The Mifflin Street
PartyThe Mifflin Street
PartyFear: the emotional anxiety felt when our body, our family, or our values are in danger.
Terror: the emotional anxiety felt when there is no way to prevent impending violence to ourselves or to our family.
For those of you who have not visited Madison, Wisconsin for a while, let me try to describe it. Madison is the capital city of Wisconsin and is located at the isthmus between two lakes: Mendota and Monona. Capitol Square – and it is a square -- in the center of town contains only the capital building. State Street is about a mile long. On the west, State Street ends at the bottom of Bascom Hill: the green lawn on the east end of the University. On the east, State Street meets one corner of Capitol Square. Hamilton runs perpendicular to State through the other corners of the square. Hamilton only runs a couple of blocks on either side as it runs into a lake in both directions. At the State Street corner, forming the northwest side of the square is Mifflin Street. Mifflin runs parallel to the isthmus and never sees the water. Main Street parallels Mifflin on the far side of the square and also never sees the water. Washington Boulevard runs parallel to Mifflin between it and Main -- it breaks across the square. This makes the square two blocks on a side. Mifflin Street parallels Washington and makes one side of the square. If you are a student and live on Washington, you walk up to Capital Square, cross Mifflin Street and walk the length of State Street to class. There are some shortcuts.
The State of Wisconsin is politically liberal and is socially right-wing radical conservative –– except for the University.
The original settlers of Wisconsin were the Irish. They were a very poor culture living in a severe climate. They lived in their mining caves along the Wisconsin River. Lead mines, I think. Then along comes the Frenchman, Pierre Marquette, coming down from Green Bay and across to the west. He discovers the lead miners and refers to them as ‘badgers’. The Badger is a animal native to Wisconsin that lives in its burrow. About the time I moved to Wisconsin, the state changed its state animal from the white tailed deer to the badger because everyone thought it was the badger anyway.
But the Irish and French were just the start. The Germans (Near north side) and the Polish (South side) and later the Italians (Near east side) settled Milwaukee. Then there are the Scandinavians and Dutch further north all the way up Lake Michigan to Sheboygan. Then again, there is the statue of Leif Erickson facing east across the lake about where Franklin meets Prospect.
Why does this make a difference? The primary political party in Wisconsin until the early 1950’s was the Socialist Party. A couple of decades before, the legally elected Senator, Lafollette, was sent to Washington. The Senate refused to seat him. The state ran a second election. He was elected again. The Senate refused again. The third election settled it: the Senate gave in and seated Senator Lafollette. He became a state hero for all of this nonsense.
You see what’s coming yet? The University of Wisconsin is a typical, land grant, state-run university. It has a board of regents administering the university system. System? In the 1960’s, there were two campuses and a separate State University System. These were being merged into a single system to take the load off the main campus in Madison. Hmmm? Maybe it was to take the load off the state legislature.
But earlier than this, the 1930’s, there was a history professor (I forget his name), that was teaching National Socialism. The state having such a European background, teaching Nazi-ism in the history department was really upsetting to the state legislature. The legislature told the regents to fire the professor. After much ‘winnowing and sifting’ to quote the regents’ statement, they stood against the legislature and retained the professor. Stating that freedom to teach unpopular social theories was necessary until all knew the absolute truth of the universe.
In other words, with a stick-in-the-mud state population and history, the university stood up for divergence and creativity of thought in all areas, including social behavior. In accordance with this, the great University of Wisconsin has historically encouraged persons from all over the country and all over the world to attend.
In the 1960’s, there was a growing unrest around the country as President Johnson started his illegal war in Vietnam. We know that Eisenhower started the war with the containment theory promulgated by George Kennon. Kennedy tried to defuse it by sending Peace Corps people there. When Kennedy was killed, the gloves were taken off and war it was.
Regardless, the problem was that a large number of 18-22 year-olds was being sent to be killed. This was a problem for students. It was more of a problem for non-students but then they had little to say: they were sent off to be killed. The students were capable of protesting this war. Moreover, various forms of cooperation between government agencies was questioned. For example, the University supplied relative grade information to the Selective Service so that Selective Service could determine who would be permitted to continue being a student. This information was not supplied to the students themselves. You could be drafted because of low grades halfway through the next semester with no recourse. The protests stopped this and the information was given to the student who then was required to forward it to the Selective Service. There were many such causes: some more obvious, some less.
