Project 1968

On Our Way to New Hampshire

January 14
by Janine Stephenson

We’re already five hours into our trip. The bus driver stopped outside of Cleveland. I’m so scared about leaving Madison, but we’re on a great adventure. Becca keeps trying to get me to sing songs with her, but I won’t do it. Not in public.

She brought walnuts for the trip. I packed some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but they’ve already gotten smooshed. On our next stop, I’ll buy some cranberry juice and popcorn. I think that’ll be enough for dinner.

Taking the semester off from school was a good idea, though Daddy wasn’t keen to it. Actually, he hates it. He doesn’t agree with Senator McCarthy and doesn’t understand why I would leave my education behind to work for him. Mom just doesn’t understand, period. Which is what I’d expect since all she ever does is agree with Daddy. Don’t tell her I said that.

He agreed to let me go because I told him that it would be a great opportunity to learn about our country. I didn’t say anything about the war. That would have spoiled things. He wanted to know why I couldn’t work for someone else in Wisconsin. I told him I wanted to learn about New Hampshire as well, and you can’t learn about New Hampshire in Wisconsin. You have to go to New Hampshire if you want to learn about New Hampshire.

It wasn’t a lie.

Considering everything that happened back at Madison, I think they know that I made the right decision. Maybe someday, they’ll understand. They can’t be mad at me forever.

Besides, if the campaign didn’t need help then they wouldn’t have asked. They came to our school to recruit people to help with The Senator’s campaign. Becca thought it would be a great idea, so here we are.

I thought it was a good idea too.

Becca has the best parents. All she has to do is get them the tiniest bit distracted and off she goes. I think they’re in a hurry to get her married. They have other things on their mind.

I’m going to get Becca to help me with a letter of introduction. That way, the campaign will know we’re serious.

The News in New Hampshire: Jan. 1-13, Part One 

Vision

“It has been said that our liberal and socialist predecessors were plagued by vision without program, while our generation is plagued by program without vision.”

Source Note

Our Letter of Introduction

January 15
by Janine Stephenson

Bus travel isn’t nearly as glamorous as you might think. First of all, you have to contend with sleeping in a chair. The last time I slept upright like that was when my little brother was in the hospital with pneumonia. He turned out just fine but it took nearly a week for me to lose the crick in my neck.

Then, you have to do lady things in the back of the bus. It’s hard to do lady things while hanging on to the bathroom sink.

But what I do like is looking out the window and seeing things that I’ve never seen before. A few hours ago, we passed an incredibly wide river. A lady behind us said that it was the Susquehanna River. I don’t know if I spelled that right. I’ve never heard of it before. She said that it  was an ancient river.

Becca said that it was weird to think of anything in America being ancient.  I agree.

Here’s our letter of introduction.

I, Janine Stephenson and I, Rebecca Gaines, support Eugene McCarthy for President. We have come all the way from the University of Wisconsin at Madison to work on Senator McCarthy’s campaign. We are taking the semester off and our parents know it.

We think that our country has been torn apart enough. Between both of us, we know six boys who have died in the war. Our boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, and friends are all being drafted to fight in a war that we don’t believe in. Our government has no right to tell people in other countries how to live their lives.

We recognize that we are very fortunate to have enough food to eat and to be able to go to school. We want everyone to have the same opportunities we have, no matter what color they are or what their parents do for a living.

We want money that is being spent on the military to go towards our own country.

We want people in the ghettos to be treated fairly. We should allow them to police themselves.

We deserve new leadership.

That’s all we have so far, but it’s all true. Becca said that we should write about our boyfriends and ex-boyfriends because it humanizes our statement. I think our letter might be too simple, but it’s only a first draft.

***
There’s a lecherous man sitting beside us. He keeps looking over at Becca and I and licking his lips. I thought that maybe it was because of the cold but then he did some things with his tongue. I’d like to complain to the bus driver, but Becca says that we should just ignore him.

The News in New Hampshire: Jan.1-13, Part Two

Missed Connection

Don’t give me crap, okay? I forgot that I was supposed to meet you and when I remembered, it was too late. If you want, meet me at Nimbys at 9:30. Or you can call me tomorrow. You know where I’ll be.

Amy

Boston to Concord

Tuesday, January 16


by Janine Stephenson

We’re at a bus stop just outside of Boston. People are bustling by, everyone with somewhere to go. I bought a President Kennedy postcard. Becca decided to buy one from Boston University, along with a few others. It’s special to be able to buy them in Boston. Everyone sounds like President Kennedy here. I wonder what I sound like to them?

The lecherous man got off just outside of Pittsburgh and then we got stuck in the snow. It was very bad for a while, and we wondered how we’d be able to stay warm if we were stranded. The bus is only half-filled and we didn’t make friends with any of the passengers. The old man sitting a few rows back grumbled a bit and laughed at being stuck. We didn’t think it was very funny.

*****
It took a long time to get here, but Becca and I finally arrived. 3:28 p.m. We should be lucky that we arrived in the afternoon instead of the evening. There’s nobody here at the bus station to meet us because we didn’t tell anyone that we were coming. Becca is in the powder room right now. Our hair is oily and I need to change my clothes. At least, we’re here. Finally.

Of course, Becca is far more concerned that boys will see her looking awful.

Concord, New Hampshire isn’t much different from Wisconsin. People do talk funny here but it’s a different kind of funny.  I think I’ll be able to understand them easier than people in Boston.

I’m nervous about what we’re doing, especially since we didn’t warn people about our arrival. We made no arrangements. Becca thinks that everything will work out. I’m concerned that they will turn us away or call our parents.

I think Becca and I should have gotten notes from our parents, but Becca says that’s juvenile. We’re college students, after all. They should take us seriously, even if we’re only in our first year.

I hope they don’t turn us away.

The News in New Hampshire: Jan. 1-13, Part Three 

How Coleman Sees Amy

Nickname: Flaming Amy
Age: She won’t tell me
Politics: Understated radical… Vocal Radical. Inconspicuous troublemaker. Or is that a philosophy?
Philosophy: There will be no boxes. No boxes to fit ideas; no boxes to put ideas.
Job: Revolution is not a job.  File papers for the revolution. Type for the revolution. Answer phones for the revolution.
Former hangout: A certain underground rag that deserved better.
Who she loves: Me. Of course.
Favorite question: "Why are you pissing me off?"
Worst character trait: Temper. Screw you Coleman!
Best looking body part: Thigh muscles. Red hair.

What she hopes for: Peace in the coming year.
Where she works now: Goes unsaid.

Arriving at the Campaign

January 17
by Janine Stephenson

The campaign storefront is just as dirty and grubby as any other empty storefront. There weren’t even signs to tell us that we had arrived. The windows were huge and it was dark. Once Becca and I figured out where we were, we tried opening the door. But it was locked. Becca knocked on the glass. An old woman came to the door. Her grey hair was tied in a bun. She wore a man’s shirt, nice pants and an apron.

