“I was in my freshman year and still lived in the dorm – Drackett on the north campus. In a four-person room, one of my roommates was a super nerd, farmboy, but a senior in physics – [Bob] – from a farming area near Lancaster, Ohio. [Bob] was a tall and lanky fellow, easy-going, definitely NOT political.  He preferred to remain wrapped up in his equations, quiet, and mostly sedentary, except for his girlfriend.

During the build-up to the May 4th tragedy [at Kent State University, where four students were killed by the Ohio National Guard], a lot of campus students were protesting the ongoing, tragic war in Vietnam, the draft (conscription) of those who couldn’t afford college (deferment), or who had to drop out due to grades or personal circumstances. We protested other issues, such as supposed racial and gender bias in hiring and pay scale, the food in the cafeterias, the indifference of the administration to the war and to discuss issues publicly, the presence of police and then National Guard on or near campus. We also protested the clouds in the sky and rain, the limited hours of panty raids on Taylor Tower, and being carded when pursuing beer on High Street. It was spring and we just wanted to be outside and sowing our oats. We were protesting anything and everything. The ‘establishment’ was our target, and the ‘hippie’ movement was in full swing. No ties and coats in our future.

Except [Bob]. He was plodding through his courses to eventually work for Anchor Hocking Glass in a tie and white lab coat. While we were out on the Oval crawling to the administration building (groveling), [Bob] was at class, his concentration interrupted only by the speeches being made by ‘outside agitators’ on a bull-horn not too distant.

As things heated up on campus, police cars with their windows taped were zooming around, and National Guard sandbag emplacements were popping up at strategic locations. At one point, I recall helicopters dropping tear gas and pepper gas canisters as we ragged (style of the day) bunch of protesters darted from building to building, gagging from the fumes. The stuff was on our clothes and in our hair and in every opening on our bodies. And if we took off our clothes, wherever we laid them down was then contaminated and caused all who came close to tear up and cough.

It was in this atmosphere that [Bob], totally oblivious to the politics and the student insurrection around him, went to south campus on Neil Avenue to a florist to get flowers for his gal. And after completing his purchase of a fine bouquet, and I am sure with that immensely satisfied, innocent farm-boy grin, he ventured out to return to the dorm. Except he encountered a swarm of activists who were struggling to close the gates across Neil Avenue.  And the police, trying to prevent the closure of campus, came storming in, firing wooden knee-knockers and more tear gas. And poor [Bob] got caught up in the swarm and was knocked and gassed along with the rest of the rabble.  

[Bob] eventually got back to dorm, but worse for wear, stinking of gas, and with his flowers bedraggled.  

Well, that is my memory of the times. With the campus eventually closed to prevent another Kent State situation, unable to complete our classes, we were able to elect a grade or pass-fail for the term. I am sure that what some of us experienced during those times gave us an education that influenced us and lasted longer than what was being taught in our freshman classes. Philosophy 101 was thus expanded to the streets, and we innocent suburban youth started to learn about the real world. And [Bob], I always wondered about him. I lost touch not long after, but I am sure he is actively inventing and perfecting products that we use every day. And buying flowers in less turbulent times.”