In 1968, a teen in raped Prague, I never dreamt it was this bad in the USA as well:
I was there, in the second line when the "police riot" started, facing Nation Guard with bayonets fixed until they parted to let the cops charge. 19 year old kid, against the war of course, but pretty naive. Changed my life. Police had it really well planned, forced most of the kids down Balboa off Michigan, a canyon of buildings with no way out. Then busses blocked the street from the other end, cops spilling out. And the cops just beat everyone, kids, boys and girls, with billy clubs. Blood everywhere. As is my habit, I escaped without a scratch.
Anybody, and I mean anybody with a camera was the first target of the cops. Knock them out, then beat the camera to dust. Didn't matter if you were from the NYT or the Tribune or a tourist, dead meat. Good lesson. I was in the heart of it, but it was happening all over downtown and the north side, without the TV cameras to record it like where I was. Ender up ferrying people to hospitals in my VW bug.
But I still have a soft spot in my heart for Richard Daley. The "city of broad shoulders" and the "city that works". Crazy times but didn't hold a candle to the crap that came down in Czechoslovakia. Did I tell you my wife is half Slovanian? |
