Certain
moments in our lives are underlined in our memory. People my age clearly
remember where they were and what they were doing on the day that President
Kennedy was killed. September 11, 2001, is similarly etched into our memory.
And, at least for me, May 4, 1970, is such an unforgettable date.
It
was our last year of law school, and graduation was approaching. Our Spring
Quarter classes were almost completed and final exams appeared to be the last
hurdle to obtaining our Juris Doctor degrees and our confrontation with the Bar
Exam. But events were about to throw a monkey wrench into our anticipated
pathways.
The
nation was embroiled in conflict over the seemingly unending war in Vietnam.
The draft was in full force and nearly 50,000 young American men had already
lost their lives in the bloody confrontation. Students on campuses all over the
country were protesting the war, the draft, and the failure of Richard Nixon to
fulfill his promise, made during his 1968 campaign for President, to end the
war.
I
was completing my term as Editor-in-Chief of the Ohio State Law Journal that
Spring, and I was in my office in the basement of the OSU Law School building
on that day in May. About 1:00 that afternoon, one of my classmates burst in
and said, "The National Guard killed a bunch of students at Kent State. It
was a bloodbath." At first, I didn't believe him. How could this happen? I
experienced the same optimistic skepticism I had felt when I was first told
that Kennedy had been shot.
But
the radio in my office soon confirmed that the shootings had occurred. Four
students were killed; others were wounded. The war had come home.
The
OSU campus exploded. Students took to the Oval, the great, green space in the
center of the campus, in anger. It was impossible to move around the campus as
thousands protested and called for the end of the war and the restoration of
peace. Classes were disrupted; the Ohio Highway Patrol chased protesters from
one part of the campus to another. The mood was ugly. A rock was thrown through
a window at the Law School.
Word
spread throughout the Law School that a meeting of the students would be held
in one of the large classrooms. Mike Schwarzwalder (later to be elected as a
member of the Ohio Senate), who was President of the OSU Student Bar
Association, asked me, as Editor-in-Chief, to co-chair the meeting. The
atmosphere was dominated by fear and anger. The law students voted
overwhelmingly that Mike and I should approach the faculty and request that the
Law School be closed in the interests of safety, and, for many of us, as a
demonstration of our anger over the events at Kent State.
The
law faculty was meeting at the same time the law students were assembled. Mike
and I went to the faculty meeting room and asked to speak. We reported the
wishes and concerns of the law students. We were thanked and then ushered out.
We learned that a couple of hours later, representatives of the law faculty met
with university officials and the decision was made to shut down the campus.
The
Law School was closed for ten days. We ended up taking all our last quarter
classes "pass/fail." The Ohio Supreme Court waived its required class
hours rule so we could take the Bar Exam. Our lives went on, but for four
unarmed Kent State students it all ended on that day in May. I will never
forget.
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