Mary Jane's Place, Freshman Year, Column 3

The Revolt 

It began ...

"... which is just another one of those things that the Capitalistic war-mongers have been pushing past us for years!"  His ears were greeted by the cheers of the crowd, and he continued with newly found confidence.  "My friends, we can stop this authoritarian outrage!  Come with me to the administration building, and we shall surely be triumphant!"

The group let loose yet another loud cry, and then began its slow trek to Kingston and salvation.  They sang the calssic protest songs by Dyland and Baez and carried hand printed signs exclaiming, "Hell No!  We Wen't Go!"  A few people who were old enough to remember such things claimed that it was all very nostalgic.  The Sixties re-visited, as it were.

"Come along, brothers and sisters!" the leader of this march called to the hundreds with him.  "Justice shall prevail, We shall prevail, and Kingston shall bend to the strength of our wind!"

Obviously, revolutionaries have trouble with metaphors, but there is little time to discuss such matters.  The group has now reached its destination and its destiny.

J. had stood at his office window and, through the sweat rolling down his glasses, had vaguely seen them coming.  He was nervous, and he was worried; but he was prepared.

"Kingston!" the leader of the group called from atop the soapbox he had brought along for the purpose of standing on, "Send out a representative who has power to negotiate with the will of the people!"

The crowd cheered, as crowds are wont to do.

J. looked through the window of the door, and saw the angry faces and the sings held above them.  He also saw sure signs that he was in serious danger, such as baseball bats and Chinese throwing stars.  He hadn't seen such obvious signs of violence since the peace marches at his old job.

J. cringed.  Irony always made him cringe.

The crown directed its collective anger at J. as he walked out of the door.  There was a tense minute as no one said a word, each side stunned that something was going on.  Finally, the march's leader regained his wits and screamed at J. from the back of his throat:

"J.!  We like peace and harmony and the status quo just fine, but we refuse to go back on standard time!"

The crowd loudly murmured its agreement and solidarity with its leader.  The manner about them seemed to suggest that they would have loudly murmured their support for whatever he said.

The leader continued.  "We are never up in the mornings anyhow, so why should we need light then!  Keep us on Daylight time, or this campus shall surely burn!"

The crowd first screamed like the collection of crazed individuals that it is and then organized itself into a steady change:  "burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn!"

J. began to shake against his will, a feeling he thought he'd left sitting on his desk at Kent State.  He held up his hands for quiet, but to no avail.  Eventually, the marchers ran out of breath, and J. addressed them tactfully.

"I'm afraid that I do not have the power to help you, but ...."

Any other words of wisdom that J. said could not be heard.  The crowd fell upon him, lifted him carelessly, and took him to the nearest tree.  Some thoughtful protestor had anticipated resistance of this type, and had brought along a lovely hank of rope.  They strung up J., and were ready to dangle him from the strongest limb till he was surely dead, when someone thought about the Constitution.

"Say," the poly-sci minor cried, "isn't he entitled to a cigarette or something?"

This sounded reasonable enough, but somehow, J. declined.

"What!" the leader aptly cried, summing up the opinions of the group.

"I would prefer a few last words, if you don't mind."

The crowd murmured for awhile, and then nodded for awhile, and then waited for awhile.

"OK, J.," the leader cried, "you get a few last words, but keep 'em brief, OK?  I've got a class in half an hour."

J. took a deep breath (as deep as the rope would allow), and spoke for his life.  "If you go back to Standard time, you get an extra hour's sleep Saturday night."

The stunned crowd gave up their demands and left J. sitting under the tree, waiting for a friendly custodial engineer to loosen the ties that bound him.