his experience, there was most definitely a role for him. They all seemed to dig the idea, so he brought it up for a quick vote. It was unanimous, except for me. I abstained since Coleman and I screw occasionally.

I didn't see it coming. He certainly didn't tell me, but then again, I've been avoiding him. So maybe it wasn't a secret. If he spends more time here, it will be hard to avoid him.

I don't know how I feel about any of this. If it's good for the Movement, it's good for me... I guess.

Today is Goodbye

May 13, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Ron has ordered us to leave town. "No dilly-dallying. You have to get to California now."

Several minutes after saying that, he turned to Craig. "What are you still doing here? Go. Don't let me complete this sentence while you're still in the room. Now."

It was an order. Becca grabbed the key punch machine and lugged it to the car. I packed our petitions, brochures and signs and shoved them into a paper bag. Craig unloaded keys, more receipts and notes for the Indiana staff.

Benjamin held the door while we ran out. He smiled and accused us of looting. I told him that we had just been ordered to go, so this is it. Right now.

Benjamin abandoned his post and ran to the front desk. He scribbled his address and his phone number. "Damn, I didn't think it would be right now. Can you read it? Can you read my writing?"

I told him I could, and that I will definitely keep in touch with him. I meant it. He grabbed my hand and told me that when I left, he would feel my absence.

I wished he could come with us, but I know he can't.

The lobby was busy with people coming in and trying to check out. And in between lines and people carrying luggage and making theater reservations, I grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. I didn't care who saw us.

He hugged me and said thank you. I told him he was most welcome.

Then, I ran back to the car. Craig started the engine and we headed back to the convent for the rest of our stuff.

In the News: May 13, 1968

Clicking

May 12, 1968
by Amy

Don’t you hear the clicking?

I told Bea that I didn’t hear it. She asked me how I could miss it.

With the next call she made, she held the phone between us and nodded when there was clicking. As soon as she hung up the phone, she whispered, “That’s it.”

I’ve heard the clicking before and I thought a loose wire in the handset caused it. I didn’t know that it was because someone was listening in on our phone conversations.

I wrote her a note. “What about talking in the room?”

She shrugged and smiled. “How about the weather?”

“Is it supposed to be sunny all weekend?” I asked her.

“I think so. But I’d bring your umbrella just in case.” She winked and went about her business.

The core meetings are going to be moved to the park, out in the open with no bushes around. Glasses is outraged by the idea of any of this. “We’re Americans, for crying out loud. How absurd is this?”

Coleman thinks that the best way to deal with being monitored is by being as open as possible. If you have nothing to hide, then hide nothing.

I’ve never come under scrutiny, at least as far as I know. I certainly haven’t given it a second thought. But now, knowing that we’re all being monitored, it’s different.

I don’t worry about doing something wrong. I worry about the appearance of doing something wrong.

I worry about being accused and not being able to defend myself. I worry that something I’ve said will be rearranged into something I didn’t mean.

Most of all, I worry about people who are lazy and don’t think for themselves. The ones who believe everything they are told and don’t look beyond what is said.

It’s the one thing that makes me depressed about the work we’re doing. Who exactly are we fighting for and will they appreciate the work we’ve done?

I shouldn’t think about that.

Lesley is finally coming back next week. She called me last night. After being released, she decided to stay in New York a little longer to learn about things. “I’m coming back educated,” she said. “Columbia and Harlem man… Too bad you become a part of the wave out here.”

I told her that I wanted to hear all about it – in person. Probably in the park out in the open, where all good things are discussed.

California

May 12, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

After much deliberation, Ron and others decided that we should “bring the talents we developed in Concord to California.”

Great. Now how do we get there?

The campaign has offered to fly all three of us to Los Angeles. It would only take a few hours. So they say. I’ve never been on an airplane before, but the thought of it makes me queasy. Ron said that there are plenty of people who are afraid of flying and that I should take comfort in knowing that plane crashes are a very rare thing. But I take no comfort in even thinking of plane crashes, never mind figuring out the odds of it happening.

The thought of my feet leaving the ground makes my palms sweat. I don’t want to trapped in a flying cylinder, which is all that an airplane is.

Becca, of course, is very happy to fly in an airplane because she’s always thought that stewardesses were glamorous. She even said herself that she wouldn’t mind serving drinks to rich men on airplanes, and that it would most definitely be worth the risk of crashing.

Craig says that he wouldn’t mind driving to California, but he isn’t sure his car will survive the trip. I know even less about cars than I do about airplanes, but I think that getting stuck somewhere is far better than crashing in an airplane. In one instance, you’re bored and lonely. In the second instance, you’re dead.

Ron says he doesn’t care how we get to Los Angeles, as long as we do it in a timely fashion. The campaign will front us a stipend.

All I know is that I’d rather hitch than fly in an airplane.

In the News: May 12, 1968

In

May 11, 1968
by Amy

I rapped my cast on his desk. Glasses looked up at me and smiled. I’m ready for whatever comes our way.

Now that I've said it, I know. There's no turning back.

One Last Date

May 11, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Benjamin and I went out for our last Saturday night date. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I couldn’t see him anymore. There was no point. With the campaign over, I let time do the talking. I asked Benjamin if he wanted to join the campaign and come with us. He said that he couldn’t. His family depends on him too much.

We spent the night listening to folk music at a downtown coffeehouse. He tapped his fingers on the table like he did when we went to the jazz club. I thought about how uncomfortable I felt being the only white person in the jazz club. Then I looked around, I noticed that Benjamin was the only black person in the coffeehouse. I wondered if he noticed it too and if he was uncomfortable because of it.

I didn’t ask.

After the coffeehouse, we walked around the block. As we turned a corner, he kissed me. I didn’t mind. He told me that it was important to him that he say goodbye, so I needed to tell him when I was leaving town. As soon as I knew, I needed to tell him.

