A Good Student, by Duane Ellison

I can't tell you his name. I don't remember it. He was a student - young, idealistic, serious - and an asset in my class. True, he didn't read the text regularly, but he appeared in class, asked questions, expressed opinions and questioned the conventional wisdom of the day. He was in short, the epitomie of the '60s generation; not quite dressed in full hippie drag, but without the benefit of a hair cut and undecided about whether to keep or cut the beard which intermittenly came and went on his face. I liked him. What's not to like about a student who asks questions, baits the professors and offers an opportunity to deflect an opinion off to the rest of the students who might otherwise engage in traditional class-room day dreaming.

I flatter myself that we established some positive rapport. It must have been mutual as he appeared in my office one day to discuss "Nam" Having delivered himself of the usual diatribes coming out of every campus in America in opposition to the war, he announced that he was going to "demonstrate" his beliefs and commitement by joining a group intent upon sacking the Baltimore headquarters of the Selective Service Administration and pouring blood on the draft files. I asked him where he would get the blood. "Not real blood, just colored water" he replied, to my relief. We then went through a lengthy discussion as to what effect this particular "demonstration" would achieve. He could not precisely state the results anticipated, but kept insisting that "We've got to do something." As his emotional level was rising I became aware that reason was unavailing. I pointed out that in light of the numerous demonstrations occurring throughout the country, the draft boards would be heavily guarded and there were federal criminal statutes in place that would apply to students without regard to their idealism. (Destruction of federal property was a felony, etc., etc., etc.) I pointed out that simply going out on the blacktop of the North Parking lot and singing "We Shall Overcome" might have the same effect, but with less legal liability, as dousing the files of a draft board. My message didn't carry. To each alternative, suggestion, consideration, etc. he simply replied "But we've got to do something!" He left my office in a state of high emotion. I had a feeling I would never see him again. I never did.

In the aftermath of the September 11th terrorist attacks I watched a new generation of demonstrators who appear to be imitating those of the '60s. Somehow they have managed to link war with racism and profiling, but without the logic or intensity that was demonstrated in the '60s. As Mark Twain once observed, history never repeats itself, it only rhymes. But then perhaps I missed a link somewhere.