We asked her if it was the McCarthy Headquarters. She laughed and said, “Headquarters?”

Becca and I introduced ourselves. We told her that we had come all the way from Madison, Wisconsin to help Senator McCarthy become president. She told us that her name was Mrs. Catherine Stoutmiller. She lived in New Hampshire her whole life and never once voted Republican.

We told her that we were very pleased to meet her. And we were.

We put our luggage in the corner of the room and offered to help her clean the storefront. Craig, her helper went to Manchester to pick up literature. I asked her if we needed his permission to become volunteers. She said that if we wanted to be volunteers, we could just by saying we were volunteers. We didn’t need anyone’s permission.

It soon became dark out and there was no sign of Craig. Becca and I didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the storefront, but we didn’t have anyplace else to go. We asked Mrs. Stoutmiller if it would be alright to crash in the corner of the room. She said that she would have none of that. We could sleep at her house, in her daughter’s old room.

We told her that it was very nice of her to let us sleep at her house. She said that it was very nice of us to come all the way from Wisconsin to make the world a better place for everyone.

Weed

Are you PL? I’m asking because you’re an idiot.

Seriously Coleman, I’m taking a break. Call me when you get your head together.

All about Amy

At the Campaign Headquarters

January 18
by Janine Stephenson

I’ve only known Craig for an hour and 45 minutes, but I can tell you that he’s someone who is always tired. His eyes are half-closed even when they’re wide open and his hair is a mess. He’s a grad student, studying sociology at Rutgers. When we introduced ourselves, Becca told him we were freshmen. Which is fine, I guess. It’s not like we’d pass for being 25 or 24, or 23, but I don’t think we should brag about being 18.

Now we’re waiting for the phone man to arrive. He’s running late, again. They waited yesterday for him to arrive but he never showed up. Craig thinks that it’s because we’re anti-war. We decided to take down all of the signs that said things about peace, at least until we got the phones hooked up. So we’re waiting and cleaning a bit.

***
The phones still don’t work. The only good thing that came out of today was the woman donated a television set. She said that her husband bought her a new set and so she wanted to give us the old one. We asked her for her name, and she said, “Call me Mrs. Anonymous. My husband would kill me if he knew that our old set was going to that dandy dove.

Craig went back to her house to pick up the set. The reception here isn’t as good as back in Wisconsin, but at last we have something to stare at besides dead phones.

Parts of a Conversation

Wednesday, January 17

“… we ourselves are imbued with a sense of urgency, yet the message of our society is that there is no viable alternative to the present. Beneath the reassuring tones of the politicians, beneath the common opinion that America will ‘muddle through,’ beneath the stagnation of those who have closed their minds to the future, is the pervading feeling that there simply are no alternatives, that our times have witnessed the exhaustion not only of Utopias, but of any new departures as well. Feeling the press of complexity upon the emptiness of life, people are fearful of the thought that at any moment things might be thrust out of control. They fear change itself, since change might smash whatever invisible framework seems to hold back chaos for them now.”

That’s the paragraph I had mentioned earlier. The fact is, they’re not going to consider change until they find the present absolutely unbearable. In order for the Movement, as we know it, to grow, they need to become so uncomfortable that change will be the only livable solution. Is that radical enough for you?

Just how to you suppose we make people uncomfortable, Coleman?  What are you proposing?

Source Notes and Discussion

Why I Hate My Parents

January 19
by Janine Stephenson

The phone man arrived first thing this morning. He was very apologetic about being late. He fiddled with a few phone wires in the back room and off he went. Then we got a dial tone.

The first thing I did was call Mom collect. She told me that Daddy was still very upset by what I was doing. They are both worried that I’ll never have a social life because boys don’t like girls who talk about politics. She also said that the people involved with politics aren’t nice. “They’re too emotional,” she said. “Darling, you don’t want to socialize with people who have no sense.”

Daddy’s friends think that he should send me home. Mom said that he was thinking about it. I tried telling her that Mrs. Stoutmiller is a very nice person. She’s well-respected in the community and even does volunteer work at the town library. I didn’t say anything about Craig, because that would only lead to more questions.

It’s much safer being in New Hampshire than it was being at school. I reminded her about that, and how what I’m doing is better than what other people are doing. Which is to say, rioting and fighting.

Becca won’t call her parents. She’s convinced that they would only start arguing anyway. Instead, she’s going to send them a postcard and tell them that she’s having a fabulous vacation.

Meanwhile, we’re waiting for voter lists. Mrs. Stoutmiller is working hard to retrieve them from someone she knows. After we get the lists, then we can start knocking on doors. Right now, we’re about to start setting up some tables. They are expecting some college students to arrive 8 o’clock tomorrow morning. We have to be ready.

Censored

January 19, 1968
by Amy

I’d like to tell you what I’m thinking, but it’s not a good idea because someone might read it. I could endanger other people and that wouldn’t be good.

I asked someone today if he kept a journal, for his thoughts. To keep track of his political evolution. He said it was highly unorthodox, considering how much heat is always on us. But it might also make for good literature, in another time and place. I should be careful because it could entrap me if anyone ever found it.

So I begin. Since I don’t give a shit about Coleman right now, I can tell you that I think he’s back with his funky gang again. Since I started working at the offices, I’m putting the kibosh on him for a while. That means not seeing him at the offices either.

Not on Their Way to New Hampshire

January 20
by Janine Stephenson

Only a handful of college students have arrived. More may be on the way. They might be running late, or maybe they got lost. From what we heard, people keep expecting the Senator to quit. He’s not quitting, of course. He hasn’t even started yet.

Just before going home last night we finally received voter lists. Mrs. Stoutmiller, Becca and I began typing up labels to send out the brochures once those arrive. We thought about handwriting all of the addresses. It’s still something we’re considering. Becca and I think it will add a personal touch, but Mrs. Stoutmiller says that our fingers will develop terrible calluses if we do something like that. Better to type it.

I think when I’m Mrs. Stoutmiller’s age I want to be like her. I can’t ever imagine being that old, but if it happens I’m going to remember her.

There are times I worry that we’re pests to her. She seems fine with putting up with us. In fact, I think she likes it.

She has a picture on the mantle in her front room of she and her daughter, Annabelle. It’s adorable. They went to the beach back in 1953 and took pictures. As she talked about Annabelle she let out a little sigh. I’m not sure what her relationship is with her daughter. I didn’t want to prod but it made Mrs. Stoutmiller melancholy to talk about her.

Mr. Stoutmiller had a heart attack in 1959. He had another one in 1965 and died. His picture is on the mantle as well. She seemed a whole lot happier when she talked about him. Especially when she was remembering the good times they had during vacation. She thinks that it was better that her husband died when he did. It would break Mr. Stoutmiller’s heart to see what’s happened to our country.