I’m promised him I would, and I will. We agreed that we might not be able to have a conventional relationship, but that it’s very important that we stay in touch, no matter what.

Leaving is so hard. I wish I could go now, just to get it over with.

In the News: May 11, 1968

Reflecting

May 10, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Almost all of the volunteers have left. They’ve gone to Nebraska, Oregon or back home. We haven’t received our assignments yet. Today Craig tried to help the Indiana staff with their accounting books. Since he’s a philosophy major, Becca ended up helping them set up their new budgets.

I spent most of my day walking around the convent, taking pictures and thinking. I don’t usually get to spend much time alone, and it was nice to breathe the crisp air. It reminded me of New Hampshire, except there’s no snow on the ground.

I’ve been thinking about calling Mrs. Stoutmiller, but we don’t have the money right now. Although she said I could call her collect, I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want to lose touch with her, and I don’t want to lose touch with Benjamin.

I thought about it while laying on the grass, watching the clouds go by.

I’m going to have to leave Benjamin behind, just like I left Mrs. Stoutmiller. Why do people grow close only to say goodbye?

The convent feels empty now. But I could feel everyone who had been here, and everything that happened here the past month.

I don’t know where we’re going and I don’t know what’s going to happen. I wonder who I’ll meet next. And I wonder if I’ll ever see or talk to Benjamin again.

In the News: May 10, 1968

Honest and Realistic

May 8, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

He didn’t win. The Senator placed third, which is exactly how I feel. Third rate. We found out early in the evening, though they were trying to warn us all day. Ron kept saying things like, “There won’t be a New Hampshire miracle here.” Becca told him not to be so negative. Ron said that he was just being honest and realistic.

Like Ron, I have to be honest and realistic too. I didn’t do my best here in Indiana and I regret it. I let myself get distracted. Instead of working hard, I thought I should have fun. I’m not saying that my efforts would’ve changed anything, but knowing that I didn’t do my best doesn’t help. It makes me wonder how many others didn’t do their best. A bunch of us must’ve dragged down the campaign.

So now, the cleanup committee has finished picking up all those paper plates and cups. The room has been vacuumed. They’re going to move the headquarters down the street, to a storefront. I don’t know how many volunteers will remain.

Benjamin and I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the basement. We didn’t talk about the election. Instead he told me that things weren’t always going to be like this. He’s not always going to be a doorman. He wants to go to college someday, if he isn’t drafted first. He thinks about living in the country, but wonders if he’d be bored. Maybe I think about the same things?

I didn’t tell him what his family said, or about those hateful girls. I didn’t tell him that people wouldn’t like us together. There was no point. He’d tell me that I shouldn’t care what people think.

It’s hard to know when you should be honest and realistic and when you should go out and change things.

In the news: May 8, 1968

A Walk in the Park

May 7, 1968
by Amy

After I arrive at the office each morning, I get coffee for Glasses. He likes his black, which is easy. There's a coffeeshop across the street, and it's not that much of a hassle.

This morning, Glasses asked me to take a walk with him. Instead of going across the street, we walked to Grant Park. We both lit cigarettes and walked slowly. He asked me how things were with Coleman and if my wrist had finally stopped hurting. Instead of hurting, it itches now. I keep a pencil with me at all times so I can scratch underneath my cast. He agreed with me that the worst part of the healing process is the itching.

I thought of telling him about my Father but he seemed to have something else on his mind. So I let it go for the moment.

When we finally got to the park, he changed the conversation. He started off by telling me that he admired my work for the Movement, that he knows I feel passionately about things and my dedication is not in question. But he's taking some of the core group out for walks so we can assess where we are and where we're going.

"So I just want to check in with you."

I told him that things were fine. I was depressed for a while but things are better now.

"Because I want you to know things are going to get rougher for us. There may be more of that," he said, pointing to my wrist. "I don't doubt your dedication, but we have to be prepared for being penalized. If the Peace Parade is any indication, we're going to be have a rough summer. We need to start the paperwork now, for August. Permit apps. Everything. But before we begin, I want to make sure that you are alright with what could happen."

I told him I was, but then he put up his hand. "I want you to think about it for a day or two. Look at the worst case scenarios. Really think about it Amy. Because we're going ahead for the summer and I don't want you to do something you're going to eventually regret."

I thanked him for being very direct with me. He reiterated that it wasn't about me personally, that he was asking all members of the Core group. "We probably have some rough days ahead."

As we headed out of the park, he stopped for a moment. "By the way, you should be careful about what saying anything important in the office. We believe the place is bugged."

The Indiana Primary

May 7, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Today is the Indiana primary. I think I'm supposed to be excited about it and I guess I am. All the people walking around, laughing. Some of the women at the phone bank baked brownies for everyone. It reminded me of the brownies some of the Democratic groups baked back in New Hampshire.

I guess I feel a little down since I know I'm leaving Indiana. We still don't know where we're going next. It seems that most volunteers are going to Nebraska.

Benjamin gave me a big smile this morning, as I walked through the door. "Miss. Stephenson, how are things this morning?" I told him they were fine, and he could come up the campaign headquarters for lunch.

But when he arrived around noon, I made sure that Craig and Becca were around. Ron lingered around for a bit and kept looking over. Those hateful girls weren't around, but I still felt distant from him. I wondered if he felt the same way.

Then I had a terrible thought. What if Ron feels that I shouldn't be around Benjamin? What if he's the same way those girls are?

Moreover, how can people like that be a part of our campaign? Mrs. Stoutmiller used to say that politics attracts all types of people. But how can they be involved with our campaign? 

It's around 3 o'clock here now and everyone is gearing up for a big party tonight. We've been told that if The Senator gets more than 20%, it will be good. Benjamin might stay after work to help us celebrate. He has to wake up early the next morning, so he thinks he might have to leave early. Maybe I will as well.

