Washington DC, 1970

The news is babbling abut today being the biggest of the protests against…well, I am not quite sure. I think it was about Mr. Floyd’s death at the hands of the police in Minneapolis. The imagery was horrific, and a dozen or more citizens have died in the rioting that followed peaceful protest in cities across the country. The phenomenon reminds some pundits of the very interesting year of 1968, when many of our largest cities burned themselves down.

For a while there we were the Riot Generation, bold as could be, and there was no distinction between “protests” and “riots.” It was just what was going on.

They expect a million citizens to flood the District. I expect that is probably overstated, but I am glad I will not be in proximity to the crowd. It certainly has the potential to be peaceful protest followed by rioting and looting. The Mayor is throwing the National Guard from other locations out of town. I don’t know if it will play out like that, but I do know a bit about public disturbance, and the talk got me to thinking of ancient times.

Well, ancient for me, anyway. But there are memories from those times that were seared into my brain and will stay with me till I can remember no more.

My home town of Detroit was ahead of the curve. The Blind Pig wholesale riots of 1967 gave us a taste of what was coming. We had APCs and Guard in our prosperous little suburb, so what followed Dr. King’s murder in 1968 was not unexpected or surprising to residents of the Motor City. I do not recall a major social breakdown in 1969, but I flew to DC for the big anti-war demonstration in 1970. That was all the money I had, and I hoped I could figure out a way to get home when the excitement was done.

I wanted to see history being made. I wasn’t against anything in particular, but that cycle of civil discourse included civil rights, anti-war, and some associated Marxist rhetoric. I had pals who ducked college and wound up in Southeast Asia. I had a 2S college deferment and a draft number of 76, so I assumed I would be joining them in 1973, the year I was supposed to graduate from college. Oh well. My preference, generally speaking, was to win the war rather than lose it, but one way or another this was a big deal and I wanted to experience it.

I did. Weather was nice; muggy but sunny. It was my first independent visit to the nation’s capital and I thought I was ready. Ah, youth.

I just wanted to experience it. I hate to boast, but our crowd from those days would chew up the current layabouts and spit them out. Pathetic wimps. The cops were tougher, too.

It was the morning after I got there, and I wandered the streets looking at the ominously large crowd. Crossing Constitution Avenue, I saw one “protestor” attempt to disable a commuter’s car and disrupt traffic. I was interested to see the driver get out of his sedan and beat the crap out of the kid- a couple body blows made the kid crumple. Wish I could find the pictures- I took a bunch with Dad’s little Minox spy camera but they have flown to the winds of time.

There were thousands of arrestees held in RFK Stadium. It seemed a bit ironic, you know?

There was one thing I knew: the experience was clearly not going to get better, and being basically broke, it seemed safer to get the hell out of there.

Later that morning I was at the Smithsonian building on the lovely Mall downtown, pretending to be a tourist. I made a decision after seeing regular airborne troops dismount their helicopters. Things looked like they were getting serious, and decided to hitchhike home. What could go wrong?

People were generous and rides plentiful. Apparently I was not the only one who was spooked by the vibes emanating from the Potomac shore. On one ride segment in Pennsylvania someone in the van noted a cop cruising in our vicinity, and one shaggy rider noted “they won’t take me alive.”

He seemed sincere. I disembarked as soon as possible and slept in the woods next to the interstate, hoping for better luck the next day.

It worked. That was my last riot. Or so I thought. We will see, I guess. Have a good day- I am staying in the country.

Copyright 2020 Vic Socotra
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