Photo Credit

Exhale

January 20
by Amy

There’s an editorial from this morning’s New York Times. I have no opinion of the Times, other than the fact that it exists. Some people swear by the Times like they swear by Uncle Walter. The Times is not a radical paper, it’s a pansy-ass liberal piece of shit. It puts people to sleep and it keeps them asleep. The last part is the most unfortunate.

That said, their editorial about Eartha Kitt is downright forthright. Eartha, poor Eartha went to the lunch at the White House where a bunch of white women in the White House gathered to eat lunch. And Eartha didn’t want to hear them talk about wild flowers and what to do about wild children. Eartha told them that it was their wars that white people in the White House make that are creating wild children and turning wild children into flower children because white people in the White House can’t stop making war.

The Times says, and I quote: “White people have not experienced the hurts and humiliations at the hands of whites that linger in the heritage of hundreds of millions of people of color around the world.”

The fact is, America might have the ability to change the world. But the people don’t want to be changed.

A Day of Rest

January 21
by Janine Stephenson

We didn’t do anything related to the campaign today. Mrs. Stoutmiller invited us to church. Since Becca and I are both Catholic, we thought it would be nice to see how they do it in other parts of the country. It’s pretty much the same, except her church was a little darker, a little more serious and a whole lot more colder. Our church back home is simple, with lots of light coming through the stained glass windows. Her church is more serious, but it’s still the same Mass.

Afterward we took a ride in her auto. That’s what she calls her car, her “auto.” Becca asked her if that’s what all New Hampshirites call their cars. Autos. I thought I was going to die. Really. Sometimes I wish Becca would get some sense. And maybe some tact along with it.

Tomorrow the Senator is scheduled to make a stop here in Concord. Maybe we’ll finally get a chance to meet him.

Armor

January 21
by Amy

I’ve never done anything that would cause my parents to be ashamed. My father doesn’t agree with everything I’ve done, but he also understands the nature of politics and society. He’s taught me well, I think. No, I know he has. My father is good American, especially because he made me think for myself. I know, sometimes, that he is disappointed when he thinks I’ve been conned. But I don’t regret anything I’ve done. I don’t regret my past.

***
In Los Angeles, they’re buying tear gas grenades and something called “banana peel gas.” When used, banana peel gas makes the streets slippery so we won’t be able to walk down the streets. Of course, the cops won’t be able to talk down the streets either. Maybe they have special shoes for that.

This is just a rumor, but I’ve heard that they might have something called vomit gas, created by a smell so repulsive that we’d all start throwing up. No demonstrating if we’re regurgitating. I know a few people who suffer from tear gas toss. They start retching at the smell of gas. I don’t think it’s due to the gas so much as it’s nerves. The details don’t matter. The result is still the same.

Source Notes: (Dr.) Strange(love) Weaponry

When Did You Lose Your Virginity Mrs. Stoutmiller?

January 22
by Janine Stephenson

I shouldn’t be so excited that the Senator is coming. The election isn’t about him, but I can’t help it.  It is about him! It’s not supposed to be about him. It’s supposed to be about the war. But I think Senator McCarthy is a groovy man.

The Senator will be making a few stops today and tomorrow. We don’t know when he’ll be coming here. Mrs. Stoutmiller tells us not to get our hopes up. Nothing in politics is ever guaranteed, no matter what anyone says. So I will wait patiently today and pray that he shows up. 

We watched the Smothers Brothers last night. I was surprised that Mrs. Stoutmiller likes the Smothers Brothers. Becca and I love the Smothers Brothers. Becca thinks I have a crush on Tommy. Maybe I do, but that doesn’t matter. We’ll never meet the Smothers Brothers. It’s not like Senator McCarthy.

Sammy Davis Jr. is against the war. I love him. I loved him before I knew he was against the war. I doubly love him now that I know he’s against it.

This is our routine: After a long day of stuffing envelopes, creating mailing labels and checking supplies, Mrs. Stoutmiller brings us home. We sit in front of a wood burning stove and drink hot chocolate. Becca asks her all sorts of dumb questions, things I would never ask her. Last night, she asked Mrs. Stoutmiller when she lost her virginity. Can you imagine? Mrs. Stoutmiller didn’t bat an eyelash. She looked Becca straight in the eye and said, “What makes you think I lost it?”

I knew exactly what Mrs. Stoutmiller meant. She didn’t lose her virginity. She purposely placed it somewhere.

What You Can Say - And What You Can't

January 22
by Amy

Did you know that you can’t say the word Penis in a public paper? Even if the word penis is used for biological purposes? Peter Farb wrote a review of The Naked Ape by Desmond Morris for the Trib’s Book World. Sure enough, because Farb is a biologist, he let the penis word slip. And the word slipped by editors and the Trib had to pull back all of those papers that had said PENIS in it. It cost them 100,000 dollars. All so people wouldn’t see the word PENIS over breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

A bunch of us tried to find the Penis Book Worlds before they were confiscated. We couldn’t find one. Maybe Coleman got lucky, since, knowing him, he was out doing the same thing. If I ask my Dad for one, he'll think I'm a pervert. Or maybe he'll just laugh. 

Talk about ridiculous... Before we can free our minds, we have to free our language.

Tomorrow I’ve got to go to Evanston for the big student symposium. Everything is all prepared. White papers, mimeos, everything. For once, we're organized. I hope that's not an indication of bad things to come.

Source: A Naked Error

Becca + Craig

January 23
by Janine Stephenson

I still haven’t met The Senator. He’s going to be in Manchester today. I think he may come tomorrow.

The weather is the same here as in Wisconsin. Though the wind is colder back home.

Mrs. Stoutmiller wears her grey hair in a bun. I would think that it would be warmer to wear it down. In reality, she has long hair. I’ve seen it down once, on her way to bed. It’s very pretty. Becca’s hair is long, but she wants to grow it all the way down her back. My hair isn’t short, but I need to get it past my shoulders. Mrs. Stoutmiller told us to use coconut milk.

All of us, including Craig, left the campaign in good hands and went to see a movie. We saw The Graduate. It was alright. Mrs. Stoutmiller laughed out loud during the end. When she laughs, her mouth doesn’t move as much. It’s like she’s trying to stiffle her laugh. Hearing her laugh makes me laugh as well.

I think she enjoyed the film more than I did. It’s not that I didn’t like it, but when the main character, Benjamin, is seduced by Mrs. Robinson I kept wondering what it would be like to have an older man seduce me. And during the stripper scene I couldn’t believe that a woman could do that with her bosom. I don’t have a big chest, so I can’t even practice swinging my body like that.

I didn’t graduate high school with a boyfriend. Becca has always been far luckier at boys than me. In fact, I caught her flirting with Craig during the movie. I think she likes him, but she won’t admit it. She gets mad when I tease her about it too.