In the News: May 7, 1968

Pressure Received

May 6, 1968
by Amy

Dad called me today. He hasn't lost his job. Instead, he's been told to lay off the peace movement.

He said it came from his editor, who told him that he would like to see him write about 'other subjects.'

"There's an election, you know. Why don't we switch gears and talk about the election?"

It surprised me when Dad told me about it. I didn't think he was writing about the movement itself as much as he was the war in general.

"Everyone knows where you stand." the editor said. "Move on."

He's pissed, as well he should be. There is no such thing as a free press here. Either they're governed by advertisers or City Hall. Either Daley runs the whole town or none of it. You can't have it in the middle.

My Dad has been at the paper for 25 years now, longer than I've been alive. It was his employment there that made him feel secure enough to have a child.

Now, he doesn't know what to think. We are in the middle of a war, even if the paper chooses not to capitalize the W. For the first time, Dad feels the war is wrong. He's wasn't against World War II. He felt the Korean War was justified, but this is different. South Vietnam doesn't want Imperialists in their midst. They want the right to self-determination.

He's begged me not to tell anyone at Dearborn what's going on. He doesn't want this to be a problem, or else he could lose his job.

I don't know how I feel about that. We're used to not having a level playing field when it comes to the city. But I think they should know exactly what's going on.

The worst part is the pressure they're putting on Dad. Their 'off the record' comments. He's already lost a few sources. Once they find out about me... "It's already difficult with your activities. It's not that I think you should stop. But everyone knows what you're doing, and they'd like me to stop you from doing it."

Difficult? Definitely. My parents still don't know about my broken wrist. They know I was there, but they don't exactly what happened.

Sometimes not knowing is better. But I don't think I can keep my cast a secret for the next month or so. And I think Glasses ought to know the kind of pressure people like my Dad are feeling.

Tomorrow Again

May 6, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

The Indiana primary is tomorrow and I couldn't feel bluer. First, no one really knows how we're doing in the polls. Ron thinks that if we lose Indiana, it won't be bad. I don't know why he thinks that because with both Kennedy and now Hubert in the race, it would be much better if we won Indiana. It would prove that The Senator is capable of beating both men.

But no one thinks that we'll win the race. Instead, they're watching the polls with a feeling of dread. Some people are already talking about Nebraska.

Craig doesn't know where they will tell us to go next. Since we're a part of the national staff, we'll have to wait and see.

I don't feel like a part of the national staff. I guess I could gripe about it, but I don't feel like I'm a part of anything right now.

I don't know if I should tell Benjamin about what happened with his family. Part of me thinks that he should know, but then, I don't think his family did anything wrong. I understand what they said, and I think his Mother has a point. But then, I like Benjamin a great deal and would love to continue having a relationship, even it is was just long distance.

Becca says that I shouldn't care. After all, we're leaving soon and while Benjamin is a nice guy, I shouldn't get caught up in it. It's easy for her to say, of course, since she and Craig hang out with each other constantly. Someone even mistook them for being married yesterday!

Craig says I should be like a rolling stone. Then he started singing, off-key of course. Becca kissed him to keep him from going on. "You take things too seriously," he said. And then he kept singing.

Which is true, but I could've done without his musical talent. I don't want to end it with Benjamin, but Indiana has been nothing but trouble. April is the cruelest month. Assassination, riots and racism. I just have to hope it doesn't get worse.

In the News: May 6, 1968

Dinner with His Family

May 5, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

My date with Benjamin didn't go well.

I didn't tell Benjamin that. It would have been rude, and I know that he didn't mean anything that happened. In fact, I'm not sure he knows what happened.

I dressed very conservatively to meet his parents. It was a simple yellow dress with a white button-down sweater. Since my hair is getting longer, I wore a hair band. My dress covered my knees. It's what I would wear if I was going canvassing in a Republican area.

Benjamin drove me to his family's apartment, which is in the projects. I knew that's where they lived because he told me already. On my way, I had that same icy feeling in my stomach like I had at the Jazz Club. I was very afraid that they would think I was a racist, or that they would be mean to me. But then I kept reminding myself that it was his Mother who invited me. She wouldn't invite me someplace to be mean.

When I arrived, his Mother opened the door and greeted me with a big smile. She was very gentle and kind. His sister, Angela was there. She's a very thin woman, in her mid-20s. She wore a very pretty head wrap, which had bold designs on it. Unlike her Mother, Angela was a little colder to me. But I thought that maybe that was her way. Bejamin escorted me to the couch and we tried carrying a conversation with Angela. But she would only talk to Benjamin.

Soon, dinner was ready and I have to admit, I was grateful. We sat around the table and ate meatloaf. It was delicious. I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a really long time. While we were eating, his Mother asked me where I was from, the campaign, what my parents did and all that. I appreciated his Mother talking to me, especially since Angela wouldn't look at me the entire time.

After dinner, his Mother cleared the table and asked Benjamin if he could go to the store to get some juice for her. He hesitated, but I told him it was fine. He left, and they invited me to sit on the couch again.

His Mother started the conversation by telling me that I seemed like a very nice girl. "I didn't know at first, who Benjamin was going to bring home." Then she asked me why I wanted to see him. I told her that he had a good heart and that he was very smart. He also had a good sense of humor and I feel like he understands me, even though we haven't known each other long. His sister scowled when I said the last part. And I got that icy feeling in my stomach again.

His Mother began, "My son is a good boy who has grown up to be a good man. I'm sure you understand what I'm about to tell you." She very quietly told me that people won't approve of a black man dating a white woman and that she didn't think much good could come of it. "I don't want my son to be killed, and there are people - in Indiana, in this neighborhood - who will beat him to a pulp for having a white girlfriend."

