CHARACTERS
A man is his seventies.
SETTING
A bare stage with four lit candles.
TIME
The present.
* * *
Lights up on the Man, center.
MAN: I grew up in the 60’s. And, yes, I know the old joke about how if you remember the 60’s, you weren’t there. Well, I was there, and I do remember.
It was the time of my youth, and I believe that if a man forgets his youth, he loses his soul. Over the years I’ve moved around a bit, but no matter where I’ve stood in our country, I can close my eyes and imagine that I’m standing there in the heart of that campus with my college classmates, moving purposely between the buildings of golden Midwestern brick. And at the center of my memories is Blanket Hill, that place on those grounds in Kent, Ohio where in Spring couples would sit beneath the trees and study together, or eat lunch, or talk, or kiss a little, or … hey, I did say it was the 60’s.
But mostly, I remember the battle that was fought there between the young men of the Ohio National Guard, strategically spread out on the high ground, and the equally young men and women, the voices of a generation determined to stop what they believed an unjust war, shouting at them from the parking lots and the practice field below, throwing stones as well as insults, while the stinging stench of tear gas hung a web of greenish smoke over the field.
As a countermeasure to the taunts of those “who would oppose higher education,” the troops, under the command of General Canterbury, bayonets on their M-1 rifles, were told to “lock and load,” as the general prepared to issue the order permitted him by Senatorial candidate Governor James A. Rhodes.
And for a moment, the bayonets gleamed in the early May sun as Troop G knelt and aimed. Sophomore Alan Canfora took a position in front of his fellow students, waving a black flag 60 feet from the line of aimed weapons, defiantly shouting that his generation, my generation, would not give in to fear, would not trade silence for comfort, and would not seek power and abandon the virtues of peace and love.
And then the shots began … Alan dropped the flag, pierced through the wrist, one of only two hit from the front … because everyone was running … and falling … and … dying … Sandra Scheuer and Allison Krause and Jeffery Miller and William Schroeder, 250 to 400 feet away … and people kept running, and falling, shot through the back … my generation … eight more fell wounded … while running … for thirteen seconds … running … through 67 rounds … my generation … running … running.
And sometimes I believe we are running still…
Lights out.
Man blows out candles and exits.
END OF PLAY