In 1968, what happened at the Democratic Convention was called "a police riot," but surviving officers held a reunion this weekend to celebrate what they remember as Custer's last stand for democracy.
The invitation assured attendees they were “the only thing that stood between Marxist street thugs and public order.”
As a witness to their efforts, arriving on a delegates' bus, I recall them surrounding the barbed-wire enclosed meeting site with battle gear, prompting a seatmate to advise, "If they ask you to take a shower, don't."
They were ubiquitous inside. One barred me from entering an area that my delegate badge entitled me to, nodding at Mayor Richard J. Daley seated front and center at the head of the Illinois contingent. "You guys pick presidents," he said, "but you know who's running this convention."
Outside, they were tear-gassing, clubbing and herding protesters, including a billy club across the backside of reclusive Hugh Hefner when he ventured from the Playboy Mansion to witness the action.
As they reminisced at their reunion, the retired cops could bask in the continuity of power in their domain, with Daley's son still running Chicago in a dynasty rivaling that of the Dear Leader's family in North Korea.
As the first Mayor Daley famously said on TV back then, "The police aren't there to create disorder, they're there to preserve disorder." They certainly did.
Showing posts with label 1968 Democratic convention. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1968 Democratic convention. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Two Nights in an American Park
Whatever else 2008 was, it was not a slow news year: the longest election campaign ever, a worldwide economic meltdown, natural disasters, scandals large and small filled media to the brim.
But one image belongs to a history that will be passed down through generations forever and lifts the heart for whatever the years ahead may bring--Grant Park, Chicago, the night of November 4th.
A quarter of a million faces radiated the joy of renewal, a burden lifted, a dream realized, a hope brought to life--not by the man who stood before them but by the American people themselves.
"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible," Barack Obama said that night, "who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."
Those faces stay in the memory of someone who had a far different experience in that place 40 years earlier, on a night where the world saw a different answer to the question about "the power of our democracy."
On TV screens back then, Americans were watching kids being gassed, clubbed and herded into police vans at gunpoint for exercising their freedom of speech while at the Democratic convention, Walter Cronkite was looking at the footage and telling TV viewers in disgust, "It makes us want to pack up our cameras and go home."
Those two nights in Grant Park are both part of the American story in a single lifetime, and as 2009 begins, we know there will be other nights and other scenes, some inspiring and some ugly, but it's possible to believe the new president when he quotes Martin Luther King to say that "the arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice."
But one image belongs to a history that will be passed down through generations forever and lifts the heart for whatever the years ahead may bring--Grant Park, Chicago, the night of November 4th.
A quarter of a million faces radiated the joy of renewal, a burden lifted, a dream realized, a hope brought to life--not by the man who stood before them but by the American people themselves.
"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible," Barack Obama said that night, "who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."
Those faces stay in the memory of someone who had a far different experience in that place 40 years earlier, on a night where the world saw a different answer to the question about "the power of our democracy."
On TV screens back then, Americans were watching kids being gassed, clubbed and herded into police vans at gunpoint for exercising their freedom of speech while at the Democratic convention, Walter Cronkite was looking at the footage and telling TV viewers in disgust, "It makes us want to pack up our cameras and go home."
Those two nights in Grant Park are both part of the American story in a single lifetime, and as 2009 begins, we know there will be other nights and other scenes, some inspiring and some ugly, but it's possible to believe the new president when he quotes Martin Luther King to say that "the arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice."
Thursday, October 23, 2008
A Walk in the Park, 40 Years Ago
The Obama campaign is planning a huge Election Night victory celebration in Chicago's Grant Park, weather and vote tallies permitting.
Just reading about it makes my eyes water at what happened there 40 years ago.
Tear gas was stinging my face and burning my throat as armed men in masks pushed us deeper into the park. My middle-aged legs were pumping hard across the grass when a teen-aged war protester grabbed my arm and drew me to a water fountain. "Soak your handkerchief," he said, "keep it on your face."
I was a delegate to the Democratic National Convention in August, 1968, but that night I found myself among young people being herded into Grant Park by National Guardsmen and Chicago police.
After the defeat of an anti-war resolution in the hall, another delegate and I had taken a convention bus heading into town. As we stopped for a traffic light in front of the Mayflower Hotel, cops with clubs and soldiers with rifles were pushing kids into the park. We got off the bus, joined the crowd and were immediately separated by a surge of bodies. With the wet handkerchief over my face, I stumbled along until I finally found an exit and a taxi.
Back in my hotel room, eyes still burning, I turned on TV to see what the rest of the country was seeing--American kids being gassed, clubbed and herded into police vans at gunpoint. In the convention hall, looking at the footage, Walter Cronkite was saying in disgust, "It makes us want to pack up our cameras and go home."
If and when an African-American man faces a cheering crowd of young people and old there the night of this November 4th, it may erase that memory once and for all.
Just reading about it makes my eyes water at what happened there 40 years ago.
Tear gas was stinging my face and burning my throat as armed men in masks pushed us deeper into the park. My middle-aged legs were pumping hard across the grass when a teen-aged war protester grabbed my arm and drew me to a water fountain. "Soak your handkerchief," he said, "keep it on your face."
I was a delegate to the Democratic National Convention in August, 1968, but that night I found myself among young people being herded into Grant Park by National Guardsmen and Chicago police.
After the defeat of an anti-war resolution in the hall, another delegate and I had taken a convention bus heading into town. As we stopped for a traffic light in front of the Mayflower Hotel, cops with clubs and soldiers with rifles were pushing kids into the park. We got off the bus, joined the crowd and were immediately separated by a surge of bodies. With the wet handkerchief over my face, I stumbled along until I finally found an exit and a taxi.
Back in my hotel room, eyes still burning, I turned on TV to see what the rest of the country was seeing--American kids being gassed, clubbed and herded into police vans at gunpoint. In the convention hall, looking at the footage, Walter Cronkite was saying in disgust, "It makes us want to pack up our cameras and go home."
If and when an African-American man faces a cheering crowd of young people and old there the night of this November 4th, it may erase that memory once and for all.
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