Random Thing #2

I used to be a political activist.
I hated Richard Nixon. And so did everybody I knew - except my grandmother. She loved "Tricky Dick" like nobody else. She gloated when he won reelection over what's his name in 1972. I bet her $10 that following Christmas that he wouldn't finish his second term of office. (I think they were just beginning to connect the dots in the Watergate breakin.) Anyway, I knew he was sleezy, and that it was just a matter of time. I was 19 years old and becoming politically active.
One cold Monday in early January I headed down to D.C. with a few other like-minded citizen friends to protest his second inauguration. After spending the night in the halls of Georgetown University, we joined a throng of peace marchers that eventually wound up at the Lincoln Memorial. I'd like to think that Pete Seager, Joan Baez and Alan Ginzberg were there too, but considering how much marijuana I smoked in those days, I can't be too sure.
Either way, we got bored with the crowds and the rhetoric and the lack of sanitary toilets, so we decided to mosy (mosie, mozy, mozie?) on over to Pennsylvania Avenue to catch a glimpse of the President. We passed the Washington Monument just as the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) was(were) finishing up its(thier) senseless paint job. I remembered how incongruous swastikas were with the concept of democracy, but I guess that's not the first time that's ever happened.
The crowd lining the parade route was impenetrable. I've never seen anything like it. They were maybe 50 people deep. We kept sliding across the back of this mass of conservative humanity, hoping to out-flank it somehow. As we inched closer to the White House, some bleachers appeard, so we decided to make an assault on the high ground. My attempt to climb up the back of the bleachers was repelled by a plain clothes officer. Grabbing the hem of my US Army surplus overcoat, he pulled me down off of the bleachers, and told me to get lost, or else I could go to jail. I called him a fascist pig and ... wait a minute ... no, that's what I was thinking. What I said was more like, "uh,yes sir" and soon rejoined my friends. At that point, another offical looking person in a black trench coat handed us $200 worth of tickets to see the President and said, "Here, stay out of trouble". Each $50 ticket had a glossy picture of Richard Nixon and Spiro T. Agnew on it, and officially granted us admission to the expensive seats, right in front of the White House. We had no trouble finding a place to sit down, because the bleachers were only half full. Based on the amount of real fur and cashmere that surround us, we speculated that this was a VIP section, and that we had just been given free tickets to make it appear full for the TV cameras. We had the best freakin' seats you could get to see the inaugural parade!
The Chicago Police Motorcade led the procession. There were at least a hundred of them and they looked like Nazi wannabies, rumbling along on their Harlies and in their black leather boots, pants, jackets and caps. It made me wonder, what might be under all that sadistic outerwear. If I'm ever elected president, the Shriner clowns will lead my parade in their wacky little cars.
They were followed by a host of politicos and government big shots all itching to bask in the glow of the sunshine on this cold January morning. I recognized Admiral Thomas Moorer, Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff in his navy dress blues. Then along came Spiro. He was already being investigated for tax evasion as former governor of Maryland, to which he soon pleaded "no lo contendre". (One down - one to go.) We couldn't resist the urge: the opportunity was perfect. As Spiro's limosine approached the friendlier part of the parade route, all four of us rose to our feet, and in mystical union, extended the middle fingers of welcome to the Vice President of the United States. About a half-dozen secret service agents slid one gloved hand inside their lapel, and stuck the index finger of the other inside their ear. Spiro T. glared at us with equal parts of disgust and disappointment. They didn't expect us to be there. We didn't belong there.
But fate has its fortunes, and this was our day to shine. Richard Millhouse Nixon was our next victim. It's not often you get to tell the President of the United States exactly how you feel about his foreign policy. We might have become a little boisterous, and intoxicated by the circumstances, but we got his attention. The message was a simple and clear...f*** you! About then the thought, "I'm going to jail" crossed my mind. But "The Trick", in characteristic fashion, stood up in the limosine, smiled, and returned the salute with arms extended outward above his head, fingers on both hands forming the universal sign for victory.
He was famous for that pose. If I'm not mistaken, the last film image that we have, is of him bording an Air Force One helicopter in disgrace, saluting the viewing public in like manner. Every politician since has eschewed this gesture, knowing how much bad karma is attached to it.
Grandma never paid up. She died shortly thereafter - of a broken heart I think. But I'll never forget that cold January day, and the profound impact I made on the American political system.