The university dealt well with this unrest. The problem was that a very large portion of the student body lived in residences in the city rather than in dormitories.
Students would live where even the blacks would not – and would pay rents bordering on extortion. This made them citizens. As citizens of a socially active university, they participated in all levels of government. I myself was on one committee created by the governor and one by the legislature. My girl friend and I attended school board meetings. Professors with social agendas would dismiss class for favored demonstrations.
I knew the President (Fred Herrington) on a first name basis. I knew Dean Kaufman, the registrar, and other university officials. I also was a speaker at the 3-day Admin sit-in. We learned to wear many hats. We learned how to work with and for our political system. I was in no way a terrorist or an activist or anything else. I was solely a shy, concerned, student citizen. Talk to my sister Kathie at Berkeley for someone you might call an activist. In general, students abhor labels.
This ability was not appreciated by many of the stick-in-the-mud government people. Specifically, at the time of the Mifflin Street Party, the Mayor and City Police Chief of Madison strongly disliked the University’s growth into their city. Also at that time, the city police had behaved so badly toward the student community that they were actually banned from campus except in pursuit of an offender or if requested by the university itself. This latter was unlikely since the university had its own police force that was sort of an offshoot of the State Police. By 1969 the violence between the city police and the students was growing fast.
A policeman was writing me a ticket for running a red light (for which I had stopped and he knew it) when I showed my Admin ID rather than my student ID. He stopped writing and sent me along. Similarly, I got stopped in my car for speeding but was let go when I showed a non-student ID. There are worse statements of harassment in other parts of this book. Police, driving by in their cars, gassed other students. I was shot at once but I was too busy diving for cover to see if it were a policeman.
By 1969, there were demonstrations with vandalism getting out of control. Some of the demonstrators were carrying North Vietnamese flags. Police had been hospitalized when they picked on some students who decided to defend themselves. The National Guard had been called to placate the governor and the state legislature.
Nobody got shot. This was not Kent State. This was more civilized: we talked on campus about campus issues. The problem was off-campus. The police-citizen hostility was flagrant and growing rapidly.
The Federal Government had reduced the voting age from 21 to 18. Someone finally saw the logic of being able to vote for or against a government that could send you to die. Before this, you had the judgment to kill or not kill but not to determine a peaceful alternative.
The state would not let students vote in Madison – many had come from out of state. The state Attorney General had overridden the local voting registrars and stated that if a student lived in the community for over 6 months of the year, he qualified as a voter. He held voter registration open to permit students to register. Talk about really pissing off the mayor and the police: this rubble could not vote. What next? Run for office?
The stage was set for violence.
In the fall of 1968 I attended the University of Wisconsin - Madison. Toward the end of January of 1969, I started work at Bendix in South Bend, Indiana. My student job (programming) at semester end was not complete. I voluntarily commuted weekends back to Madison into the spring. One reason for the commute was professional job loyalty. I also had a girl friend, Susan. She lived in one of those 3-story wood homes with pointed gables and a large front porch: a typical hometown Americana house. Susan and her roommates had the third floor. That is the best floor. Their house was two blocks south of the square on the east side of Washington Boulevard.
The Washington Street fire station was a block closer to the square than our house. The city was reconstructing the sewers crossing Mifflin at our block. The cross streets are under construction and are closed. The isolated Mifflin Street block was the home of many students. In Madison so many students lived off campus that we had closed some dorms. We? I had spent the most of previous 6 years working for the University even when not a student.
My computer time was at night so we went for a picnic that Saturday afternoon. We got home early, about 3:30. I walked from Washington across to Mifflin Street. You know how these neighborhoods worked in the Midwest: the houses were next to each other, a driveway with the garage in back, maybe a fence. Maybe no fence. Maybe just a wire fence. In any case, I went through the block rather than walking to the corner. This was the day of the Mifflin Street Party. We had a major controversy. The police had stationed themselves down the center of the street about every 200 feet for the entire block.
The student co-op grocery store was several blocks over on Johnson Street. The store was in financial trouble: it needed an infusion of money. The store had been petitioning the city for a block-party permit for this day. The city office had turned us down. The police chief had turned us down. The mayor had turned us down. We had scheduled a band for the evening. It was a big deal. We were really looking forward to this. We had only asked for a street that was already blocked to traffic. Now the party was off: No permit, No party. I mean everyone had been informed that the party was cancelled. There were issues to fight for. This was not one of them.
