October 18, 1967: Dow Day

Forty years ago, just about this time, 2 p.m., Ron Hughes and I were in Bascom Hall in a Spanish Literature class. We had been in Madison a little more than a month. Living away from home for the first time. And we were 20 years old (two years at "the Stench"; the University of Wisconsin, Marathon County Center but previously the University "Extension", hence, the Stench). Four guys (incl. Tom Jehn and Bruce Green) from Wausau sharing a two bunkroom apartment at The Regent, a glossily promoted upscale dorm kinda place dangled by our guidance counselor as a cool place to live. And four green guys from the Northwoods bought into it.
So...here we were. In Spanish Lit and listening to considerable noise and commotion in the parking lot three stories below. We know that the Dow company was interviewing and recruiting at the business school next door and students had been picketing that manufacturer of napalm. We also knew one of the picketers, Roland Olson, big brother of another Regent foursome from Wausau, Matt Olson. Roland was unusual because he was carrying an infant (not many little kids on campus back then and he was the first of our generation that we knew wearing wire rim glasses). The prof said that important things were happening and he would let us go early, but he did not. The bell finally rang and we ran outside Bascom Hall and were confronted with a very angry, very loud and very large crowd of students whose focus was a paddy wagon with students visible in the windows and ringed by armed cops with helments and face shields. I had never seen emotions so intense in a group of people although high school football games begged for a silly comparison.
Anyway, after a few minutes of orientation and, mostly, confusion, I heard a pop and then a smoking object landed about six feet to my right near the curb of the drive. Holy shit! It was tear gas and then more pops and more smoking cannisters. Chaos! Hughes went in one direction and I another, northeast, toward the lake, which happened to be upwind, which allowed me to escape the gas after running about ten yards into the trees. People were, of course, screaming in rage as well as pain and I managed to help a few people to their feet.
The crowd generally dispersed, but mainly into small groups talking and arguing about what the hell was going on. I was not particularly politicized about Viet Nam yet but I was now confronted with it. Yes, it was traumatic. My first act of rebellion followed as I made my troubling walk back to the Regent. I bought my first pack of cigarettes, Salems, and, dammit, lit one up.