I am having a flashback.
I never thought I would smell tear gas again.
As some of you know, last night there were riots in many cities following the death of a man in Minneapolis in police custody. Stupidly, I thought our city was immune.
I was wrong.
As we live about a mile from the city center, last night was filled with sirens and popping and horns honking, and… well, you get it.
Around midnight, I stepped onto the porch. The breeze was from west, i.e. from Downtown and I smelled it.
It was faint but it was there… tear gas.
I have now smelled tear gas three times in my life.
Last night…sometime in the late 80’s…and May 5, 1970.
The second time was easy.
It was a protest march against that fucking bitch, Anita Bryant. You remember her, right? Orange juice spokesman? Former Miss America? Antigay, lying misanthrope?
If you don’t remember her, don’t worry. She will be spending eternity in Hell, anyway. And, I have no sympathy for the woman.
No, the exposure that is causing flashbacks is the very first one in 1970.
I was seven and in the first grade. Like today, the country was undergoing convulsions caused by the incompetence of elected officials.
As a child, I was considered precocious and I knew that the adults were worried but did not understand it all. The nightly news tried to explain but I could not connect it to my own life.
Then, the Kent State Shootings in Ohio happened.
For those of you who do not know or remember, on May 4, 1970, four unarmed students at Kent State University in Ohio protesting against the Vietnam War were gunned down by nervous National Guardsmen.
The nation erupted! Campuses blazed!
Ohio State University is in my hometown of Columbus, Ohio, and the riots there were unrivalled nationwide. Businesses and schools were closed and the city was under siege.
Imagine a seven year old child seeing this and watching their world burn.
That was me.
While my Dad had to stay home from work in downtown Columbus, my mother was considered essential personnel as she worked at Ohio State University Hospital in the heart of the OSU campus. She was a nurse and she was REQUIRED to go to work by order of the governor of Ohio.
In other words, my mother had to report to work in the heart of the inferno.
Even better, my mother was instructed by her boss that she was not allowed to drive her own car to the hospital. It turns out that cars in the parking lot had been torched and no one was allowed to drive themselves so my father had to take her and pick her up.
My mother has heard on the news that the protesters were swarming cars on High Street and that the National Guard had been deployed to campus. She has also heard they were ignoring cars with kids.
SO, what does that have to do with me?
Mom needed picked up at the end of her shift at 11 p.m. so picture me and my Dad driving down High Street in his old Ford pickup. Smoke drifted across the street and burnt out cars lined the way.
My Dad had to check in with the National Guard at the corner of Fifth Avenue and High Street. It was actually the first time I had ever seen a loaded gun in person. The young men were very innocent looking and they looked so scared.
They made us step out while they searched the truck and then waved Dad through.
It was very frightening as we drove down High street and then turned on Tenth Avenue. Burning cars and shattered glass were everywhere. Even the White Castle was damaged by the rioters.
On High Street, the Guardsmen were holding back the rioters from the street. The rioters flowed and ebbed like a storm. Smoke and embers rode the wind and filled the air.
As we turned onto 10th Avenue, the rioters broke through and surrounded the truck. Chants and shouting as they peered in at us.
Then: “There’s a kid in there!” and they backed off.
THAT is when it happened.
As the students backed off and my father began to slowly drive away, I heard popping behind us and looked back to see what looked like aerosols cans flying through the air towards the protesters.
POP! POP! POP! and tear gas filled the air!
My Dad hit the gas just as we both got a big whiff of it. Our eyes began to tear and we started to cry.
The rest of the route was lined by National Guardsmen but the protesters backed off as they started to cry and puke.
The Guardsmen were crying as well, but I don’t think the tear gas had anything to do with it.
Tales From An Old Ford 