Turn Left Now

Tuesday, January 23
by Amy

The Symposium was exhausting. I don’t even know where to begin or how to recap it. I’ve been in the Movement for several years now and every now and then, I get too much of it. With more and more people coming in, I have to be careful not to appear cynical or tired. But I am. Sometimes, it just feels like no one is at the helm. Or the people at the helm are grabbing the wheel and yelling at each other.

“Turn Left! Turn Right!”

So we all jerk around, making twitchy turns and with no real purpose or direction.

I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s an election year and everyone’s going to care about that rather than the real issues.

This is where I agree with everyone else: The campaigns are a distraction. Whoever ends up wherever, it’s going to be the same thing. It doesn’t matter. The war will continue.

Isn’t it like that each year?

So in Evanston we all met. We listened to Andrew Young and Staughton Lynd, who is a great man. Mr. Young says that either we will change through nonviolent demonstrations or riots. It was his theme: Violating a person's life or property is wrong. But what about distruption?

The people coming to the Movement these days don’t have the nonviolent training. We’re expected to educate them on what nonviolence is, except that now, there’s a big discussion underway to change the definition. We’ve been talking about it here at the offices. What is nonviolent protest? What defines violence?

Working off of Coleman’s notes, you can see how the debate is continuing. He’s got this quote for Mr. Young: “We wouldn’t violate the life of a person or his property. But we would insist upon confronting that person and demanding justice by refusing to cooperate with him economically, by withdrawing our labor, our support politically, by any means that we can (to) disrupt his life in order to bring about justice.”

So what they’re looking at is disruption. “From Demonstration to Resistance” according to us. But what is demonstration? What is resistance? What is violence?

Source: Sick Nation

Order

January 24
by Janine Stephenson

We have spent so much time getting our campaign headquarters in order that we haven’t had much time to campaign. Now that the literature has arrived, we have everything in order. Somewhat. Craig says that nothing will ever be in complete order. But I think he’s talking in broad philosophical terms instead of just our campaign.

Craig told us that we can expect more college students to arrive now. He has deputized Becca and I to deal with the incoming students. He would also like us to take a more active role in telling people what to do. Which forms to fill out. How we do things, however that is. We still haven’t figured it out. I told Craig that as soon as he knew how we did things, he should tell us and we’d be certain to spread the word. Whatever the word is to spread.

Mrs. Stoutmiller said that we’d go out to canvas starting tomorrow morning. We should dress appropriately for cold weather and lots of standing around. We’ll go in her auto.

They do talk funny here. What if they don’t understand me?

Craig is from New Jersey so he can’t go out to canvas.  His accent will alienate people and his hair is too long. His boss with National, a guy named Ron, told him that people with longer hair shouldn’t go out. Only people who look presentable. Since Becca and I look wholesome, we’re allowed. Craig will stay behind and hold down the fort.

I don’t mind talking to people. I just hope I can come up with something to say. 

No Questions Asked

Wednesday, January 24
by Amy

Coleman and I fucked last night. It was a short angry pump and not the long, open sigh we’re both used to. I hate myself for doing it. We got into a long discussion about violence. He disagrees with me on just about everything. I’m not surprised. Over the past few months, since D.C., he’s been getting more and more unlike himself. It’s like a hit in the head changed him. He’s angrier. More strident. Any amount of questioning draws out the worst in him. I swear he’s going back to what he used to be.

I’m always questioning. He knows that. Questioning threatens him these days. It seems the threaten everyone. It’s not that I doubt the Movement, but I think its important that when greeted by violence that we don’t react back in violence. We can’t afford to lose ourselves.

Unfortunately, more and more rhetoric is about violence. It’s about people who wake up and discover that they live in a nightmare. The only way for people to change the system is to change themselves. And you can’t change yourself if you adopt the rules of the system.

We can’t afford to lose ourselves. It’s the only way we’re going to win.

Loose Skin on Toe Knuckles

January 25
by Janine Stephenson

My feet hurt. Every single toe has a blister. I thought it would be good to wear my boots, but the heels were too high. Now I have a bunch of loose skin on my toe knuckles. And they’re all red.

We did talk to people though, and people were really nice. No one thought it was weird that we were coming to the door to talk to them about the campaign. Mrs. Stoutmiller told us that people would be expecting us. And they were.

Becca and I worked a routine, our “rap.” It took practice, but we were able to sound polished. It’s not perfect, but it shouldn’t be perfect.

It should sound like we know we’re talking about and we’re excited to tell you about it.

This is what happens. You open the door and I say, “Hi.” and Becca says hello too. And then, we introduce ourselves. “My name is Janine Stephenson and this is Becca Gaines, and we came all the way from Madison, Wisconsin to talk to you about Senator Eugene McCarthy.” And Becca says, “It’s really cold outside, can we come in for a moment to warm up?” And no one turned us away. A few people pretended not to be home but we understood. We don’t have our campaign buttons yet, so they probably thought we worked for President Johnson.

The key to talking to people is to remind them that we work for Senator EUGENE McCarthy and not JOE McCarthy. Because evidently, people are getting the two mixed-up. So we either say, The Senator or Senator Gene McCarthy. But never just Senator McCarthy. At least right now.

That’s another thing that Ron told Craig to tell us.

The important part is to tell people that The Senator is really running and not faking it. He wants to be President. He’s not going to quit. He’s not preparing the way for Bobby. He’s really running. And if he was just pretending, we wouldn’t be wasting our time talking to people about it.

We have to stress that since reporters keep insisting that he can’t win against the President. Or Bobby. Though Bobby’s not even running.

Back to the Books

January 25
by Amy

I went back into our office files today and found Dave’s essay on nonviolence. He wrote it back in 1962.

One of the key points in the document is within the first two pages. “Nonviolence never calls for destroying an invader. It seeks to destroy his power to commit injustice, by using strikes, boycotts, civil disobedience and mass non-cooperation … Nonviolence is a method of love and looks forward to reconciliation based on adjustment of grievances through mutual respect rather than a selfish victory based on the power of one side to impose its will on the other.”

This is the problem with “militants” and its something we’re seeing more and more. People are using the Movement for their own ends, using it impose their will upon society. It worries me, but I feel like I’m the only one seeing it.

Coleman keeps telling me that soon, I’ll feel the same way as he does. I’ll become more militant as the things progress, because everyone is. But I’m not like everyone.

I wonder where we’ll all be a year from now.

Walking Blind

January 26
by Janine Stephenson

We went out again today. I’m wearing more comfortable shoes. Not boots and definitely not heels. The sun bounced off the snow and nearly blinded us. Mrs. Stoutmiller took us to the five and dime so we could get sunglasses.

But we made great progress. Today, we concentrated on listening to people instead of just talking to them. The idea is to try and figure out what people think. When we get back to the car, Mrs. Stoutmiller asks us a bunch of questions about what the people said and records our answers. This gives Craig a better idea about where people stand.

We met an older man who made furniture. He tried listening to us but he didn’t have his hearing aid in his ear. So we were really forced to listen to him. He told us all about World War I and let me tell you, it wasn’t interesting.

