The Times They Are A Changin'

Across the Fence #395

It’s one week since I sat on our deck at twilight and reflected on a new life that will soon enter this world. I’m still sitting here on the deck as I begin this column. Needless to say, I haven’t been sitting here continuously. I thought I better clarify that point.

It’s another beautiful evening and we’re still waiting. I think this baby has some of the Sherpe stubbornness and will decide to enter this world when he’s good and ready. He’s probably waiting until after the political elections so he doesn’t have to listen to all those negative, dirty ads. No sense filling his young mind with such negativity. It’s discouraging enough on old guys like me who wonder what ever happened to civility and compromise.

I keep hoping that the Times They Are A Changin’. For those of you not familiar with that line, it’s the title of a Bob Dylan song from 1964. It became an anthem and characterized the spirit of political and social turmoil of the 1960s. Those of us who lived through the 60’s are all too aware of the unrest during that time. It was not a good time to be a Vietnam veteran, especially living in Madison.

There’s no comparison between the protests that took place around the State Capitol two years ago, and the anti-war protests of the 1960s. Thousands of people in the streets was similar, but that’s where the comparison ends. I was in Madison during those tumultuous late 60’s. Seeing photos of protestors filling the streets and surrounding the capitol brought back memories of those days to this “old-timer.” They were the best of times and the worst of times. The Vietnam War was fought on two fronts, in Vietnam and at home.

I returned to Madison in December of 1967, after being discharged from the army after spending two years as a draftee, and having spent one of those years in Vietnam. The bloody Dow Chemical riots had taken place on the UW-Madison campus a couple months before I returned.

In January I enrolled in the second semester and resumed my schooling, glad to put Vietnam behind me and wanting to forget about it. It was the best of times. How wrong I was! I soon found myself in a virtual war zone as demonstrators battled with the police and Wisconsin National Guard in the streets of Madison. Several times I found myself in the wrong place and was caught in tear gas attacks as police tried to break up the demonstrations. You may have seen photos and newscasts of those times, but you can’t imagine what it was like unless you were there.

My problem was that I felt like an outsider and all alone. I didn’t feel like I belonged on either side. I remember one day when I was standing on Bascom Hill under a large, old tree watching a large group of protestors clash with police in full riot gear. Those were not peaceful demonstrations like the more recent ones in Madison. People were hurt and bloodied on both sides. That day tear gas was also used to break up the protest. They retreated, regrouped, and clashed again. This wasn’t just an occasional protest. This was the way of life in Madison and on the campus for several years.

Marchers often filled University Avenue and State Street, disrupting and clogging traffic. Several times I found myself surrounded by protestors as I drove from school to pick Linda up at the old University Hospital, near campus, where she worked. I had survived war in a foreign land and now felt like I was in the midst of a war in the streets of Madison.

Finally one morning as I dropped Linda off at the hospital, we knew that something terrible had happened. Sterling Hall, next to the hospital looked like a bomb had hit it. Windows had been blasted out in the hospital and surrounding buildings too. It was the blast heard ‘round the world as it increased attention on Madison as a center of violent, anti-war protests. It was the worst of times.

I never took part in the protests. I was always an outsider. One of my friends in school was also a veteran. He had been a police officer in Madison and had taken part in the Dow riots. He was one of the officers wielding a billy club on the students. He knew after that traumatic time that he couldn’t do that any more. He decided to go back to school and we ended up in classes together. We felt like outsiders, but were both veterans and had “personal skin in the game” as the saying goes. At that point we’d come to the realization that the war was wrong, but at the same time didn’t feel right about protesting against the war, because we didn’t want to believe our friends had died in vain.

It was not a good time. It divided friends and families. Those divisions lasted for years; in many cases, they’re still there. I keep hoping that the times they are a changin’, and we’ll get to a point where we can live and work together peacefully, even when we have differences of opinion, politics, and religion. I hope our “soon to be grandchild” will one day see such a world.

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