My circles of friends included history grad students, members of SDS, and activists from the Wisconsin Draft Resistance Union (WDRU).  The organization’s summer project in 1968 was to send organizers into the industrial cities to build resistance to the draft.  Jody and Susan picked Racine.  Paul Siegel and John Kaufman went to Appleton.  Bill Sokol and George Hanley chose Eau Claire.  I volunteered to set up a project in my hometown.

I reasoned that I could have a big impact in Waukegan.  I hoped to be protected because of my deep ties there.   I didn’t realize how much stress it would cause for my family.  Later in the summer, one of my cousins told Mom that my political activity might prevent her husband from getting a security clearance in the military.  At the organizational meeting I met Mike Rosen for the first time.  He was smart and aggressive.  I made a gut decision right there that I wanted him to go with me.  Waukegan turned out to be a wild ride for the two of us.  Mike and I would be working closely together for the next 15 years.

It seemed like “The Waukegan Movement” was getting in the News Sun every week.  Once I got busted for putting up posters without a license.  Then a bunch of us went to the lakefront teen dance pavilion to leaflet about the draft.  That night the bust was for leafleting without a license and disorderly conduct.  The cops were out in force.  They arrested three of us.  When Mike Rosen came to get the keys to my car, they pinwheeled him to the ground and cuffed him for disorderly conduct.  I recognized one of the cops as Angelo Lofredo.  He had graduated a few years ahead of me.  He was a skinny guy, strutting around and brandishing a sap.

I called my dad from the police station.  He showed up when they were trying to finger print me.  I asked, “Dad, do I have to give them my prints?”  He seemed surprised by my question, but he ran with it.  In a bluff and a bid for more time, he said, “No, you are constitutionally protected against giving evidence against yourself.”  I went back and forth to a small holding cell a few times as my own personal lawyer tried his best tricks.  Later, when the FBI visited him at his office, he told them to get the hell out.  That same FBI man was a parishioner at Immaculate Conception.  His wife was a great friend to my mom.

We sponsored a day of “leafleting without a license” in which anti-war adults joined us.  My mom was right there.  The handout was a reprint from a Washington Post article about our activities.  The author was Ward Just, the son of the editor of the Waukegan News Sun.  Later Waukegan’s laws requiring a license to hand out leaflets was declared unconstitutional.  We even sent a 15 year old high school student to apply for one of these licenses.  They finger printed her but never produced the permit.  The suit was brought by civil rights attorney, Percy Julian Jr.  In the early 50’s, when Percy was only 10, a racist threw a stick of dynamite at the Julian home in Oak Park.  A Chicago high school is named after his dad, who was a famous chemist.

Toward the end of the summer, there was an incident at the Genesee movie theater.  Two African American guys, Bradley Squires and one of the Handy brothers were arrested and hauled out of the theatre.  Mike and I had met them earlier in the summer.   Jaime McClendon, my favorite high school history teacher, had invited us to talk about the draft at a teen hang out called The Black Bottom.  Maybe the two movie-goers had had been sipping wine or talking too loud.  Charged with battery to a police officer, they called my dad to represent them.  He did a great job – dusting off something appropriate from Bartlett’s Quotations for his summary.

Nevertheless the two were convicted and awaiting sentencing.  That evening, Waukegan police caught them firebombing Durkin & Durkin, a clothing store in the Lewis Avenue Mall.  The Durkins were also an old Irish family in town.  My dad couldn’t take the social pressure.  He told the two guys they’d need a different lawyer.

I went to a bail hearing and heard the prosecutor, Jack Hougasian, badgering Mr. Handy.  He called him “boy”.  It was like something from Dixie.  Both defendants ended up with long prison terms.