August 25, 1968
by Amy
Instead of staying at Grant Park, Glasses, Coleman, and I - with Kid in tow - walked all the way to Lincoln Park to see what was happening. Reporters mixed with Yips, Hippies and the rest. One old guy, holding a sign that said "NO BETTER RED THEN A DEAD RED," tried spitting on me but missed. The attempt made Coleman laugh. The misspelling made us laugh harder. Kid made a fist at him in agreement, but it looked like a Black Power fist. I'm not sure the old man knew what to do with that, so he made a fist back at Kid. It looked like they were going to fight, even though they agree with each other. I had to yank Kid out of the scene, fast.
Allen Ginsberg sat in the park, chanting with a group. Someone said that Allen thought the vibes could be changed. Maybe we could even alter the outcome of the convention. I don't know if I even care about that, since the convention is nothing more than an illusion. In the end, the only thing that really matters is that no one is hurt. In that way, I have to agree with Allen. There is something creepy about the way the police look at us. They aren't here for public safety, but have the police ever been?
Kid didn't understand what the chanting was about. I told him not to worry, it was something that makes people feel good. Like singing. He told me that he wasn't stupid, but I could tell that he really didn't get it.
Motor Scooter police rode around the park. One seemed to take particular pleasure in riding up close behind girls and then blowing his horn at them. The girls usually jumped or screamed. At around 10:30, they started warning people that curfew was coming. We decided to split, since it's no use getting in trouble so early in the week.
I asked Kid if he needed an escort home. After all, it was late. He said that he most certainly did not. His Mom didn't care where he was and his father was on duty. Crazy. He has to be lying.