But the police were already here. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalks to see what was happening. The Madison city police hated students. The police would arrest you or beat you up just for their perverse concept of fun. They were standing in the street wasting our taxes.
One little kid rode his bicycle down the street while I was standing there. The police hauled him and his bike off in a patrol car. The street laughed. Tension was rising. The crowds were getting bigger. By 4:00 the front porches were covered with spectators, mostly drinking beer. Milwaukee was just up the highway. Madison had 18-year-old beer and was the university of Bavaria in America. When a couple of people got pushed into the street, the cops quickly drove up and carried them off before the poor souls could get lost in the crowd. I went home for dinner. Susan was an interesting cook.
On Washington Street we could see the police gathering. Something big was happening. Connie was at the house. Connie was wired into the politically active crowd and she said nothing about anything planned. Just before 7:00 I went back through the fence to see what progress had been made. Dinner would be in another hour.
This was not a protest. The students were not in the streets. There was no social inequity issue today. Curiosity and frustration. The sidewalk crowds were so thick there was not a chance to get near the street. I climbed onto a porch about three houses from the end. I remember too many details? It has been 30 years but some things are burned into your memory forever. From where I stood I could see a platoon of Sheriff officers in formation at the South end of the block. This was trouble: they were in the dark green-web riot gear. We never got sheriffs. Ever. I had heard about riot gear. I had never seen it. Worse: there was a matching platoon of blue, nylon-webbed city police on the near corner. Fear. I had my escape route planned.
I thought the cops spaced down the block were getting nervous. If things went bad fast, they or others could have been hurt. They had shotguns. I waited. I was safe on the porch.
It started. Slowly, a police car drove into the street. Its speaker said: “Clear the streets, we are using gas.” Wow – this was stupid. Only cops had been in the street for the last 4 hours. There was laughter. Then we saw it. Instant panic. The sheriffs started marching up the block. The cops started to march down the block. Police cars drove on the sidewalks forcing people into the streets to waiting police wagons. There was no place to go. The cops were arresting everyone. You could not flee. They had blocked the exits. My world trembled as I crossed through the fence back to Susan’s for dinner. I mean I really trembled. I was weak in the knees. Terror. I had physically escaped but my view of the world was shuddering: police as the enemy of democracy.
What happened next I heard from others as they came crying into the house. This was anarchy: the cops had started their own riot. I learned from the news that 200 people were arrested on the first pass. Two of these were city aldermen. I later heard a rumor that the university housing director was also jailed. We did not eat much dinner. The noise was overwhelming. I was to be work at 10:00. My car was in the garage in the back because I was afraid the police would burn anything on the street. The co-op was on fire. The police were rioting in the streets -- beating up anyone they could find.
I started to walk to the university at 9:30. I used the sidewalks. The cops were everywhere. Nobody else was around. I had my university administration ID ready. There was no more riot. I must be safe.
There were 3 cops talking on the next corner. Not a problem. I said hello and continued walking. One came out. I showed my ID. He did not look at it. He just pulled his club, punched me, and poked me in the guts. He turned me around and kicked me to the ground. He said I was not going to walk down that street tonight. The other cops watched. I stood up. He was ready to hit me again. I backed up and walked back home. I hurt. My stomach really hurt. My hands were scraped from the sidewalk. So was my face. My pants were ruined. Those were not the problem. The other cops waiting to defend their partner were not the problem.
My stomach was hurting: I felt fear, terror, loss, and something I cannot name. A part of me was suddenly missing. There is no cliché: you either know this fear or you do not.
We had learned since grade school about how great is America. We learned every cop is your friend. When you are in trouble, call the police. But the police had just beaten up me and as they had hundreds of others. Calling the police would get me in jail. America? Gone. What is the word for this feeling?
The loss. The knowledge that something was wrong and would never be right again. Fight? Flee? How to fight? For me? For my beliefs? For my country? Had I already done something wrong? Had I missed what is going on? So many questions flew through my head that nobody else could ever answer for me.
In the past I had had many conversations with my sister Kathie in Berkeley. These calls really ruined my budget but I needed her insight although we seemed to be on opposite sides. Until tonight we were on opposite sides. Now I understood. You did not have to go out looking for trouble -- it would come to you.
