Our family lived two blocks from the dark, early morning slaughter in Lincoln Park.
During the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Chicago policemen surrounded hippies, yippies, Students for a Democratic Society members, clergy members, authors William Burroughs, Jean Genet, Allen Ginsberg and other Vietnam War protestors, before moving in.
Wooden clubs crushed unprotected heads. Tear gas stung eyes, burned skin and inflamed lungs.
If I lived so close to the action, you ask, why wasn’t I there alongside the anti-war demonstrators? Well, admittedly, at 19 years old, I was as apolitical as a screwdriver and probably had fled the city.
To find out what I missed, I recently read Norman Mailer’s “Miami and the Siege of Chicago” in conjunction with last week’s Democratic National Convention in Chicago.
My friend Elliott Sturm, hearing about my picking up the classic, wrote, “I have some very clear memories of being tear-gassed, arrested and spending the night in jail. It was less full than I’d hoped.” I asked for details.
“I was 17 and had long black hair tied into a ponytail. I took the L from Evanston to Chicago and walked to Grant Park, very crowded, most in jeans and jean jackets. The smell of pot was pervasive, along with the energy that comes with it.
“I had no idea why I was there, except that it seemed important, as though a park full of mostly young people were going to change the world.
“At night, [Black activist and comedian] Dick Gregory gave a short speech and invited us to his house for dinner. As we marched south on Michigan Avenue, the police launched tear gas grenades into the crowd. We choked, our noses and eyes running uncontrollably. The cops were waiting as we snuck down an alley. I was terrified, hearing stories about guys who’d been arrested then gotten the crap beaten out of them. Instead, we were taken to jail.
“In court next morning, I was charged with violating curfew. I asked the judge what time curfew was. No one knew. Someone got a copy of the law. I missed it by half an hour. Found guilty and fined $25. I paid the fine and left with a receipt and my first misdemeanor.”
Henry David Thoreau spent a night in jail for civil disobedience, refusing to pay his poll tax in retaliation for his country’s involvement with the Mexican American War and its support of slavery.
I consider Sturm and Thoreau heroes.
Mailer admits retreating to his hotel rather than expose himself to the butchery he foresaw.
Like Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry, I, too, know my limitations, avoiding participation by hiding behind words. I’m more Thomas Paine than George Washington, more “sunshine patriot and summer soldier” than those whose souls were “tried” and went forth to fight.
Last week, unlike the bitter 1968 floor fight over whom to nominate, 2024′s Democratic delegates proved more harmonious and energized than goldfinches on a thistle sock, promoting unity in diversity, promoting empathy for people unlike them.
U.S. Rep. Lauren Underwood, D-Naperville, underscored the imperative to supply truthful scientific information and inexpensive medical services and pharmaceuticals to all Americans.
Michelle Obama, 44′s First Lady, extolled the values of “compassion, inclusion and grace.”
Former President Barack Obama regaled the convention, “I am feeling hopeful.”
My favorite vice president nominee Tim Walz’s line: “Everybody belongs.”
And, finally, Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris’ encouraging “In unity there is strength.”
This week, I am feeling more Lawrence Ferlinghetti than Mailer: “I am waiting / for the green mornings / to come again / and I am waiting / for some strains of unpremeditated art / to shake my typewriter / and I am waiting / perpetually and forever / a renaissance of wonder.”
• Rick Holinger has taught English and creative writing on the college and secondary school levels. A multiple Pushcart Prize nominee, his writing appears in Chicago Quarterly Review, Chautauqua, Boulevard and elsewhere. His book of poetry, “North of Crivitz,” and essay collection, “Kangaroo Rabbits and Galvanized Fences,” are available at local bookstores, Amazon, or richardholinger.net. Contact him at editorial@kcchronicle.com.