Then his sister, for the first time, looked at me. "My brother doesn't know who he is yet. He doesn't know what it is to be a black man in this country. No good can come of him dating a white girl."

The only thing I could say is that I was sorry.

"Look around you," Angela continued. "See that?" She pointed to a corner in the ceiling that was brown and cracked. "That's from a busted water pipe. And that hole in the floor. I don't have to tell you what crawls out of that. My brother, this where he comes from. You want to date my brother, you want things to change? You go back to your community and you change things."

His Mother looked down at the floor. "I just don't want my baby killed."

By the time Benjamin came back with the juice, it was time to meet Craig and Becca. I thanked his Mother and Angela for everything and we left.

Benjamin held my hand during the movie and when he asked if I was okay, I told him I was. I also told him that I liked his Mother a great deal, that it's obvious she loves him a lot.

And I kept thinking about how scared she was that he would die. It seems that there are so many ways for people to die these days. Benjamin could be drafted or there could be a terrible riot this summer. Or maybe he could get shot for no reason at any given moment.

I don't know what I can do to change anything, but there has to be a way to do it.

In the News: May 5, 1968

Symbols and Paperwork

May 3, 1968
by Amy

Rather than signing my cast, people are drawing on it. I have a bunch of peace signs, a yin yang, a smiley face, an infinity symbol, a rough copy of the Cuban flag, and the Chinese symbol for courage on it. Glasses drew a Snoopy, and we all laughed at that. I figured he would’ve at least drawn the Vietnamese symbol for happiness, but no. Snoopy it was.

“All the good ones were taken,” he laughed. “Besides, Snoopy is cool.”

The group, as a whole, is still working on the Parade wrap-up. We haven’t done an official accounting of the event yet. That will come next week. Right now, we have to get our story out about what happened, address community concerns about it, and deal with the legalities of the arrests. Some of this is delegated to committees. Glasses has asked me to come in tomorrow so we can draft letters to community groups and deal with the paperwork.

I haven’t heard from Lesley in a little while, which concerns me. I don’t know where she is right now. I’m hoping she’s not lost in the system. I’m worried.

More on Our Plans for Tomorrow

May 3, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Craig and Becca would like Benjamin and I to meet them at the movies after our dinner. Benjamin thought it would be fine. Then he smiled and asked if my friends trusted him. I said they did, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. It’ll be fun. Almost like I belong here, except in four days it will all be over.

I’ve thought about it. Leaving Indiana and Benjamin. Maybe we’ll be able to continue our relationship. That will be fun.

As far as the Indiana primary… It feels like we’re not doing that well. Reporters are critical of us now, if they choose to write about us at all. Indiana is more stuffy, I think, and people think that The Senator is a peacenik. In Wisconsin, everyone loved him, even the Republicans. Now, people have bought into the story that The Senator is weak.

Ron smiled warily at me today. His mood is improving.

I can’t wait for the primary to be over. But I never want to leave Benjamin behind.

In the News: May 3, 1968

A Day Away

May 2, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Craig asked me if I would be more comfortable canvassing today. So Becca and I went out with a few other college students. No one said anything about Benjamin or anything else. Instead, we focused solely on the primary.

It’s been a while since we went out and I didn’t say much today. I let others do the talking. Becca was a little rusty at first, but she regained her footing.

I feel so out of place. Like I’ve done something terribly wrong.

Before I left, Benjamin told me that his Mother would like to meet me. I thought it might be a little early to go see his Mother, but I didn’t want to say no. That would be rude.

So I said yes. Saturday night, Benjamin and I will eat dinner with his family. I hope they like me.

In the News: May 2, 1968

Happy May Day

May 1, 1968
by Amy

Ours was a beautiful picnic in Grant Park. A day in the sun with no threat from pigs. My wrist throbbed and itched. We smoked some and Bea dropped a tab. We sang Elvis songs. Coleman bought me some pop afterward and we pretended that we were kids again. For a few moments, we were.

Then we went back to my pad and did it with Coleman. What a wonderful day.

Credit: Photograph by Mary H. Northend

Cool Square

May 1, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Benjamin passed me a note this morning, asking if we could still meet for lunch. So I wrote a note and asked him to meet me in a secret place. But the place we ended up wasn’t so secret. We met in our normal spot – the break room of the hotel.

At least none of Benjamin’s coworkers bother us. They make raunchy jokes occasionally, and then apologize. No one seems to notice. But then again, maybe they think we’re just friends.

Maybe we are.

Craig told me not to worry so much about the campaign. We aren’t running from President. Besides, if we don’t admit it to reporters then no one will know. I asked him if he was planning to do anything about those hateful girls. He said he’d bring it up with Ron. But then, I asked him not to do that. I don’t want to create trouble.

“Is this thing with Benjamin serious?” He asked me. I said that I didn’t know. Because I don’t.

It’s not like Craig and Becca, who’ve now been together for four and a half months. I know they’re serious and I know Becca went all the way with him. I can tell that he’s over the moon with her because he’s very considerate of her. That’s not to imply that boys aren’t considerate of girls. But he’s far more considerate than polite.

Benjamin is both considerate and polite. He cares about whether I’m comfortable or how I’m feeling. He says that I’m special. He’s never liked a white girl in that way. He never thought he would.

I never thought about dating a black man because there just weren’t a whole lot of black men around. Who knew that something like this would happen?

Not me. I’m a square. Benjamin says that’s true, but I’m a cool square. And that’s what he likes about me.

In the News: May 1, 1968

Did It Hurt?

April 30, 1968
by Amy

They called me a hero. Actually, Bea, our office manager did. She told me that none of the men she knew had anything broken. Bruised, but not broken. And then she asked me the dumbest question ever: Did it hurt?

I've endured the same question from a whole host of others today. It's shocking how much Trotsky can be spouted between stupid questions like, "Did you hear it break? What did it feel like after it happened? Can you bend your wrist?"

