Graduation at Mr. Jefferson's University, Circa 1970
Graduation Day at Virginia During Tumultuous Spring of 1970 Publish Date: 05/18/2011 |
{ Published originally on Yahoo Associated Content, now Yahoo Voices, under the byline Robert Buck Jr. 05/18/2011 }
Memories for me are usually a series of snap shots or video clips revealing past moments that obviously meant the most to me. Standing out from graduation at Virginia in 1970 is a group of us waiting outside the East Range to march out to our seats on the Lawn for the main ceremony. As we stand there talking, the dialogue is forgotten but probably was concerned with our choice of attire. Many are not in the traditional cap and gown as a statement of protest against the Vietnam War and the Kent State shootings. Two other short clips join this one, again with no discernable dialogue, only vague memories. These are of my parents and me in a room of the School of Education, where I received my diploma later in the day, and of our walk to the Corner to leave the parchment at a frame shop. Another symbol of all the change and turmoil of the '60s, culminating in 1970, was that this was the first year Virginia gave a parchment diploma instead of a sheepskin. The students had demanded that the sheep be spared, as if they thought the animals would not still be killed for their tasty mutton. Of course the poor young lambs were no better off since that is the favored version of edible sheep.
Across the fog of years, the symbolism now of these mental videos is starkly clear and timely. Graduation is a culmination of four years of work: academic, part time jobs, and working at having fun (sometimes the hardest of all). This one was also the end of several intense months of tension, worry and work. One worked hardest in those months of the winter of '69 and the spring of '70 to focus on new, unexpected graduation concerns. For many seniors at that time, graduation could be prevented if institutions closed early due to massive anti-war protests. For others, like me, there was added worry that an unwanted military career could push that diploma even farther away in time. Some of us were almost certainly headed for multi-year military careers. This was real life, serious stuff. Roberta Flack's "Ballad of the Sad Young Men" was true art because for many "Kiss your dreams goodbye" would later echo permanently in rice patties far away.
Events happened one after the other to seemingly target me alone, during this historical period. Really, history took aim at many, probably most, academia and the nation. First, running low on cannon fodder, good ol' LBJ had a draft lottery, and I won! That meant that, when the student deferment expired after graduation, I not only would get to go to ‘Nam, I could move to the head of the line. I was not against the war. I was against the way it was being fought. I had this crazy, old school idea that you do not fight wars unless you intend to win them. It seemed to me that the reason for all of America's problems over there (including the large casualties) was the enemy's knowledge that we did not intend to invade and defeat them. Such information sort of gives the enemy a built in advantage. Now, this lottery certainly targeted me, and placed the war squarely in my life.
The next thing was the outburst of massive student protest after certain events in the conduct of the war. I thought the student leaders were truly against the war. They were but they were also against the country, against the capitalist system and against what America stood for. It was during these protests that students were killed at Kent State University, while National Guardsmen and students were in a standoff there. Campuses across America erupted, as students went on strike from their classes, prompting many institutions to close for the semester. We asked ourselves, what will this mean? If Virginia closes, will I get my degree? Was I selfish to care about that with lives at stake?
One has to deal with the upheaval in the particular historical times you inhabit. I decided my job was to graduate if possible and find the military service of my choice before I could be drafted. After all, both goals fit my philosophy that the war was mishandled but not wrong. The school remained true to its mission and remained open. I juggled class, assignments, part time job, and military service research and testing. So graduation was held, and I was qualified. There I stood with my friends, some in cap and gown, some not, no one openly judging the others. Of course, I was in the traditional graduation attire: country boy, conservative, patriotic American. Stiff, redneck, idiot I'm sure many a bleeding-heart liberal classmate thought.
But, my parents deserved this. They had worked for it as hard as I had. They deserved the whole show. I had already sworn off the traditional suit and tie, daily wardrobe at Virginia, for jeans and corduroy sport coat. They deserved the cap and gown at least. We (children and their parents metaphorically) came here together to do a job, to get an education. The student protesters were pawns (of their radical leaders) who actually thought they could stop a war. Protest did help end the Vietnam War years later, not during this period of college upheaval. This ongoing protest may have been a chief cause for the war's mishandling all along. The government and their radical nemeses* share the blame for the broken lives of Vietnam, American and Vietnamese lives.
Radical protest leaders, of course, knew what they were doing. The goal was not to end the war. It was socialism. Their goal was to destroy capitalism and America as the ultimate success story of capitalism. These brash student radicals of the late '60s are the radical geezers of today. Their influence is dangerously stronger and their goals are the same. Some of those old leftist leaders have become less radical (even conservative) with maturity, and we know from them with whom we are dealing today.
The three images of my graduation memory, those nearly silent, muffled, video clips, stand ever so much more meaningful today. The symbolism is inescapable. On a momentous day at the beginning of my adult life, my feet were planted across the divide between the radical change of youth and the tradition of age. I was part of both worlds but somehow was able to discern that tradition had as much or more to offer than change. Change for the sake of change and youthful exuberance is not enough to build a life on. As someone once said, it is sort of the ideology of the cancer cell. Blindly following people, whose motives I did not fully know, would not be wise. Luckily, one foot was firmly planted with the world of my parents: children of the land, youth of the depression, warriors of World War II, and descendants of those who helped build the whole nation. I'm glad I wore the cap and gown.
