I was torn between writing about making the perfect dough for Piergois, the tasty polish dumpling, in Rose Wysocki’s nice cook-book, or attempt to describe the assembly of some of ancient cocktail concoctions contained in the re-print of the 1935 Waldorf-Astoria Bar Book. And I have been meaning to talk about some of the sure-fire recipes in the marvelous compendium by Ernie Mickler “White Trash Cooking.”

Instead, I got yanked back to the year we all graduated from high school: 1969.

I don’t know if you have seen it yet- if not, here you go. It is the .jpg I got in a note yesterday. I am not sure if it is true, or some strange prank by person or persons unknown being played out with tensions running high. I am not much for demonstrations these days, regardless of the cause. I saw quite enough of them in my college years in Ann Arbor, and one particularly ill-advised road trip to Washington DC for May Day, 1971.

The response to the latter demonstrated to me the power of the Federal Government quite plainly. Thousands of us were camped out in West Potomac Park on the weekend; the Nixon Administration canceled the permit to use the public land, cops and National Guard either arrested or chased us all out of town after a particularly bizarre Monday in which I saw direct action-types wearing sports pads and carrying ball bats who seemed to be under the illusion that they could take on troops in full riot gear.

(Vets take on the police in DC at their Hoovertown in Anacostia, 1932).

It was a most illuminating demonstration. Later, doing some family research, I was not surprised to find that my Grandfather Mike had been chased out of the Bonus Army camp on Anacostia Flats in the summer of 1932 in almost the exact same manner. The veterans were ejected by no less a figure than Douglas MacArthur, and they never got what they were after. I guess it is sort of a family tradition. So, naturally my curiosity was piqued by the arrival of the image that started this musing, advertising the latest iteration of The Days of Rage.

There are many emotions I feel these days: despair, frustration, irritation, apprehension, concern and the like, but rage is not one of them.

Like I said, the idea that you can take on the law or the Army has never made a great deal of sense to me. Not after what we all saw at the Democratic Convention in 1968, the one that convinced the radicals that non-violence was out and direct action was in.

Just a quick refresher on the original Days of Rage, before it became a franchise:

The time is October of 1969. The war in Southeast Asia is at its height. Nearly a half million young Americans were deployed to Vietnam, and people like me were pretty well convinced that by the time we ran out of deferments, we would be joining them. Dick Nixon is President. The trial of the protestors at the 1968 Democratic Convention was in progress. The Weatherman faction of the counterculture-era group Students for a Democratic Society decided to organize a series of demonstrations in the streets of Chicago, site of the convention.

The group planned the October event as a “National Action” built around the slogan “bring the war home,” which had been penned at the 1968 SDS National Council meeting in Boulder, Colorado. The resolution clearly stated the goal. “The Elections Don’t Mean Shit—Vote Where the Power Is—Our Power Is In The Street.”

That was the lesson, as adopted by the council; this protest needed a lightning rod. The Weathermen decided on the trial of the famed Chicago 7, charged with conspiring to incite riots during the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. The strategy for these Days of Rage included vandalizing homes, businesses, and cars as well as assaulting police officers. I am not sure who this was going to endear them too, but that was the plan.

Despite efforts to hype recruiting, participation in the Chicago demonstrations was sparse. Less than a thousand Weatherman members showed up prior to October 8. They faced off against 2,000 sworn officers in the first daylight confrontation. No more than 300 were left willing to face the enormous gathering of police the second time that night in Lincoln Park, and perhaps half of them were members of Weatherman collectives from around the country. The crowd milled about for several hours, cold and uncertain.

Important safety tip for demonstrators: try to do it when it is warm and dry. More people will show up. Direct action was a subject that did not unify; Jane Fonda’s husband Tom Hayden told the protesters not to believe press reports that the Chicago 7 disagreed with their action, although Abbie Hoffman (charter member of the group) had a chance to speak but didn’t.

(Abbie Hoffman, founder of the Yippes, in the 1960s. He committed suicide in 1989).

Everyone was uneasy in the face of the massive police presence, but the protestors settled on the target of their assault: the very comfy Drake Hotel, home of Julius Hoffman, the presiding judge at the Chicago 7 trial.

At about half-past ten on the evening of October 8th, the signal went out for the Weatherman action began. Demonstrators charged toward the Drake Hotel and the exceptionally affluent Gold Coast neighborhood, smashing windows in automobiles and buildings indiscriminately as they went. It took about four blocks to run into the police barricades. Protesters charged the police, dissolving into small units, and then the police counter-attacked with more than a thousand officers.

A Weather contingent managed to reach the hotel’s front drive, breaking into small groups, and more than 1,000 police counter-attacked. The Washington DC contingent successfully reached the hotel’s front drive, though they were unable to speak to the doorman or the concierge. There was gunfire from the police, and at least two squad cars plowed into the disordered crowd.

The direct action lasted only about thirty minutes. The box score was:

28 Police injured
6 Protestors shot, none fatally
68 Protestors arrested, including most of the Weather leadership

The next day, a woman who is now living in the same neighborhood named Bernadine Dohrn addressed the Women’s Militia at Grant Park. She planned to have the group raid an office used by the Selective Service, but police intervened when they attempted to leave the park. There were more or less peaceful marches over the next two days, but the police policy was to arrest first, and ask questions later.

The Days of Rage cost Chicago and the state of Illinois about $200,000 in 1969 dollars, mostly for National Guard payroll and assorted damages. Nearly three hundred Weatherpeople were arrested during the Days of Rage and most of Weatherman and SDS’ leaders were jailed. The organization paid out more than a quarter million bucks to provide bail money. I am not sure where it came from- some of the kid’s parents had deep pockets, though.

The combination of low turnout and enormous numbers of police made for an even more violent demonstration than originally intended. The reaction to the Days of Rage demonstrations permanently damaged the relationship between Weatherman, SDS and the Black Panther Party while paving the way to more militant actions by Weatherman and eventually leading to the organization moving underground.

There was plenty more to come in terms of direct action, including the bomb-making that killed three Weather people in a Manhattan Brownstone, the May Day action that I got to witness, and the increasingly violent nature of the Weather Underground. Eventually, the Vietnam War ended, as I understand it.

One thing I do know is that anyone who was there would not want those times to come back. I suppose it is a generational thing. You actually have to raise up a new one that has no clue about what “direct action” actually means. Of course, we have our new passions and causes, and the certain conviction of youth that things that never happened to you must be answered by other people who did not do have anything to do with it.

I guess we will see what happens on Friday. History does not repeat itself, and I am inclined to think that police violence is not going to be the way this ends, given the tenor of the times. The demonstration in DC starts right when the happy hour prices expire at The Front Page. I will go home and see what might be happening in the comfort and privacy of my brown armchair. One thing is for sure, I am not going to go see for myself.

Once was enough.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com