doctor G
10-09-2005, 04:14 AM
My Anti War Arrest
It was May, 1971. The Anti War movement had gathered 250,000 people
to march through the streets of Washington D.C. in protest of the slaughter
known as the Vietnam War. We camped in the parks and among the cherry trees
and during the days we gathered in public places to voice our disagreement with
the policies of Richard Nixons administration. On the third Saturday of May
people came from all over the United States and we marched down Pennsylvania
Avenue to show President Nixon just how many people were willing to be heard.
The route we took carried us in front of a number of Federal buildings;
including the FBI building. By the time we got to the FBI building it was one in the
afternoon and most of us had been marching since nine or ten in the morning. In
an effort to discourage participation in the marches the police only set up porta
potties in a few locations. Mostly out of the way, back at the camp sites where the
TV cameras did not gather. As I passed the FBI building I found I needed to
relieve my self of the wine and water I had been gulping in the hot spring day.
Around the base of the FBI building were juniper bushes about four feet
tall. They ran through most of the perimeter, except for the areas where the doors
were or the fire exits. Up on the third and fourth floors agents stood on the
balconies with cameras and binoculars. Waving a friendly one fingered greeting
eight or ten of us broke out of the crowd and headed for the bushes on the corner
of the building. Once in the cover of the bushes I relieved my self on the granite
cornerstone of the building and came out zipping and adjusting my pants. The
crowd cheered and another dozen people broke from the crowd to take
advantage of the privacy offered by the juniper bushes.
A couple of minutes after I got back into the crowd a couple of dark suited
agents made their way along the outside edge of the crowd, occasionally glancing
at photos they were carrying. When they got to me they motioned me to come out
and talk to them. Well what the fuck, why not??
Once on the side walk a small group of D.C,??s finest grabbed me and hand
cuffed me on the spot. After a quick beating to make sure I wasn??t trying to
escape I was hustled a block over to a waiting police car and informed that I was
being charged with ??Public Urination? and ??Lewd Behavior?. They packed half a
dozen of us into the squad car and when we arrived at the jail we asked when
was the hearing so we could make bail and get back to the march. It took the pigs
three hours to book us and get the photos and fingerprints. To say nothing of the
line up so the FBI agents could identify us out of a crowd of a couple of hundred
thousand. Anyway; once in front of the judge I did plead guilty to the charges and
the judge was not the least bit interested in the politics of my statement. ??Twenty
five dollars or twenty five days? I bit the bullet and forked over the cash. Hell,
there were eight or ten people counting on me for a ride home. So I broke out my
gas money and paid the fine. We all did.
Later that night the story of the great FBI pissfest bust made it??s way
through the camp and people came from all over to offer me a buck or two to my
gas fund and smoke a joint or have some wine with the instigators of the pissfest.
It was May, 1971. The Anti War movement had gathered 250,000 people
to march through the streets of Washington D.C. in protest of the slaughter
known as the Vietnam War. We camped in the parks and among the cherry trees
and during the days we gathered in public places to voice our disagreement with
the policies of Richard Nixons administration. On the third Saturday of May
people came from all over the United States and we marched down Pennsylvania
Avenue to show President Nixon just how many people were willing to be heard.
The route we took carried us in front of a number of Federal buildings;
including the FBI building. By the time we got to the FBI building it was one in the
afternoon and most of us had been marching since nine or ten in the morning. In
an effort to discourage participation in the marches the police only set up porta
potties in a few locations. Mostly out of the way, back at the camp sites where the
TV cameras did not gather. As I passed the FBI building I found I needed to
relieve my self of the wine and water I had been gulping in the hot spring day.
Around the base of the FBI building were juniper bushes about four feet
tall. They ran through most of the perimeter, except for the areas where the doors
were or the fire exits. Up on the third and fourth floors agents stood on the
balconies with cameras and binoculars. Waving a friendly one fingered greeting
eight or ten of us broke out of the crowd and headed for the bushes on the corner
of the building. Once in the cover of the bushes I relieved my self on the granite
cornerstone of the building and came out zipping and adjusting my pants. The
crowd cheered and another dozen people broke from the crowd to take
advantage of the privacy offered by the juniper bushes.
A couple of minutes after I got back into the crowd a couple of dark suited
agents made their way along the outside edge of the crowd, occasionally glancing
at photos they were carrying. When they got to me they motioned me to come out
and talk to them. Well what the fuck, why not??
Once on the side walk a small group of D.C,??s finest grabbed me and hand
cuffed me on the spot. After a quick beating to make sure I wasn??t trying to
escape I was hustled a block over to a waiting police car and informed that I was
being charged with ??Public Urination? and ??Lewd Behavior?. They packed half a
dozen of us into the squad car and when we arrived at the jail we asked when
was the hearing so we could make bail and get back to the march. It took the pigs
three hours to book us and get the photos and fingerprints. To say nothing of the
line up so the FBI agents could identify us out of a crowd of a couple of hundred
thousand. Anyway; once in front of the judge I did plead guilty to the charges and
the judge was not the least bit interested in the politics of my statement. ??Twenty
five dollars or twenty five days? I bit the bullet and forked over the cash. Hell,
there were eight or ten people counting on me for a ride home. So I broke out my
gas money and paid the fine. We all did.
Later that night the story of the great FBI pissfest bust made it??s way
through the camp and people came from all over to offer me a buck or two to my
gas fund and smoke a joint or have some wine with the instigators of the pissfest.