I was at Harvard during the turbulent years of Vietnam. Being a military school graduate, I came north with no idea that our government could be anything but semi-benevolent. No course at Harvard opened my eyes but some events did. We were no longer freshmen and had moved to Quincy House. Some students had occupied University Hall. We knew about it only because people said the gates to Harvard Yard were locked.
We decided to go for a burger at Bartley’s Burger Cottage. When we got up to Massachusetts Ave. and prepared to turn right, we saw a line of State Troopers charging at us with billy clubs.
Of course we split up and started running, I was briefly cornered in a store doorway and got whacked a few times with a billy club. I got away and ran back to our dorm where the gates to the yard were eventually locked. Later they tear-gassed our dorm area.
We heard the unforgettable sounds of shotguns chambering shells. It was a scary time. It taught me that no matter who you are, you can be in the wrong place at the wrong time and the consequences can be severe. It was a lesson that I would never forget.
Summer started early because there no exams, I went home and like many other students tried to talk to parents and relatives about the Vietnam war. The conversations were short. I got in my PowerWagon and went off to Alaska. We did come back from Alaska but the thirst for the north had me by the throat.