Memories for me are usually a series of snap shots or video clips revealing past moments that obviously meant the most to me. Standing out from graduation at Virginia in 1970 is a group of us waiting outside the East Range to march out to our seats on the Lawn for the main ceremony. As we stand there talking, the dialogue is forgotten but probably was concerned with our choice of attire. Many are not in the traditional cap and gown as a statement of protest against the Vietnam War and the Kent State shootings. Two other short clips join this one, again with no discernable dialogue, only vague memories. These are of my parents and me in a room of the School of Education, where I received my diploma later in the day, and of our walk to the Corner to leave the parchment at a frame shop. Another symbol of all the change and turmoil of the '60s, culminating in 1970, was that this was the first year Virginia gave a parchment diploma instead of a sheepskin. The students had demanded that the sheep be spared, as if they thought the animals would not still be killed for their tasty mutton. Of course the poor young lambs were no better off since that is the favored version of edible sheep.
Across the fog of years, the symbolism now of these mental videos is starkly clear and timely. Graduation is a culmination of four years of work: academic, part time jobs, and working at having fun (sometimes the hardest of all). This one was also the end of several intense months of tension, worry and work. One worked hardest in those months of the winter of '69 and the spring of '70 to focus on new, unexpected graduation concerns. For many seniors at that time, graduation could be prevented if institutions closed early due to massive anti-war protests. For others, like me, there was added worry that an unwanted military career could push that diploma even farther away in time. Some of us were almost certainly headed for multi-year military careers. This was real life, serious stuff. Roberta Flack's "Ballad of the Sad Young Men" was true art because for many "Kiss your dreams goodbye" would later echo permanently in rice patties far away.
Events happened one after the other to seemingly target me alone, during this historical period. Really, history took aim at many, probably most, academia and the nation. First, running low on cannon fodder, good ol' LBJ had a draft lottery, and I won! That meant that, when the student deferment expired after graduation, I not only would get to go to ‘Nam, I could move to the head of the line. I was not against the war. I was against the way it was being fought. I had this crazy, old school idea that you do not fight wars unless you intend to win them. It seemed to me that the reason for all of America's problems over there (including the large casualties) was the enemy's knowledge that we did not intend to invade and defeat them. Such information sort of gives the enemy a built in advantage. Now, this lottery certainly targeted me, and placed the war squarely in my life.
The next thing was the outburst of massive student protest after certain events in the conduct of the war. I thought the student leaders were truly against the war. They were but they were also against the country, against the capitalist system and against what America stood for. It was during these protests that students were killed at Kent State University, while National Guardsmen and students were in a standoff there. Campuses across America erupted, as students went on strike from their classes, prompting many institutions to close for the semester. We asked ourselves, what will this mean? If Virginia closes, will I get my degree? Was I selfish to care about that with lives at stake?
One has to deal with the upheaval in the particular historical times you inhabit. I decided my job was to graduate if possible and find the military service of my choice before I could be drafted. After all, both goals fit my philosophy that the war was mishandled but not wrong. The school remained true to its mission and remained open. I juggled class, assignments, part time job, and military service research and testing. So graduation was held, and I was qualified. There I stood with my friends, some in cap and gown, some not, no one openly judging the others. Of course, I was in the traditional graduation attire: country boy, conservative, patriotic American. Stiff, redneck, idiot I'm sure many a bleeding-heart liberal classmate thought.
But, my parents deserved this. They had worked for it as hard as I had. They deserved the whole show. I had already sworn off the traditional suit and tie, daily wardrobe at Virginia, for jeans and corduroy sport coat. They deserved the cap and gown at least. We (children and their parents metaphorically) came here together to do a job, to get an education. The student protesters were pawns (of their radical leaders) who actually thought they could stop a war. Protest did help end the Vietnam War years later, not during this period of college upheaval. This ongoing protest may have been a chief cause for the war's mishandling all along. The government and their radical nemeses* share the blame for the broken lives of Vietnam, American and Vietnamese lives.
Radical protest leaders, of course, knew what they were doing. The goal was not to end the war. It was socialism. Their goal was to destroy capitalism and America as the ultimate success story of capitalism. These brash student radicals of the late '60s are the radical geezers of today. Their influence is dangerously stronger and their goals are the same. Some of those old leftist leaders have become less radical (even conservative) with maturity, and we know from them with whom we are dealing today.
The three images of my graduation memory, those nearly silent, muffled, video clips, stand ever so much more meaningful today. The symbolism is inescapable. On a momentous day at the beginning of my adult life, my feet were planted across the divide between the radical change of youth and the tradition of age. I was part of both worlds but somehow was able to discern that tradition had as much or more to offer than change. Change for the sake of change and youthful exuberance is not enough to build a life on. As someone once said, it is sort of the ideology of the cancer cell. Blindly following people, whose motives I did not fully know, would not be wise. Luckily, one foot was firmly planted with the world of my parents: children of the land, youth of the depression, warriors of World War II, and descendants of those who helped build the whole nation. I'm glad I wore the cap and gown.
*correct plural of nemesis