Newspapers / The Guilfordian (Greensboro, N.C.) / Nov. 10, 1972, edition 1 / Page 1
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Next Guilfordian staff meeting: ■ Sunday November 12th 9 p.m. B BE THEREIII VOLUME mm LVII Sat., November 4th, 1972 by Tim Collins He weighed about 300 pounds. He was wearing a suit and a hand lettered lapel button: Veterans for the President. I al most hit him anyway. Ellen and Johanna were on the ground, the banner was irreparably rip ped, and I almost hit him any way. Jim Clark said, "No." The sudden awareness of the two Secret Service Agents on both sides of me, the two Secret Ser vice Agents who had been there all along, the two Secret Service Agents there to arrest me if a fight started, abruptly re-estab lished reality and I relaxed. His expression had never changed; the same, almost friendly, al most reaching out, goddamn, shit eating, smug grin. I watched as he slowly, unobtrusively, fad ed through the crowd in the general M direction of another group of demonstrators. At last, I had had the honor of meeting one of Presi dent Nixon's professional en forcers. I had heard about them, we have all heard about them. Martha Mitchell has complained about being kidnapped and beat en by them. The FBI report on the Watergate investigation has sketched a broad outline around their activities. Yet, even after meeting one, I find it difficult to comprehend the reality of them. He was very good at what he did. If our protestors had half his confidence, half his pro ven professionalism, they too would be able to concentrate on what they are here to do and not allow themselves to be diverted from their purpose. The story actually began three days before the demon stration. The why, the anticipat ed what, are as important as the reality of what occured instead. Nixon's staff announced his plans to bring the campaign to Greensboro three days before 7T> Quilfortocm % the election. The McQovern people promptly had ulcers. A few of us, a few more of us, and then not so few of us began to seek each other out. We would not allow Nixon to come and ,eave without at least knowing that someone, just anyone, but mostly us, disapproved^ his policy. As we attracted one ano ther, we began to plan our re sponse. From the beginning a broad consensus and disagree ment were apparent. The Mc- Govern people would never un derstand, could never under stand why and what we had to do. We could sympathize with their fears but we could not escape a realization that paranoia makes one incapable of func tioning in society and that there are times when it is necessary to take long steps and make bold moves, even if you fail. A con siderable amount of time was wasted in saying everything every possible way only to arrive at the same conclusion each time. After the departure of the McGovern people those of us who were left began to build our dream. We all agreed that a show of non-violent, non-disruptive power had the potential to shock people, the potential to possibly make them aware that there was more to the opposi tion to President Nixon than a few police whistles in San Diego. Unfortunately everyone involv ed in the planning was very keen on where and why but not to keen on how. "Let's discuss that at our next meeting." "I don't like marshalls." "Why can't those of us who feel like we have got our shit together just function like marshal s?" The Greensboro chap ter of the Vietnam Veterans Friday, November 10, 1972 Against the War volunteered to serve as marshalls. Jim Clark of the Inner-Church Ministry got in touch with the Institute for Non-Violence in Durham and they also agreed to help. Several Guilford students and assorted town residents, myself included, also deemed ourselves capable of exercising a moderating, non violent influence. "I almost hit him anyway." Help what? Pr ovide a moderating influence on what?How?Someway or another that got lost in the discussions we held Thursday and Friday night. Saturday afternoon we all left feeling sure we knew what we were going to do and be when we really knew nothing at all. Larry York and Ben Matkins of VVAW contacted the Security Police at the Air port. After a series of false stops and starts it finally looked like we had it all together Saturday morning. We could "do our thing," as long as we did not bring our leaflets inside the ter minal building or litter airport property. After a little mass gath ing in Binford parking lot we set out. Confident that we would at least have a chance to make our non-violent dream come true. Sure, no one really knew exactly how we would manage it, but with police cooperation, a gift from heaven, we thought we would be capable of exercising enough influence to cope with residual hatred and Nixon's in sults. Maybe we would have been but we never got the chance to find out. "You can either come in or you can stay out, but if you come in you leave that with us." Fifty dollars worth of lit erature which Chuck and Janis had worked all night to have printed down the drain. A few stayed out, leafleting the crowd going in. Most went in taking what they could hide, watching what was found get thrown away, or trampled under foot by the crowd. 1 But that was cool. Not nice, not part of the agreement, but cool. I mean, they even took away the American flag that the little black kid tried to bring in. That pointed tip must have been a potentially dangerous weapon, for they did return the flag . . . minus the stick. I walked inside and it struck me. Residual hatred, un cool police, ANGER. Nixon banners, Nixon posters, Nixon leaflets, Nixon buttons. Helms banners, Helms buttons. Helms posters, Holshouser ...Hundreds thousands .... But that could still be dealt with. A friend smuggled a banner in for me in her purse. I knew of one or two others as well. If we kept our heads we could still make an impressive showing. They could not refuse to let us hold our posters and banners since they let all the Nixon people hold theirs. Over there was Jim Clark, we discussed the tactical problems involved in finding the best location for the banner. There was a wedge of Nixon supporters between the demon strators in the front where the banner would have done the most good and the back where we were. I decided to work my way into the crowd as far as I could without entering the "death strip" and hold it there. Four of us would be necessary to get it up high enough to be seen. After one rehearsal we de cided to leave it down until Nix on arrived. Fake out. That Eastern Airlines jet only holds minor dignitaries, Nixon is coming in Air Force One. But the banner went up anyway. He weighed about 300 pounds. He was wearing a suit and a WW button: Veterans for the President. I almost hit him anyway. Ellen and Joanna were on the ground, the banner was irreparably ripped, and I al most hit him anyway. Jim Clark said "No." The sudden aware ness of the two Secret Service Agents on both sides of me, the two Secret Service Agents who had been there all along, the two Secret Service Agents there to arrest me is a fight started. dumber 8 abruptly re-established reality and I relaxed. I relaxed and realized all that we had done wrong. I was aware of the destruction of every other sign of any size, but I did not know about it until later. Later when I knew about the people in the hospital, later when I knew about the people who had been spate upon, later when I had heard all the heck ling. There were so many things we should have done, so many things we could have assumed. We were not cynical enough. We were not profes sional enough. Had we assumed enough fifty dollars worth of leterature would have been dis tributed inside the rally. Had we been cynical enough large ban ners would have flown for thirty seconds of prime time TV and the Nixon supporters would have had to have shown the nation that they provoked the incident resulting in their destruction in stead of being allowed to quieily eliminate them one by one, so that no one knew accept those who couldn't care, and us, the ones no one else wouid believe. Had we been professionals noth ing would have made us change our expressions; "the same, al most friendly, almost reaching out, goddamn, shit eating, smug grim." That shit eating smug grin which no one can destroy, which means I am untouchable, immovable, I will prevail. But we did not assume enough, we were not cynical enough, we did not behave pro fessionally enough and Nixon and his professionals took us for the provincial rubes we be haved like. "And now in the interest of equal time, turn the cameras on these supporters of my opponent." Cheery wave, gee hi mom and dad. See me on the tube. When to get shown on the tube like that was what we had come out there to avoid while protesting. "I almost hit him anyway." Saturday, November 4, 1972, a demonstration was held at the Regional Airport. Some of us will assume less, are more cynical, and have at least seen what a professional looks like.
The Guilfordian (Greensboro, N.C.)
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Nov. 10, 1972, edition 1
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