I walked back home. I went upstairs. I told the group what had happened. I called the computer center and told them I could not make it. The computer personnel had been told to stay in the building and did not know what was happening outside.
By 11:00 the students returned to the streets. Hooray for our side: we were not going to lose our freedom without a fight. The sirens started. The sirens went on all night. You could smell the gas. I heard the police had gassed Mifflin Street. The whole block. Windows broken. Grenades tossed up the stairs. I was glad we were safe. I did not want to do that again.
We talked most of Sunday. There was nothing for me this weekend at the computer center. Sunday afternoon they were using pepper (CS) gas on Mifflin. The students were using hit-and-run tactics to fight off the police all over our side of town. I should not call them students. We were citizens. True, there was a high density of students because of the personality of the neighborhood. This was our neighborhood the police were invading. These were our homes. It was surreal. What would the police do next?
On Sunday they gassed Washington Street. We went to the roof. Connie went downstairs when the door was being crashed. Connie did not come back. Mike went down later. He did not come back. It was getting cold on the roof. We cautiously went down searching for Connie and Mike.
By 4:00 Monday morning, we had not found Connie or Mike. I drove back to South Bend. There was nothing I could do in Madison.
I kept calling Susan. They had found Connie. One of the things that happen in these police actions is that groups of people put on Red Cross armbands and follow the police. These groups pick up the wounded. The police hated the Red Cross people and would turn on them when they get too close. A Red Cross group had found Connie and had taken her to the fire station.
You could not go to the hospital. The police would arrest you at the hospital. The rule was: if you were hurt, a policeman had acted in self-defense. At the station house, the firemen would patch you up and help you home unless you were too seriously injured. As Connie had come down the stairs, a policeman had thrown a grenade in her face. When the Red Cross had found her, Connie did not know who she was. When she remembered, she came home. Mike lost one eye to a similar grenade. Connie and I remained friends. I lost track of the others.
Monday morning I was in South Bend. The news media really screwed it up. They talked about the hippies rioting. It sounded like the police were just defending the city. And Hitler was known for the Big Lie? Our own news media was lying to everyone. My stomach got worse. The South Bend Coffee Klatch was talking about shooting Hippies. All this violence. And the police, the news, and the government were the source of these lies. We had been just trying to stay peacefully in our homes. I taped a newspaper picture to my desk of a policeman shooting a citizen in the back with a shotgun. The picture was from Berkeley. Where it happened was not the issue: police should not shoot citizens.
In Madison, on Monday the riot was out of hand. The Madison Fire Chief stated that he would only put out fires that endangered private property. This put every city police car up for grabs. It was a distraction for the police. If they had to defend their turf, maybe would not have as much time to attack the citizenry.
The jails were full. The police ran out of riot weapons and made an emergency plea to the city council. The city council turned them down. This was on TV. The police denied using pepper gas. If you were there, you knew. Tear gas makes your skin go on fire. Your eyes are on fire. If you are serious, a little Vaseline will go a long way – before you get gassed. Pepper gas is a different animal: you get so sick that you curl up on the ground. Your eyes sting and all that -- but your stomach and body attack you. The purpose of pepper gas is to immobilize you. With tear gas you can run away and fight another day. Pepper gas puts you on the floor where they collect you and put you in jail.
The city was in turmoil. They arrested the 3 cops that burned the co-op. The cops never went to trial -- they were released because of an arrest technicality.
Tuesday evening the mayor asked for a truce. He got on top of his police car and asked everyone to go home. Stop the riot. Why not? He was losing. The city council was learning the truth. It was unlikely that the news ever would. People were protecting their homes against the Nazis. The mayor was fighting against time: eventually people would discover that he had started it. All the citizens had to do was persist and pray. The mayor stood there and lied. He said all would be forgiven if we went home now. He was asked what would happen to the people in jail? Could they go home? No, he said. They were criminals to be prosecuted. The crowd growled. He said we had 15 minutes to disperse.
He released the microphone key. Do you know how the police car speakers work? The police radio, siren, and microphone are all connected to the outside speaker. There is a toggle switch to go between the radio and the siren. The microphone overrides the others. The mayor released the microphone and the speaker screamed out the police radio instructions: attack the citizens in only 5 minutes. The mayor made it out OK. His car did not. Fires started. The city was again engulfed in the riot.