If we're the vanguard... Oh dear.

Lesley phoned me from jail. I guess I should be honored to be her one phone call. Evidently she got caught in the big bust at Columbia, which was promptly and violently broken up at 3 a.m. or so. She wasn't hurt, thank goodness. Bruises and a cut finger. Since I'm in Chicago and she's in New York, I wasn't sure I could help her.  But then I had the bright idea of getting Legal Aid in Chicago to get with Legal Aid in New York.

I think things will work out. They told me not to worry about it, so I won't.

In other news, Dad called the office to ask me how I was. He assumed I hadn't been arrested since I didn't call him. So I gave it to him straight: Cops broke my wrist. No, I don' t know exactly who did it. No, I didn't tell them I was the daughter of a famous Chicago columnist. I'm not sure where it would've gotten me if they had known - other than a lecture and stern warning.

Maybe I want to be treated like a regular person for once instead of the daughter of a privileged man.

The paper today printed all sorts of heinous things about the parade. A low count for attendance, telling readers we were unruly... I'm not in the mood to ask my Dad what's going on with that and I'm not sure he could tell me anyway.

So I'm in a pissy mood. We spent today talking about making arrangements for people arrested, putting out press releases, trying to get our side of the story out. I don't have a lot of faith in what we're doing right now and I can't stand to think about tomorrow, next week or the future.

Book Discussion: The Battle For Morningside Heights by Roger Kahn

Pleasing Others

April 30, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

The hateful girls are still giving me problems. They whisper and smirk at me. Behind my back, they're warning others about my "habits." How can these people be involved with the campaign? It frustrated Becca so much that she ended up yelling, "How can you be for civil rights when you don't treat your co-workers nicely!"

My nervous stomach is starting to give me problems. Becca says that this is not worth getting an ulcer over. If it continues, she will complain to Craig about the girls' racism. I asked her not to do that. I don't want to get into trouble, and I'm not certain that I won't.

If that sentence is a whole lot of negatives, that's how I feel. Negative.

Even with all of this going on, Benjamin wants me to go out with him on Friday. I told him that I wasn't sure I could, with everything going on. I don't want to create a scandal that would hurt anyone. I asked him why he would still want to go out. He smiled sweetly and said that he liked me. Who cares what people think?

I do. I care what people think. And maybe that makes me a lesser person. But people who don't like you can make trouble for you. And I don't want trouble.

Benjamin says that people won't like me for a whole lot of reasons, most of them stupid. So it's no use caring what people think. People don't like him because he's black. People won't like me because I'm white. It shouldn't matter.

But it does. And I wish it wouldn't.

In the News: April 30, 1968

Proper Radicalization

April 29, 2008
by Amy

I took a day off today since I worked the weekend. Glasses called to see if I was alright. I assured him that I was fine and that I would be in tomorrow. He told me not to worry about it.

Around lunchtime, Coleman dropped by to see if I had, in his words, been “properly radicalized” from my experience. I assured him I had not, if it meant violent revolution. He called me a regressive romantic.

“No one gives up power on their own. You have to take it from them,” he snorted. “Wave to the revolution, Amy, because it’s passing you right by. The only time I remember that you’re a chick is when it comes to this.”

When he got tired of telling me what a bore I was, he left. I took a nap for a short while. Not too long, of course, because then I got a phone call from Lesley.

She’s still at Columbia, with her Barnard friends. She feels very alive there, she says. I was surprised that the Columbia rebellion is still going on. The administration there met one of their demands right away – stop work on the racist gym. Now they’re fighting for amnesty for people protesting against the gym.

She sympathized about my wrist. I wished her luck in escaping the same fate.

I don’t have the heart to tell my parents, who still don’t know about what happened to me and my wrist. I don’t have the energy to call them. I don’t have the heart to talk to anyone else. Maybe this is the natural let-down after feeling so alive in a group of people – so connected. But I’ve never felt it as acutely as I do right now.

Hateful Fallout

April 29, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Becca was furious with the attitude that some of the girls gave me yesterday. As far as she can tell, someone must have seen me come back from my date with Benjamin. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The hateful ones are also staying at the convent.

Benjamin came in today. While passing by this morning, I slipped him a note. We met in the basement and I told him what happened. He said that he’s run into some trouble as well – mostly with his Mom and sister. I never meant to cause such problems. Neither did he.

Even though he’s 23 years old, his family means a great deal to him. He said that he wanted to continue seeing me, but he wasn’t sure what to do.

He was furious about the hateful girls. He said he would have a hard time being nice to them. I didn’t think it was necessary to be nice to them. But we do need to be less obvious about what we’re doing.

That is, if we continue to see each other. The whole thing is very upsetting.

In the News: April 29, 1968

Ugly Voices, Ugly People

April 28, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

I'm sitting in the reception area of the hotel. Benjamin isn't at work today because it's his day off.

An hour after I got into the office, I overheard some girls talking. One of them said, "I had no idea she was that kind."

Then the other said, "I think it's okay to have them as friends but... I bet she's really easy."

I heard another voice chime in, "Isn't she afraid of damaging the campaign?"

When I walked by, they stopped talking and then scattered. So far, no one has said anything to me directly. But by lunch, Becca told me that someone had asked her about me. Where I was from, how long I'd been with the campaign... She told Becca that I was creating a bad situation for The Senator by dating a 'man like that.'

Becca told me not to worry about it. But I could tell she was worried about it.

I didn't think I was creating a bad situation for The Senator. I guess I just wasn't thinking at all. Now I feel terrible, and I don't know what to do.

And I don't want to go back to the office to face those awful girls. I hate them.

In the News: April 28, 1968

An Interview with Dr. Horace Huntley

My Date with Benjamin

April 27, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

When Benjamin picked me up, it felt strange. It was like we weren’t us. It wasn’t Benjamin and me. I felt like someone completely different. I didn’t recognize myself, but maybe it’s because I was so nervous.