Another woman invited us in for tea. She was a Republican and she argued with Becca so much that I thought it was time for us to go. She was just crazy and angry. When we got into the car, we told Mrs. Stoutmiller about it. We’re really not supposed to visit Republicans, so that caused us to question our readouts.

But that was the only bad experience. The rest of the people were happy to see us and even if some of them were vague about where they stood, they listened carefully to what we said. I think the thing that surprised us the most was how many people were angry at President Johnson. And how many people were just angry, period.

I don’t think that’s been written about in the papers as much. 

Dresses

Friday, January 26
by Amy

I love my Father. I love that he’s hip and cool and works at the paper. I love that he’s gruff and cynical and stodgy.

My Mother is a balloon head, in more ways than I can count. She still wears puffy hair and doesn’t understand where I came from or why I think the way I do. The last time I saw her, she asked me if I was into girls. I told her that girls weren’t my thing, but I appreciated how much courage it took her to ask.

Her whole body relaxed. Her shoulders slumped back and then she asked me, “Well, then honey, why don’t you ever wear dresses then?”

I told her that I thought dresses made it easy for men to fuck me and I wasn’t easy.

It was the last time I talked to her. Whenever I see them now, she won’t look me in the eye. She turns her head if she has to say anything, as if I was across the room.

Observations

January 27
by Janine Stephenson

It’s hard to talk to people with sons in the military. I have a hard time with it because you can see the worry in their eyes. We try to figure out which house has suffered a loss so we can at least prepare ourselves for a different reaction. We can’t go in saying things we’d normally say. Becca and I try to be as respectful as we possibly can, all the while, getting our message across as well.

Becca lets me do a lot of the talking because she doesn’t feel as confident about it. Plus, she’s more passionate than I am. I can come off as more logical and rational. Becca is just a bundle of emotions and nerves.

We’ve had a slew of these situations today. A whole section of town lost a handful of boys. From what we understand, it wasn’t all together either. It was hard to canvas because even the neighbors who didn’t suffer a loss felt like they did.

Some of the parents were angry at the government and some of them held steady in their support. One woman – her son died four months ago – she sat across the table from us and cried. Just cried. It was so hard to watch her.

I don’t feel like I’m just canvassing. We’re talking to people. We represent something to them. Sometimes we’re their sons’ girlfriends and sometimes we’re protesters. Sometimes we’re the future. They see us and react.

Underneath all the anger, people are afraid. They’re afraid of the government because no one is listening.

Suitable Introductions

January 27
by Amy

I think this would be a suitable introduction:

I became involved in the Movement in 1966, after meeting a new friend in our college commons. I used to be a student in Chicago, where I was studying childhood education. I hated it. I’m not sure why I chose that major. It was expected of me. I was bored.

Really what I wanted to do was be a journalist like my Dad. He’s a hard drinking, cynical son-of-a-bitch. You would know him if I told you my last name. That’s the reason I’m not telling you. Sons and daughters are always judged by their parents. It’s not right. I’m my own person.

My new friend certainly knew who my Dad was, and she wanted to meet him. They were trying to persuade him, to get him involved with their group. And they were using me to do it.

Normally, I would be upset by that. I’ve had people use me before, because my Dad is well-known and powerful. But those reasons were stupid. These reasons – world peace, fighting poverty, equality – are admirable and valid. I understood why they picked me to befriend. I knew I was targeted and that it was all pre-planned.

I attended a few of the meetings before becoming involved with a member of the group. His name was Jack. He was a leader, someone that the others looked up to. He held my hand, so to speak, during this time. Gradually, he courted me with literature and position papers and promises. The promise of a different society.

When I brought him home to meet my Dad, that’s when things got interesting…

In Concord

January 28
by Janine Stephenson

After such a difficult day yesterday, Mrs. Stoutmiller decided that we needed a break. Generally, she’s been letting us sleep late. It’s kind of her to let us do that.

I’ve been waking up early to do some chores for her, things like bringing logs closer to the house. Every now and then, Becca makes dinner and cleans the dishes. We both do the laundry.

Mrs. Stoutmiller didn’t ask us to do any of this, but we thought it would be a good idea since she took us in for the campaign. Craig stays at a McCarthy supporter’s house as well. I don’t know the supporter. He never stops in, but Craig says that he’s primarily a financial supporter.

Anyway, after Mrs. Stoutmiller came back from church, she told us that she’d like us to see something. She thinks that since the campaign is getting in full swing, we won’t have the opportunity to do it later. So off we went. Becca and I saw all sorts of old houses and finally, she stopped at a snow covered clearing. The clearing was a lake. Walden Pond. She told us all about Thoreau and how he was important to this country’s literature and politics.

Have Becca and I heard of him? I have. Becca did, vaguely. It doesn’t surprise me because Becca loves poets like Rod McKuen.

Speaking of which, I am familiar with McKuen. I don’t understand why people love him. He’s a great lyricist, but that’s about it.

We couldn’t see much at Walden, so Mrs. Stoutmiller promised that she’d bring us back when spring arrived. I can’t even imagine New Hampshire ever having Spring. There’s just too much snow. It’s probably just like back home. Spring comes around April 12.

When we got back to the house, Mrs. Stoutmiller handed me Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience and said that I should read it. If I wanted, we could study it together. It was very important to understand Thoreau. I asked her why, and she said that if I read him, I’d know.

Lemonade

January 28
by Amy

My Dad wasn’t impressed. He offered Jack some bourbon, which was turned down flat. The group was into weed, not  booze. But Jack looked past it and continued talking to him about world peace and equality. How the working man was being exploited by the system.

Dad looked up at Jack and asked him what experience he had as a working man. Jack said he didn’t, but that he came from a proletariat family. He asked Dad to consider the precepts and the way society is structured. My Dad thanked him for his time and showed him the door.

Jack and I left that night and went to Nimby’s, a nearby coffeehouse. Then we went back to his place and I spent the night. He didn’t ask me what my Dad might’ve thought about everything. What we believed stood on its own merit.

The next morning, I called my Dad. He told me that he thought Jack probably had good intentions, but that he’d seen it all before. The road was a dead end, and that if I was going to involve myself with people like that, I should probably know what I was getting into.

I asked him what he meant by that. He told me he wouldn’t talk about it over the phone.

Later on, he told me about how he became involved with a similar group back in his day. How he saw how the poor were getting poorer and the rich didn’t care. How the way you go about doing things is almost as important as the reason you’re doing them.

He asked me if I was sleeping with Jack. I’ve always had that kind of honesty with him, so I didn’t hesitate. I told him yes, but I’m not in love with him. I could tell that he wasn’t pleased about it. There wasn’t any yelling or anything. It was more like a grimace.

The group devolved into something uglier. I didn’t like the methods and didn’t like how I was being treated. It was around that time I met Coleman. He’s more of a friend than anything. He’s a writer with an underground rag, so he knows everybody.

