I remember the riots that ensued the faculty decision NOT to go to the Rose Bowl in 1961. I've recorded that night in my writing. Jerry is my fictional self. In those days the Columbus cops were brutal and had a hard on for students. I don't know what their mentality is today. Anyway, as you will see rioting over football is a part of the tradition...
In late November the Buckeyes traveled to Ann Arbor and pummeled Michigan 50 to 20 to end the season undefeated and ranked first in the nation. That Sunday night the faculty council voted against accepting the Rose Bowl invitation. Signs appeared all over the campus as students vented their anger against the faculty. Didn?t they understand how important a part of Ohio State football was?
Jerry was eating his meal in the Student Union dining hall when he noticed a stream of students hurrying past the Union and on their way to High Street. He ate quickly and then went outside to see what was going on for himself. Most of the marching band had formed up, clad in their gray wool jackets. Students kept pouring onto High Street and soon all traffic was brought to a stop. Buses were trapped and could only sit by the curb, their interior lights glowing in the twilight. Someone started a bonfire in the middle of High, the flames reaching higher and higher as students dragged tree branches, discarded cardboard boxes from behind the bookstores and diners that lined High Street and emptied trashcans onto the inferno. Jerry heard sirens as both police and firemen tried to respond but the sheer numbers of the students made their efforts all but wasted. Photographers from the Columbus newspapers scrambled up street light poles and aimed their cameras down at the crowd. ?Don?t let them get a shot of your face!? someone shouted, ?Administration will identify students from the photos and throw you out!? Some ducked their heads inside the collars of their coats and jackets; some wore paper grocery bags as masks, but most didn?t care and beamed and waved toward the cameramen. Would administration dare throw so many students out? The drum section started their cadence and the band quickly fell into formation. The school?s fight songs blared into the evening air. ?Let?s march on the State Capitol!? someone shouted and the band began to lead the way.
It was a grand spectacle to Jerry. He sang and cheered and marched happily along, confident that this would change official minds.
It was two and a half miles to the epicenter of the city, but youthful enthusiasm willed them on their way. Cars pulled out of the way and allowed the waves of students to wash over them. A few arrogant drivers refused to pull over, choosing instead to honk their horns and wave angry fists at the crowd. Jerry saw four boys simply walk over the top of one protesting car, the car?s roof buckling and popping back into place as they stepped over it. That made Jerry nervous, ?maybe this will get out of hand,? he said to himself, but then the band began to play Across the Field, and he let caution pass away.
The march gathered steam. Townspeople had heard something was up and now joined in, letting their long simmering feud with the rich snob college kids pass by the way. One enterprising bus driver opened his doors and invited marchers in. The bus was soon filled, so full the sides seemd to bulge out, with more students standing on the bumpers and in the open doorways. The bus crept along with the protestors; at least this driver would be able to get back to the barn before the night ended. The parade kept moving along and by now the police had decided that the only real solution they had, short of whacking a bunch of heads, was to let the march continue to Capitol Square. There they formed up a barricade with emergency vehicles, water hoses standing by if necessary, ready to end the march. They began to turn cars away from the intersection of Broad and High, the northwest corner of Capitol Square, and direct them to the side streets, allowing the mob to pass.
The band reached the barricade and stopped marching, the crowd spilling around them to sing the school songs and to chant, ?Bucks to the Rose Bowl, faculty to the toilet bowl!? If there was a sympathetic ear in the statehouse they failed to appear.
A squad of policemen formed a phalanx and marched toward the mob carrying a ladder and surrounding the police chief in the middle. They pushed the crowd back a bit and then set up the ladder. The chief climbed the steps quickly, pulled out his bullhorn. There were a few high pitched squeaks that caused the fillings in Jerry?s teeth to itch. ?This is an illegal assembly!? the chief bellowed, ?I am ordering you to cease and desist!?
The crowd let out long boos and a few in the mob shouted out some insults.