He brought me to a nice coffee shop on the edge of his neighborhood. I told him how weird I felt, and he said that he was nervous as well. I smelled his cologne. He didn’t wear cologne when I met him at The Happening, so that was different.

He asked me if I was comfortable being the only white girl in a room. I said that I didn’t know because that’s never happened before. I suppose I would be. Did white people go to the jazz club as well? He laughed. No, they didn’t. But he didn’t want to take me somewhere if I wasn’t comfortable.

I told him that this was obviously my silly problem. I was afraid that people would be mad at me because I’m white. He said that it was a distinct possibility. People are very angry and with very good reason. I understood that it was for a good reason, but I didn’t want them to be angry with me. I don’t want people not to like me. I feel terrible about the way things are and I’m doing my best to help change them. But I can’t help what I am – a white girl from Madison.

He said that he liked me just the way I am. And he didn’t want to be a symbol either, though he often feels that way himself. He’s been the only black kid in a crowd of white people his whole life and it scares him too. He hates it.

We both ordered hamburgers with ketchup and no pickles. People came in and they left and sometimes they stared at us. Both of us felt it but we didn’t talk about that. Instead, we gossiped about the hotel and the Dow protest and Columbia and Kennedy.

After dinner, we went to the club. The outside of it looked rundown, but the inside was beautiful. It had white angels on pillars and mirrors on the walls. The tables in the bar area looked like they were made of marble. Benjamin said that when he was a kid, his Mom and Dad used to take him there for special events. And his parents spent a great deal of their courtship there as well. It was a special place.

And just like he said, I was the only white girl there. But the lights were dim and after we sat down, no one seemed to notice. The MC called it Funky Broadway. When the first group began playing, Benjamin tapped his hands on the table. He ordered a drink and I had a club soda. By the end of the evening, a man named Wes Montgomery came on stage. Everyone hooted and cheered. He played guitar for about 20 minutes. Benjamin leaned over and whispered that Wes Montgomery is one of the best in the world.

And even though I never heard live jazz before, he was right. I liked it a whole lot.

The only time I didn’t feel at home was when I was in the ladies room. While I was washing my hands, an older black woman adjusted her skirt in the mirror. I was scared that she was going to say something to me. My face felt hot. She turned to me and smiled. “It’s quite a night, isn’t it honey?” I told her it was.

Benjamin dropped me off at the convent around midnight. We joked that the sisters might wake up. He walked me to the door and kissed me goodnight. It was a nice kiss. He told me I was a nice girl and he thanked me for going with him.

“It’s a special place to me and I wanted to share it with you,” he said. And then he kissed me again on the lips.

I told him I was glad I went and very happy to be with him.

In the News: April 27, 1968

They Broke My Wrist

April 27, 1968
by Amy

What should’ve been a peaceful demonstration turned into a major fiasco. As soon as we got out of Grant Park we were supposed to fan out and stay on the sidewalks all the way to the Civic Center. We did. We followed the rules. We did exactly like we were supposed to do. Coleman was there, walking with me.

We had just gotten out of the park and Coleman spotted someone he knew in the crowd. He went over to speak with him.

So I was walking alone. About five minutes passed, and the crowd took a left. I remember thinking that this wasn’t the way to the Civic Center, but maybe they blocked it off up ahead. So I kept going.

Then I heard chanting. Police were there with bullhorns telling people to move, but there was no place to go. We were trapped in an alley. Coleman wasn’t around. The police were blocking the only way out. And they kept shouting at people to move.

Nobody could go anywhere because there was no place to go. The police charged into the crowd. I heard screaming and yelling. And then to pigs – and these were pigs – grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. I felt a club weaving behind my arm and then a push. They threw my body down all the while holding onto my wrist. One of them screamed at me, “C’mon cunt.”

I heard it break. A shooting pain that went straight up my arm, through my shoulder and down the left side of my body.. Everything became fuzzy and I kept seeing sneakers around me. Everyone’s sneakers. And I kept hoping that no one would step on my nose. People were running, it was chaotic. I heard people jumping over me and screaming.

A peace marshal picked me up and brought me to the medics. They drove me to the hospital with a handful of others.

Now I have a cast on my wrist. At least the doctors in the emergency room weren't assholes.

Glasses asked me to write an official summary for our records. I will, but right now, I'm tired.

At the Peace Parade

April 27, 1968 at 11:30 a.m.
by Amy

We've begun assembling at the Bandshell. A Tribune reporter thinks there must be about 6,000 people here. Lots of people talking about Columbia University. The marshals are equipped with bullhorns, but Glasses just found out that the city gave us a sound system that doesn't work.

I've got to go find Coleman.

Ready for My Date

April 26, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

I’m almost all set to go on my date tonight with Benjamin. He’s going to pick me up at the convent instead of the hotel. I’m so nervous. I’ve never been to a jazz club before.

Becca helped me fix my hair so that it’s flipped at the bottom. Then she loaned me her beret. It’s black, of course.

We weren’t sure what to do about my shoes. It would’ve been wonderful to have black boots, but she thought that might make me look racy. So high heels it is.

She also loaned me a pack of cigarettes and some matches. I don’t know if I can manage to light a cigarette, but she says that chances are, Benjamin will light it for me. I hope she’s right. I’d hate to burn down a jazz club or set fire to myself because of my clumsiness.

Anyway, Becca and I watched the news tonight and saw people hanging out of the windows at Columbia University in New York. We couldn’t believe it. Becca wished that she was there. I’m glad she wasn’t of course, because then she would have punched a cop in the face like she did last fall at the Madison Dow protest. And in New York City, the cops just might smack you back.