He got me the job here at the offices. He introduced me to other people in the Movement. I drifted towards better scenes, without leaving a bad trail behind.

I don’t regret my time in the other group, since it wizened me up. I’d like to think that It made me more effective. I don’t have as much fear, and I’m not afraid to confront authority. It was good training, I think.

Why We Hate Seventeen Magazine

January 29
by Janine Stephenson

I just noticed that it's January 29. If everything was normal, Becca and I would be starting our second semester of college. Instead, here we are in New Hampshire with Mrs. Stoutmiller and Craig.

Most of those people out there that are protesting… All they’re doing is cutting class and going out on the streets. And they’re having their meetings. Meetings, meetings, meetings. As if meetings changed anything.

And here we are talking to real people. Becca and I still have another three years until we can vote. But at least we’re talking to people who can change the way things are rather than just a bunch of college students who can’t vote either.

But I don’t think that anyone is a loser. Unlike Seventeen magazine…

We saw an ad for Seventeen in the paper. Becca and I both read Seventeen still, and we both agree that we should quit reading it. And we will, in a few months. This ad said that 5 percent of people our age are “experimenters – my terminology for the losers, the hippies, the addicts, the runaways.”

I don’t think those people are losers, and I was very angry with Seventeen Magazine for saying that. Hippies are not losers and maybe people who run away have their reasons. Being our age in this country isn’t exactly a joy ride.

Becca and I decided that we should draft a letter to Seventeen Magazine to let them know how we felt. It just shows you how much Seventeen Magazine isn’t with it.

Sign of the Times

January 29
by Amy

“WAR IS NOT PEACE. TYRANNY IS NOT FREEDOM. HATE IS NOT LOVE. END THE WAR IN VIETNAM.”

They are the most beautiful signs I’ve seen yet. They’re from the Chicago Women for Peace and North Shore Women for Peace. Coleman and I went to see the new subway signs. They were put up yesterday. For almost three years, we’ve been fighting to get those signs up. The CTA wouldn’t allow the Movement to buy the space, so the ACLU took the case to court. Free speech. The CTA finally caved in.

It took a long time, but everyone was patient. Now there are 25 of them up around the city.

I love those groups. The women there are some of the coolest around. Sometimes I wonder why I work here, instead of there with them. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes I don’t like being a woman. I mean, it’s not like I have a choice.  I know that the Movement as a whole respects women. At least, I keep telling myself that.

Source

Upset

January 30
by Janine Stephenson

Things are bad today. Very, very bad. There was a truce between us and the Vietcong, but it looks like the Vietcong are fighting back. All day, everyone has been very upset. Especially Craig. He’s a grad student but since he’s taken a leave of absence, he’s registered as a Conscientious Objector. He’s very concerned about being called up or given some grief because of his status. I’m not sure I understand the rules completely about what’s going on. I wasn’t going to talk to him about his status until he brought it up. As it turns out, he’s never brought it up until today.

Thousands of miles away there are men being killed. It’s strange to think the man we talk to each day, who goes to the movies with us, could be one of those men. It’s hard to imagine that in a year from now, Craig could be dead. And for what?

Mrs. Stoutmiller told Craig that he should just lay low. Be sure not to get in trouble during the campaign. I’m not sure what she meant by that. I guess it was something along the lines of not getting into fights with the police. Or not getting a parking ticket. Or speeding. Or anything.

Craig told us that this would make him more committed to the campaign. We have to make our time in New Hampshire count.

Not Much Time to Talk

January 30
by Amy

I’ve been pulled into the offices. We have a radio going on at all times, and there’s been lots of phone calls received. People are frantic over what’s happened. Lots of calls to organize and tons of people dropping by to rap about what we need to do. More signs, more people out there giving leaflets and talking about people. It’s important we go out on the streets. We have to stop this war… Now.

Keeping Busy

January 31
by Janine Stephenson

It’s the second day of intense fighting. They invaded the Embassy in Saigon. We decided that this was the best time for us to make the most progress. A bunch of new volunteers arrived and Becca and I showed them the ropes. The radio and the TV played in the background, so we could listen to new developments. Some of these new volunteers actually lived in the town, so that was helpful. It wasn’t all college students, though it would’ve been fine had it been. Right about now, we’ll welcome anyone.

Craig is still dividing people according to how they look. The townspeople man tables in places around town so they can talk to their neighbors. Any students looking presentable will go out canvassing. Students with longer hair will stay in and work in the offices.

Its surprising that Becca and I get sent out canvassing so much because I have good office skills. I’m a very good alphabetizer and filer. Becca is a good typist. But everyone thinks that we belong out in the field. We’re not complaining, though. Craig says that we  remind people of their daughters.

Most people are impressed that we’ve come all the way from Wisconsin to talk to them. It makes them feel special, I think. Plus, we care even though we can’t vote. Becca thought that people would think that we were too young, but everyone here in New Hampshire has been very considerate. They don’t tell us that we don’t know what we’re talking about. In fact, quite a few ask us about what people our age think about things.

I just wish we didn’t have to do this. I wish we could live a normal life and not have to worry about bad things all the time.

Coming Apart

January 31
by Amy

It’s so damn awful, just horrible. It makes my stomach turn. How anyone can look at the television and not be against the war is beyond my understanding. Dave says that this is our country in action. We keep waiting for the lies and for the newscasters to try and lull us into complacency. It’s not happening.

The radio is going constantly, and we have a sign that says, ‘NO ARGUING’ near it. That’s because too many people were shouting at it in disgust.

There’s a level of anger that makes me nervous. People are terrifyingly angry, if there is such a thing. I had to walk out for a smoke because I couldn’t handle the vibes. It’s just awful. I attempt to do the filing, answer the phones and type up statements and applications for demonstrations. But it’s impossible.

Craig and the Draft

February 1, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Intense fighting is still going on. Notice I didn’t say just regular fighting. Intense fighting. We have the radio and the TV turned on during the news so we can keep track of what’s happening. All activity in the office stops during the news. Most canvassers try to make it back to the office so they can watch it too.

The military is telling us that the enemy is using the American public against them. The American people have become part of the enemy.

Any arguments like that earn a collective groan. Mrs. Stoutmiller shakes her head and clucks her tongue at the news. Under any other circumstance, her reaction would be funny. But there’s nothing to laugh at here.

Craig has been sleeping at the offices. He says that his crash pad is too far away and he’d much rather work late than go home and sleep. Mrs. Stoutmiller doesn’t think it’s a wise idea. As it turns out, for the past few days he’s been living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He goes back to the pad during the day for showers. Mrs. Stoutmiller told him that he needed a decent place to sleep if he was going to make it for the long haul. So he came home with us and now he’s sleeping on a cot in the kitchen.