?If you do not break up this march I will have no choice but to read you the riot act!? the chief responded. Riot act, that was one of his father?s favorite phrases. He could hear that familiar deep voice, ?Read you/them the riot act,? but until this very moment he?d had no idea that it was more than just a figure of speech. Now he understood. There was such a thing and for just such occasions. Still it didn?t occur to him that what he was doing was wrong or that it represented anything more than a minor inconvenience to the rest of the city. If the university?s faculty wouldn?t be reasonable then they had to expect such outbursts.
The chief and the mob stood their ground. The firemen manning the hoses looked about nervously, waiting for the order to open the hydrants and turn loose the force of water. Jim Rhodes, the governor, had been a one-year wonder at OSU, flunking out and then re-emerging decades later as an ?Ohio State alum? in his campaign hype. The football crazy kids counted on him to right matters, but Rhodes refused to be drawn into the conflict and let the city and the school handle matters. At last defeat became obvious to even the most determined. The band turned around and led the way back to campus. Like most of his fellow marchers, Jerry remained convinced that somehow the message would get through and that some one higher than the faculty council would intercede.
It had been an exciting night, but by the time Jerry got back to his room he was dead tired. His Western Civ class, held in Orton Hall, just two floors beneath the campus bell tower, would begin at eight the next morning.
The chimes rang out the hour, the whole classroom vibrating as each note was struck. Professor Howard, dressed in a rumpled gray suit and carrying his notes in a worn black valise mounted the podium and turned toward the class, he ran a huge hand through his thick, coarse gray hair, took a sigh and then began to speak, ?I don?t want to know how many of you were out there last night.? His voice rumbled with anger, lightening flashed in his sad eyes and his spirit seemed to push the students back in their chairs. ?Starting a fire, hanging faculty members in effigy, my God, you would have thought it was Kristalnacht in Munich! The student body should be ashamed.?
He paused, looked down at the empty desktop and then stepped forward, ?In September the city of Columbus told you you couldn?t hear Harold Aptheker speak because he was a communist. Never mind freedom of speech, never mind your right to a peaceful assembly, never mind the university?s mission to investigate all ideas, never mind all of your constitutional guarantees, never mind the fact that the city doesn?t even own the university? they said ?no? and most of you let it go. The faculty stood up and reminded the president of this university that he, not the mayor of Columbus, not the governor of Ohio, he, the university president, was in charge of the school. The faculty demanded your rights to free speech be honored, otherwise that speech would have never taken place. You would have gladly let a handful of small-town politicians and narrow minded bigots like Dr. Pavey keep you from hearing a challenging lecture.?
He stopped, rubbed his hands across his face and then bored in, ?This week the administration is going to pass a rule that will keep you from dropping any course after two weeks. That?s a rule that affects each and every one of you from now until you graduate and yet only a handful of you will say anything to oppose it. But let the faculty tell you that it is pointless to go out to California and play a team you?ve already beaten and you take to the streets, disrupt traffic, destroy public property and act as if you?ve been denied life itself. I?m sick for this university. Go on down to the Student Union and grab another doughnut. I?m so angry I can?t say anything rational to you about Western Civilization.?
The class sat silent. Most of them stared at their notebooks, ballpoints and pencils at the ready, waiting for word on the reign of Caesar. Dr. Howard glared out at them in silence Jerry felt his face burn. At least he could say to himself that he had gone to the Aptheker lecture. That fact absolved him, didn?t it? Dr. Howard, eyes still burning with rage, stood slump-shouldered behind his desk, he shushed the students out the door as if his hands were a broom, ?Go on, get out,? he said wearily, ?That?s all for today.? The students, Jerry included, picked up their note books and slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the wise old man to simmer in his thoughts. The words burned in Jerry?s ears as he walked across campus. He hadn?t given his participation much thought. He saw the protest mounting, he had his homework done, he wanted to see the Bucks in the Rose Bowl and he marched. Now he saw the consequences. Now he saw the protest differently. How could he reconcile his love for football with this? He knew he never would.