I nearly called my Mother to remind her how smart we are to have joined the campaign. But then I thought it would be silly to call her for that. Besides, as Becca was quick to tell me, it doesn’t matter what my Mother thinks. She’d never approve of Benjamin, for instance. So what does it matter?

I never thought about it like that, but it’s true. My parents are old. What was true for them isn’t true any longer. So what does it matter?

I know what my Mother would say about a whole lot of things. If I listened to her, I wouldn’t be here now. I wouldn’t be dating Benjamin. I wouldn’t have met Mrs. Stoutmiller or Craig. I don’t know where I’d be, but I do know it wouldn’t be a happy place.

So what does it matter?

In the News: April 26, 1968

Indiana Avenue

April 24, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

I have a date with Benjamin tomorrow night. He’s going to take me to a jazz club. I don’t know what to wear for it. Becca says that I can borrow her old style pendent. I’m going to put it on a rawhide lace that I found at the office. I have a black A-line dress that isn’t too short and some high heels.

He plans on taking me to Indiana Avenue. One of his co-workers said that Indiana Avenue is the most important street in the city. Even if it’s not in its heyday anymore, it should still be fun.

I think the thing that concerns me the most about dating Benjamin is that I’m afraid of offending him. I know that underneath it all, we’re just two people but I also know that our backgrounds are very different. I would hate to hurt his feelings or say something improper. I’m very concerned about it. Maybe I should tell him.

The campaign itself isn’t going well. Ron has been lurking around, being his grouchy self. I don’t much appreciate his presence, especially if he’s going to be mean. He’s isn’t grumpy to me, but only because he hasn’t had the chance. Whenever he’s around, I’m sure to reorganize a supply closet. I don’t know what’s got him so upset but I wish he would feel better soon – for everyone’s sake.

To Goof or Not to Goof by Dick Clark

In the News: April 25, 1968

The Route and Other Matters

April 25, 2:41p.m.
by Amy

I've been too critical about the Peace Council. I was thinking about it on the way back from the meeting. I understand why they caved on certain things and why they picked their fights.

City officials are intimidating and dry. They wear suits and have no sense of humor or humanity. They remind me of judges who have spent far too long on the bench. We are not on their level. Our presence insults them, especially because we have the nerve to ask them for something. It's a dictatorship, really. A fiefdom that runs on power. Pity the peasants who ask for a permit.

Glasses is immune to intimidation. In his mind, intimidation means nothing. He just forges ahead because he knows that he's right in his own mind. It's a kind of self-confidence that's rare - even in these parts. Others run on the passion of conviction, pure emotional energy. He thinks for a moment, bites his lip, raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. Stupidity, intimidation and power games have no effect.

The problem is that he doesn't understand why it affects others. Why isn't everyone wired like him?

When I came back to the office, I made my report. The path stands - sort of. The band shell is our starting point. Our path is clear until we get to South Michigan. Then, in a big crowd, we will all make our way to the Civic Center. The police might stop traffic in certain parts, but it's unclear which streets will have that. It is expected we will use the sidewalks.

The biggest problem is that the Civic Center still won't let us end there. The city won't let Alderman Raynor speak either. He is allowed to post a sign and say thank you. No speech.

The Peace Council isn't happy about this and Glasses isn't either. It sounds like a recipe for complete confusion. And it is.

Since we expect 5,000 people to arrive, we're going to make copies of the route. The marshals - which should number about 60 - will have to be instructed to keep people on the sidewalks. We're also going to have to depend upon the sound system to give people instructions.

Five people - three from the Peace Council, along with Glasses and I - are making copies of the route. It's going to be a long night.

More Columbia

April 25, 1968  10:30 a.m.
by Amy

By the time I got to work, Glasses was already at his desk taking phone calls from newspapers about the strike at Columbia. He's trying to tell them that this is a national thing, but they don't want to know about that. It's all about Columbia and what's happening there.

Once he got off the phone he let out a big sigh. I told him that Lesley was there, if we needed a liaison. He grunted and said that Lesley should've stayed in Chicago. After all, our day is getting screwed over and Columbia doesn't need the extra help.

We chatted for a bit about our relationship with SDS, how they've inherited the rigidity from the past and not much else. Glasses is more neutral about it than I am. I find SDSers to be PISSers. I don't like the feeling of competition between groups, and I feel it quite often. I don't like hanging out with people who have to be "the most radical" and "the most knowledgeable" about everything. Some SDSers feel like robots who live to spout the party line. Any semblance of fun or humanity is gone. There's no peace in their souls. It makes me wonder what they'll do after the revolution has come. Will they ever be happy?

Glasses won't say anything bad about SDS. He doesn't want to put that energy out there, and I get that. But he will admit that just one of the big differences between groups is what he calls "the happiness and fun index." Yips are happiness heavy and politics light, SDS is happiness light and politics heavy. We flounder in the middle, though Glasses heard someone say that we involve ourselves with too many old people.

Anyway, I've got to get to the city meeting to firm up the permits for the parade. Glasses says he'll load me up with dimes in the event things go bad.

Columbia Falling

April 25, 1968 – 12:30 a.m.
by Amy

Oh boy. Lesley called me collect just now to tell me that the shit’s flying at Columbia. They’ve broken into the college president’s office. There’s a massive sit-in going on. They’ve shut the whole campus down. Two buildings have been taken over. People are refusing to leave the buildings.

She says that they’re planning on having a strike today. It’s going to keep going. Everyone is committed.

She said that she would call back when she had more information. I asked her to call Dearborn during the day tomorrow, so we could be sure to give them support.

God, I wish I was there to help.

Backing Down

April 24, 1968
by Amy

After the hearing yesterday, the Peace Council and the city lawyers got together to negotiate a settlement. It was a spontaneous thing, but Ken rushed to the phone to get us involved.