I told Becca that I better not catch her going downstairs to be with him. And he better not come up here. She’s still pretending that she doesn’t like him, so she rolled her eyes at what I said. But I also know Becca well enough that she just might try something.

I can’t blame her. It’s not that Craig isn’t good-looking. He is. He’s got long, dirty blonde hair and he’s kind of lanky. I prefer boys to be beefier. But right now, he looks so upset and vulnerable when watching the news that I can understand why Becca would want to comfort him.

It’s got to be scary, watching the news and knowing that it all applies to you. That whatever they’re reporting will have an immediate effect on you. The fighting in a distant country will change your life.

Sometimes when he’s watching, I wonder if he’s waiting for Chet Huntley to say, “Craig Cooley, you are now drafted.” Despite his status... We’re all waiting for that to happen.

Too Busy to Write

February 1
by Amy

It’s still going on, still fighting. We’ve moved on several fronts ourselves. We are tired of the war. We’re tired of a system that fosters this crap. We have to quit exploiting the world. NOW.

Oh my God

February 2, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

I don’t even know what to make of the front page today. There’s a picture of a man being executed on the front page of the newspaper. The South Vietnamese police chief is holding a gun to a man’s head. The man is described as a Vietcong Terrorist. But how do we know? Inside the paper, there’s a sequence of pictures of the man being executed. The man flinches before the gun goes off. Then he is laying on the ground with no blood.

Why on earth are we supporting these people? Mrs. Stoutmiller let out a gasp when she saw it. Becca leaned in toward Craig as he read it. How can something like this happen? Why are we letting this happen?

Meanwhile, the intense fighting continues. They say that it could continue for a few more days.

It was hard shaking off the picture to go out canvassing. Craig suggested that we only go out for a few hours and then come back because a bunch of students will be arriving this weekend. We have to get organized.

Violence Seen

February 2
by Amy

Here’s a thought for you.  If you were a photographer about to witness an murder, and it was in your power to stop it. Would you shoot the picture or would you stop the murder?

We’ve had a discussion about it here today. Should violence be  on the front pages of the newspaper or does it contribute to the violence of society to actually show it?

Some people thought that running a picture like that appeals to man’s darker nature. I say, a society that is capable of such violence has an obligation to show the effects of it. Blood, brain splats  and murder. It should be seen in its entirety.

Now, over the next few days, we’ll understand the intention of running the picture. If they continue to show the victims of the violence; if they reveal the horror of the aftereffects, then we’ll know that running the picture was moral.

But, if the level of coverage drops and they go back to showing only the heroic side of war, then we’ll know that they are completely corrupt and phony.

Recommended Reading

More students

February 3, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

All of a sudden, everything has become more urgent. Everything is moving faster. More and more students are arriving to help out. Thank goodness. Craig decided to give Becca and I a chance to relax today so we don’t get too tired of canvassing. Instead, we helped out the students who came to volunteer.

About eighty students arrived from neighboring colleges. Amherst, Dartmouth, Boston University, and Mount Holyoke, Emerson and even Vassar. It was like someone told all of the students that it was suddenly alright to come. The Manchester headquarters was inundated with Harvard students.

Some of them have decided to shave their beards or wear their hair up so they could canvas. Mrs. Stoutmiller gave a special talk on how not to insult New Hampshirites.

They’ve also been warned not to do anything that would jeopardize the campaign. It’s very important that people perceive us as responsible, forthright and intelligent. Someone laughed and said, “Like scouts?” And Craig said, “Exactly.”

Differences

February 3
by Amy

I’ve been given the task of tracking the ACLU draft resister case. My job is to be able to explain at the next meeting how they are defining civil disobedience. I have also been asked to draw up notes for others on redefining the term.

This is a problem for me because we all have to follow our consciences. In that case, I can’t put down a hard and fast rule. When I brought this up, they told me that it wasn’t about rules. I was merely to report on the national ACLU’s findings.

The thing to know about all this is that national ACLU and state ACLU are having terrible fits over what to do with resisters. They can’t figure it out.

National ACLU says that we have to persuade people to change laws, but not by violating those laws.

State ACLUs says that we are not under a national emergency so the draft is unconstitutional.

National ACLU then goes on to say that defining civil disobedience as “the willful, nonviolent and public violation of valid laws because the violator deems them to be unjust or because the violation will focus public attention on other injustices in society to which such laws may or may not be related.”

So what’s does it mean?

National only wants to cover civil disobedience as it relates to racism. It doesn’t want to contend with issues around the draft. It wants us to try and persuade people that the draft is wrong. Meanwhile, more and more are getting drafted and killed.

This is what worries me. Everyone is getting angrier and angrier. The more we try and persuade people, the more entrenched they become. No one likes to admit that they’re wrong. It’s an act of humility, at the very least. It usually takes a traumatic event to make someone see a different way.

So now what are we supposed to do?

Source Notes: Differences of Opinion

Sleepovers

February 4, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

A few of the students spent the night at the storefront. They turned the lights down at midnight. The boys slept in one room and the girls in the other. Craig stayed to supervise, along with a few older volunteers. Nothing bad happened. I’m not sure why I thought it would, but a part of me was very relieved. Maybe I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that whenever there’s a group of students around, trouble is sure to follow.

Today, we continue working. The Senator is coming out swinging, according to the newspaper. He said that Johnson is deceiving himself. Craig was happy. Most of the students will leave tonight to go back to school. Ron, from National will come by tomorrow to stay with us for a few days. Craig is nervous about it, for some reason. I wonder if I should be nervous as well.

Fluidity and Fear

February 4
by Amy

Our positions are fluid. My work within the Movement – literally the place I go to everyday – is different. Some days I am asked to monitor the media. Sometimes I make transportation arrangements for Dave or Tom or others. I’ve been known to type on occasion, but I stink at it. To get out of typing, I usually find one of the other girls in the office and trade jobs.

Today it was Leslie. When Leslie first started showing up, people thought she was a narc. She was shy, mostly, so she didn’t talk all that much. I might have been the first person she spoke with on a personal level and I think that was mostly because I’m persistent.

I learned that Leslie took part in a number of actions last year. Her last one was at the induction center two months ago. We were doing a holiday themed action, which turned rather ugly.

One of the guys dressed up as Santa Claus. We stationed Mr. Claus near the front entrance, so he would block draftees from entering the building. The police were called, of course. They arrived, as did the media. Santa put on quite a show that day, being dragged off by four cops. Photographers were there – it was quite the scene. I loved it.

The coverage of that event was far and wide. Brilliant. How many kids woke up to a front page of Santa being hauled off to prison?

Anyway, we laughed at the ingenuity and brilliance of the scene. And some of us got arrested. One of which was Leslie.

Since that experience, she’s a little afraid of actions. I can understand backing away and all. Putting her strengths into background work. She told me today that she feels guilty about being afraid.

If being out on the streets isn’t your thing, then you shouldn’t do it. That’s what I told her. Or maybe she could face her fear about being arrested.

