service revolver. He rested the pistol on his outstretched arm, now pointed at the lead hood’s face. The big Buick engine purred in the quiet night.
The hood stared at the revolver, then at Buck, and said, “I’m sorry man, I thought you were alone.”
Buck kept the revolver aimed at the hood’s head as he sauntered back to his bike, started the engine and drove off.
We didn’t talk the rest of the way home. I thanked him for the ride and wondered if a doctor’s life would always be so dramatic.
A DETROIT MAN
Fall 1963 was crisp and beautiful at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. Vietnam was a distant worry. The campus was alive with color from old trees, red brick traditional buildings, and the natural energy of youth.
I bunked in a small, two-man room in Anderson Hall, a freshman dorm. Friends developed quickly in the tight living quarters, each boy-man struggling to find a new, independent identity, yet not fail classes.
At the end of the hall lived Bill, a short, energetic, redheaded extravert, a high school track star with an idea a minute. We shared a trackman’s past as well as a lust for adventure. Bill grew up in Chicago, so when the Miami University v. Northwestern football game arrived, he proposed a trip north to see the game and share blind dates par excellence. Big Gage, who lived at the far end of the hall, agreed to go as well on a rare, free weekend. Gage was as thick and huge as Bill was short and wiry. Gage threw the shot put for the track team, got all A’s, and had a dry, slow sense of humor. You got the feeling talking with Gage that although he could crush a car, he would rather clean and pet it.
The drive to Chicago lasted five hours. Typical midwestern guys, we talked sports and high school exploits. Bill was especially interested in Detroit, a fighting man’s town. I’d played hockey and football and had had my share of minor scraps. Neither Bill nor Gage ever had a serious fight. Not one to miss a chance to embellish a story, small fights retold became main events. The time passed quickly.
The hopeful Miami threesome met the Northwestern beauties at the tailgate party.
“Oh, my God, I think I’ve gone to heaven and an angel awaits me,” Gage slowly exuded.
The beauties were indeed beautiful and excited about the game and the party afterwards. Christine, my date, was blonde, too attractive for a blind date, fully shaped, and had an easy laugh and good nature.
The football game was close and exciting. We drove happily together to the post-game party. The music was sixties rock, loud and driving. The beer flowed and the crowd was packed. We danced, laughed, sang, and the night pulsed away. During a slow dance, Christine leaned close, put her arms around my neck, and moved rhythmically with the music. As the song wound down, she whispered, “I have to slip away for awhile. I’ll be back soon.”
I danced with other girls, talked, and circulated the party for a while. Bill had also parted from his date; I spotted him in a corner engaged in a serious conversation with two guys I didn’t recognize. Gage was in the middle of the dance floor doing the pony with the contorted, foolish smile of a thoroughly drunk, nineteen-year-old, lovesick guy. Christine was partially visible across the dance floor, arguing vigorously with a muscular, short-haired guy in a white t-shirt, who wore an aggrieved look on his face.
Bill, agitated, pulled me to a corner. “We’re in deep trouble, Jack. Christine just broke up with her boyfriend, that big rock she’s arguing with, and he and his buddies want a piece of all three of us!”
“Great, Bill, that’s just great. Did you know all this before you set up the dates?”
“No, Jack. Really man, I didn’t know a thing; but look, I got a plan. I told these guys about you, about Detroit, the fights and that you hurt some guys real bad.”
“Are you crazy, Bill? That was high school and this is Chicago! And all three of these guys are big and mad.”
“Yea, I know, Jack. Calm down, man. If things get out of hand, we got the Gage monster.”
“Bill, look at Gage. See that goofy smile? That smile is twelve beers and a lot of you know what. He’s useless unless he falls on top of them. Where are the girls?”
“Ah, see, they’re a bit shook up and feeling guilty about the whole thing. They’re waiting outside, just beyond that black door.”
“You mean the door with the three short-haired goons lined up?”
“We got to walk out now, Jack. Look mean and tough. They think you’re dangerous. I’ll go first, Gage second, and you last.”
We moved slowly toward the door and approached the Chicago lineup. Buck’s maxim, “show no fear,” faintly coursed through my mind.
Time seemed suspended and a low hum filtered through my mind, urging me to be silent and brave. Bill walked quickly by the three men and out the door. Gage ambled by, looking down his long, boney nose at each guy, then he too headed to the door, but stopped and waited. As I faced Christine’s boyfriend, the last in line, I stopped and looked directly into his eyes. My jaw clenched slightly. The room was quiet. The aggrieved man stared back, but only for a few moments. The Chicago man broke his gaze, stared down, then to the left. I waited a second, then slowly walked out the door, Gage closing the door behind us.
We walked to the car and the waiting beauties.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Christine exclaimed as she reached for my hand. “What happened?”
Gage and Phil looked at me.
“He looked away, Christine, so we walked out.”
“You’re kidding! He never backs down. I can’t believe this!”
As we flowed into the car, Phil was unable to stop talking about our great escape. Gage leaned back and closed his eyes. Christine rested her head on my shoulder and her now warm hand cradled mine. My mind cleared, time resumed, and it was hard not to smile.
HERO
Dr. Robbin Fleming slowly rose, pushed his chair carefully under the table, and studiously gazed at his assembled colleagues. All leaders and scholars, many were also his friends, yet tonight they were far apart. As University of Michigan president, Dr. Fleming encouraged open discussion, but now needed consensus. In 1968, most of the academic faculty opposed the Vietnam War and were vocally in favor of the anticipated student demonstrations. The alumni representatives were both World War II veterans and were disturbed that students would not support the war effort of their own government against the nefarious communists. The administrative leaders were concerned about order; the university must appear in control. But order was difficult at best to maintain in 1968. Earlier, both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy had been assassinated, and racial riots had rocked Detroit the previous summer. All present were alarmed that the Ann Arbor mayor had called for support from the National Guard to line the street and quadrangle adjacent to the Presidential Mansion.
President Fleming was middle-aged, intelligent, alert, and clearly in charge. A trained labor negotiator, he was adept at gradually coming to and coordinating agreement from