Glasses decided that it would be a bad idea if he showed up, so he sent me instead. He wanted me to gauge the city and see if we can learn anything for the future. He also wanted to make sure the Peace Council didn’t screw up. Though he trusts the Council lawyers, he wanted my impressions of what was going on.

I arrived at the tail end of the discussion, but it went something like this: We pay $24 for insurance that doesn’t include riot coverage. The city will provide sound equipment for the rally. The Council won’t ask for money on park property.

The whole thing is bullshit, of course. I’m not sure why the Council agreed to it – especially the $24 coverage. It sets a bad precedent. The Council should’ve gone to court to expose the city’s political maneuverings.

Glasses agrees, but the Peace Council is independent. We can only encourage them to reject the settlement. Glasses has a feeling that Council members will take what is offered.

Tomorrow they’ll work out the permit issues in writing.

It doesn’t bode well for the summer – or the future.

Bobby or Nobody

April 24, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Benjamin and I ate lunch together again today. I brought him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I made myself. He brought me some chocolate milk from home. We went to his break room in the basement and chatted.

He kept asking me questions, like what my Dad did and why I volunteered for the campaign. He likes Bobby quite a bit more than The Senator. He said that Bobby cares about people like him and no one else does. I said that The Senator cares.

But when he pressed me as to how he cared, I had a hard time of it. I tried to explain that The Senator was not a rich man, unlike the Million-Dollar Bobby Doll. What did he know about being poor? Benjamin said that he couldn't explain it. He knows Bobby has money. It's just that Bobby also has a heart.

"He understands us Janine. No one else does in his position."

By the end of lunch, I told him that I did understand. I wished Bobby had entered the race earlier and that I really hoped that I made the right decision staying with the campaign. I do understand.

Since Benjamin just became eligible to vote, he's very excited about casting his ballot. I asked him if The Senator or even Hubert won the nomination, who would he vote for then? He said that it would be a no-brainier.

"Revolution. There ain't gonna be a vote. It's Bobby or nobody."

In the News: April 24, 1968

City Officials Hate Us

April 23, 1968
by Amy

I've been working too much on the paperwork and documentation for what's happened with the April Peace Parade. It's astonishing that no other city has had the problems we've had, and yet, my Dad's newspaper won't do a damn thing about running a story on it. Simply amazing.

He said that the interview that took place almost a month ago is in limbo. They're sitting on it in case anything happens. The day it was supposed to appear, they ran an AP story instead. It shocked him too. He doesn't remember when something like this has happened.

I saw the story. It was tough but fair. Dad was careful to mention the fact that he had a family member in the Movement. Maybe that's why it ultimately didn't run. Maybe the editors or whoever is in charge thought it too personal or too sympathetic.

He didn't think that was the case. If he had any doubts about it, he wouldn't have spent his time interviewing Glasses.

He has heard about the Chicago Peace Council's problems with the parade. Unfortunately, no city official will comment. Right now, there's no story. No city official will answer phone calls. We've moved to get press coverage, and that's happening. But it is a one-sided story. So all anyone can really write about it are opinion pieces.

In looking over the correspondences with the city yesterday, Glasses noticed that we made several missteps over the past month. Upon filing the permit application, the city requested information about the groups attending the event and what they represented. The Parade Committee complied with the request. Glasses thinks that we should've gotten the press involved at that point. After all, why does the city need to know who is speaking at our event? It shouldn't matter.

What's hard for me to fathom is this: All these people that the Peace Council has been talking to: the Parks District, the police and the real estate agents for the Civic Center have come up with phony excuses. And they haven't been talking to each other about this event?
***
Gotta go to a meeting with the city. Maybe there's hope.

In the news: April 23, 1968

A Depressed Campaign

April 22, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Our campaign is depressed. That's the consensus that Craig, Becca and I reached after dropping Benjamin off at the hotel. It just doesn't feel the same like it did in New Hampshire. At first, we thought it was because we were so used to doing all the things required of a campaign. We know how to attach signs to poles, for instance. There's nothing exciting about that. But there seems to be a general feeling that we have no chance of winning. Bobby will win the whole thing and go on to run against Nixon. (Ugh!)

Even when Hubert enters the race on Saturday, and we all know he will, it is going to be Bobby and Nixon. Hubert is going to represent President Johnson. Since we all hate him, how much of a chance does he have?

After we chatted about it, Craig told me that Ron was upset about seeing Benjamin and I together. I guess I can understand that, but I'm sure he's got a girl somewhere else. Becca thought that it was probably true, especially since he was so secretive about leaving.

Craig said that there were things going on that we didn't know about, so we shouldn't assume anything. But he didn't deny that Ron's got another girl on the side, so it must be true.

Benjamin was off today, so I didn't get a chance to see him. Not that I want to be anxious about seeing him, because that would be bad. But I really wanted to see him.

In the news: April 22, 1968

Parade Paperwork

April 21, 1968
by Amy

Glasses had me come in today to help the Parade Committee with their paperwork. I had a chance to look through the Committee’s letters to the city. All this time, I thought that their excuses had to do with the murder, but they’ve been screwing us for the past month. I can't believe it.

All of this has been going on for the past month. Another group is calling for a Loyalty Day parade about an hour before ours would start. The city told them that there was some kind of conflict over that. In another letter, they actually said that Grant Park was to be used only for recreational purposes.

I heard about all these excuses. But seeing it for myself, it's different. It makes me feel like they really are out to get us.

Glasses asked me if I was comfortable talking to my Father. He wants me to find out what my Father knows about the city. If he's heard anything from his sources about the demonstration. Is this a concerted effort or what? Can we expect more of this, especially in the summer and during the conventions?

I told him that I could talk to my Dad tomorrow. Since he's a columnist, he's got extensive sources within the city. Maybe he could help us.


Letters Leading Up to the April 27th Peace Parade