Virginity, again

February 5, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

It was a very good weekend. Becca and I now have our routine. Craig is still sleeping in Mrs. Stoutmiller’s kitchen, but he arrives back too late to talk to us. Becca doesn’t want to disrespect Mrs. Stoutmiller, so she is very business-like with Craig. Though I did catch them flirting with each other.

Becca isn’t a virgin. I guess I should tell you that. She had a relationship with a guy named Josh in her junior year that lasted almost nine months. She lost her virginity on impulse one night. I call it impulse, but the guy told her that she was the one he wanted to marry. So it wasn’t exactly an impulse decision.

She feels badly that it happened, and especially how Josh broke up with her afterward. We don’t talk about it much and I certainly don’t judge her for it. After all, it could’ve been me that believed his lies. Because of all this, Becca sometimes feels like people are judging her anyway. That if they knew what really happened, then they would see she wasn’t as nice as they think.

I think that’s why Becca wanted to know how Mrs. Stoutmiller lost her virginity. I wonder if Craig knows about how Becca lost it.

Luck

February 5
by Amy

Yes, I’ve been arrested before. There’s really nothing to it. Sometimes, all you have to do is step off a curb during an action and you get hauled off. It depends on the cop, the mood of the crowd and all other sorts of sundry elements.

One time I walked with Coleman during an action and a cop actually tailed us for 7 blocks. We tried losing him at one point. But every time we turned around there was the same guy, undercover of course. Coleman finally turned around and asked the guy what he wanted.

“Hey you lousy mother… Are you trying to hit on me or something? I got my girl here, get lost.”

It was the only time I ever allowed Coleman to call me his girl. But I’m not his girl, so don’t go thinking I am.

Coleman was arrested that day. For some reason, I got left behind.

Annabelle

February 6
by Janine Stephenson

We love Laugh-In. Our TV schedule last night was Walter Cronkite at 7 p.m., The Monkees at 7:30 p.m. and Laugh-in at 8 p.m. Then, we drink cocoa and talk. Mrs. Stoutmiller asked if we had a chance to read Thoreau. We did not. Yet. We will. Or at least I will. I can’t speak for Becca.

Mrs. Stoutmiller took out pictures of when she was our age. She said it wasn’t as long ago as we thought. She won’t tell us how old she is, except that she was our age just before the Depression. Which would mean that she was born around 1911 or so. Don’t tell her I’m figuring this out.

She brought up her daughter, Annabelle, again and told us that it was a terrible thing when parents and children fight over politics. We weren’t sure what she meant until she told us that her daughter’s husband is in the military. They live in Washington D.C. Becca asked her if her son-in-law worked for the President. He does. And as it turns out, he’s a hawk. Here's a picture of Annabelle and her husband talking to a someone at a party.

I would’ve thought that Mrs. Stoutmiller’s daughter, was a Republican, with the way she talked. But she isn’t. Instead, she’s a different kind of Democrat. That’s what Mrs. Stoutmiller called her. A different kind of Democrat.

I also would’ve thought that Mrs. Stoutmiller would be pro-war as well. Especially with a member of her family in the military. She supported Lyndon last time. That’s what she calls the President. Lyndon. It’s as if she knows him. Or has met him. I didn’t want to pry so I didn’t ask. But I think she’s met him in person.

Becca had all sorts of questions about her daughter. It seems like things worked out for Annabelle. She has a nice house and her husband has an important job. It doesn’t seem like Annabelle is worried about her husband all that much. She doesn’t have any children, yet.

It seems like Annabelle isn’t all that affected by what happens in the news. Mrs. Stoutmiller agreed. Her daughter lives in a bubble. She thinks Annabelle is selfish and she doesn’t understand how it happened. It’s not how Mrs. Stoutmiller raised her. Nor is it a time when we can afford to be selfish.

Daddy's Daughter

February 6
by Amy

When I’ve been arrested within the Chicago city limits, I’m treated differently because my Father is who he is. Being the daughter of a well-known journalist has its “perks”, although I don’t want any of them.

The cops put me off to the side, away from the others and then call my Father to pick me up. The charges get dropped and my Father swings by with an offer to go out to dinner and maybe a drink. We get home late and slightly buzzed. He doesn’t get upset. In fact, I think he’s secretly proud of me.

But I didn’t want to be the daughter of that kind of privilege. It’s not fair. It also takes away from the point that I’m trying to make, which is this: There are some values and ideas that are worth getting into trouble over.

I spoke with Dave about how I can’t get arrested in the Chicago city limits. We’ve decided to take a different approach. Since my Father works at the newspaper and I’m the daughter of a well-known journalist, then we could use all of that to our advantage. Turn a weakness into a strength.

It’s a complicated way of looking at things. If I can take my role in society – being my father’s daughter – and use it to shine a spotlight on the war, then that’s my duty. My dharma, as they say.

I have a difficult time accepting it. I don’t like setting myself apart from anyone. I don’t even want to acknowledge that I am who I am. I look at someone like Leslie, who is just a regular person. It seems that who we are shouldn’t matter. My voice should be equal to Leslie’s voice.

So yes, I’ve been arrested before. But never detained like the others.

There’s an action this Friday night at the induction center. I’m going to be there, again. Maybe I’ll get Leslie and Coleman to come.

Hands

February 7
by Janine Stephenson

Craig has instituted morning campaign staff meetings where we basically hang around the coffee pot and talk. Sometimes, it’s to talk about the news and how we can use what’s happening right now in our campaign pitches. Craig will give us notice on when students are arriving and any problems that have risen up from canvassing. We now have a refreshment committee and a precinct committee and a bunch of other new committees as well. I can’t keep track of them all.

Becca and I are the Assistant Office Managers, which I guess means that we do everything. Craig says that it means that we are supposed to keep track of all the other little committees.

I also caught Becca and Craig holding hands out back during lunch. I pretended not to notice.

Suspicion

February 7
by Amy

The summer is going to be a bitch here in Chicago. A riot they think.  I don’t feel it, yet. Barring anything traumatic this year, I think it might be a whole lot like last year… Lots of expectations with no real changes.

This afternoon, a friend told me that she suspects someone here works for the feds. I hate that kind of insidious paranoia. I told her to stifle herself. We don’t need that type of talk here, but she was adamant. Something about some files missing. Again, that doesn’t mean anything because files go missing all the time. The space between Rennie’s desk, the filing cabinet and our bookcase is a Bermuda Triangle of paperwork. We’re not that organized where we can determine with any certainty that something is missing. Our filing system is non-existent.

The person who told me, and who asked me not to tell anyone – or at least not to use her name if I did tell anyone… That person told me that there were other indications that we have at least one fed here. I asked her why she thought that, but she wouldn’t elaborate.

“Tell you later.”

Right. And now, I’m completely on edge. She’s gone and I don’t feel like I can bring it up with anyone else. No one.