Things were going downhill fast. All city police cars were damaged. Some seriously. God stopped it on Wednesday. The thunderstorms rolled in and everyone went home. Citizens. Police. Everyone. It was far from over. It was really just starting.
Every radical in the Midwest was heading for Madison. The next Saturday would be the real riot. I was still in South Bend shaking from the nightstick and the night on the roof worrying about Connie and sneezing from whiffs of the gas.
My world was shattered. Nothing would ever be right again. I had been passive. I had watched. Over all of the years I had attended a few demonstrations. I had even spoken at the Admin sit-in in 1964 when we had won the right to inform Selective Service of our student status rather than having the university send it directly to the Feds. I had marched up the hill. This was not that. This was government run amuck. It was Thomas Jefferson time: Integrity required me to return to Madison and fight on Saturday.
I called Connie. She set me straight. Fight when we could win. Let this fight be fought by others who did not need to be here on Monday. Saturday I went back to Madison and worked and did not fight. I missed the fire chief’s party.
Party? You see: the fire chief was the smartest man in town. When the riot ended, the fire chief announced a fund-raising party at his home on Saturday night. The funds would go to those injured by the police, the homes with broken doors and windows, and the co-op. The city council announced free buses to the party. The party was a success. The riot was over. It would not happen again.
Months later we elected a new sheriff. We elected 6 citizens to the city council. The police chief resigned. The city police officers signed a full-page newspaper statement saying they would never attack the citizens again. Paul Soglin, a law student and one of the arrested aldermen, was elected the mayor. The old mayor, as his last act, publicly and illegally burned all records of his police riot so that the new mayor could not produce ‘skeletons’.
It is 30 years later and I still quake when I see a policeman with a nightstick. I wave at all fire trucks. I remember the smell, the fear, and how close our precious democracy is to a police state. I remember when many citizens stood up when they needed to stand up. The police lost. Democracy won. It was close. If you were not there, all you know are the lies in the news: the hippies had another riot that was stopped by the fearless men in blue.
Sometimes I remember. Now, I can remember without crying. It was years before I could do that. It is time to write it down before everyone who was there forgets or is gone. I do not have a word for how I feel about this. I have used up all of my words.
9/11? Whoopee do. Some terrorists brought down a couple of buildings. The rest of the country learned what all of us in the 60’s knew about fireman. What all San Francisco people know about fireman. They are the most fearless men in the world who will give any or all of their lives to protect the citizens.
In 1998 the Taliban cut off a girls legs at the shins because someone saw her ankle while playing. Did we blast the Taliban for this? Did our government even complain? In 2000 the Taliban blew up historical monuments because they were “offensive” to their radical religion. Did we complain then? Maybe a little. Sort of, if they did not do it to us, then it is not our problem. We no longer fight for right or for ideals. Defense of personal rights and liberties is history. Washington and Jefferson and Paul Revere and … and… all have died and are buried in an historic time when hundreds died that others would live free.
9/11? We have a “patriot” act that lets me know that the fascists have won. Not the terrorists. They have not won yet. No. The police have won. I have to identify myself to them wherever I go. They can trace my very existence to within 6 inches whenever they want. They can do this on a whim without a real court order. There is no need for “probable cause” of a crime. “Reasonable suspicion” that I may or may not have committed a crime is all that is necessary for them to take me off the street without notice. They do not even need to prove a crime was committed.
It is time to remember the smell of pepper gas. It is time to remember what ideals we had when young. It is time to wonder if we have the strength to stand up for our principles or if we are going to let the fascists take away our rights in the name of justice and freedom.
Yeah. You read it. What are you going to do about it? Vote in the next election? Don’t bother. Learn the issues. Learn the candidates. If you don’t know who stands for freedom, don’t vote or we will have another Bush war machine arresting more people without trial or counsel in the name of freedom and liberty.
Support those who really believe in Freedom – not those that cry freedom and then pass laws to take it away. You believe the ‘Patriot Act’ is good? Shame on you. They can read your emails – and do. They can listen to your calls – and do. They can monitor what you read – and do. After 911 the San Francisco Chronicle had an editorial page asking what we would give up to keep our freedom. A marine wrote a letter that should have been framed. His answer: he fought for all of the freedoms for all of the people. To give up any freedom in the name of freedom is to spit in his and his comrade’s eye (my words, his concept). Learn the issues and get off your duff. Do something before you can’t. People who did not learn the issues freely elected Hitler.