The young people’s movement protested against the war, with sit-in’s, demonstrations and, finally, out and out riots against the War in Vietnam. Each form of demonstration was being staged as late as 1975, when Richard M Nixon, President of the United States, finally responded to the most violent of riots and ordered the evacuation of all US Troops from the theater of conflict in Vietnam.

We were the Baby Boomer Generation, and registering our objections to the assassinations of the Kennedy Brothers, Che Guevara, of South America, and Dr Martin Luther King. These men were dynamic individuals, as well as being dynamic world leaders. My generation took to the streets in rash violence, to protest and object to the cold blooded murder of each of these men.

Baby Boomers were the generation parented by the WWII generation. We had gone through the inauguration and assassination of the inspiring Jack Kennedy, whose Presidential addresses was wonderful, as were the charming speeches of his little brother, Bobby. The death of neither brother was palatable from the point of view of my generation, in my day and time.

By the time Dr King and Che were gone, it was too much for the generation who had succeeded in getting the troops removed from the field of conflict in Vietnam. There were people in my generation who intended to push our political clout to the nines. No President in this land was politically safe from the Students for Democratic Society or the Black Panthers.

My generation was weary of all the senseless bloodshed, from coast to coast, and we took to the streets, in open, violent rebellion against the series of assassinations we were faced with in our youth. By the time the last of these several, great men had fallen, our nation was on the verge of collapse. I was in university in North Carolina by the time most of these events transpired.

The government in North Carolina was not going to permit any of the violent unrest that was going down in many of anyplace, like Berkeley, CA, and University of Maryland for instance. In Ashville, NC, I met the man who assassinated Che Guevara. His sister in law was always talking about him joining the Marine Corps, but it took me years to understand he was an assassin.

The young people’s movement of the 1960,’ was a tangible substance for investigating the effects of hallucinogenic drugs, the psychiatric community was having to work with. There were young people with an acute toxic psychosis, like the one I had to deal with in North Carolina, who came down with a chronic mental illness, like I’ve been dealing with since the early 1970’s.

The drugs going around in the early 1970,’s heralded in studies in schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and many other chemical imbalances in the brain. Before the time of Woodstock and Haight Asbury LSD cults, etc, there was little known about it. It was a lot more widespread than the psychiatric community was able to deal with. The thing about that one situation, was that I survived.

I can remember some of the issues of the times. The four students were slaughtered at Kent State, over the Vietnam War. It made the national news. I think they showed pictures on TV. Crosby, Stills, and Young wrote a song about it. Our generation was in open rebellion against authority over that. I was basically a rebel, and would cling to whatever rebellion I could find.

Wounded Knee Creek, where they slaughtered hundreds of unarmed Native Americans in the late 1880’s. I think my generation all had visions of being fired upon with no reason, except payback for the slaughter of the 7th Cavalry at the Little Big Horn. This was important to my generation because of the popular underground movie houses. The movie house whipped us into a frenzie.

In those days it was clear there was a young people’s movement that college kids like my girl and I were spending a little money to fund. Some of the fuel that fed the movement was being generated by the box office of the independent movie theaters were showing. These were put together by the underground filming houses and proliferated near campuses.

The other thing was that I would attend movies stoned, sitting next to the love of my life. It was all a racket. The movies weren’t asking much, but all of those motion pictures were documented by books on the some subjects, which kept us all worked up in the process of defeating the young people’s movement we

This sense of conscience of was busy appealing to my irrational sense of fair play, my distorted thought patterns, or the distortion of all of my senses, which were constantly at play, with my wasted line of reasoning. It was fortunate for the establishment that my financial resources amounted to little more than nothing. The young people’s movement throughout the nation, failed.

I was not there. I started doing psychiatric institutions one after the other, and at the age of 62, I continue to have no clue what happened to the hippies and the flower children. My half-baked ideas about what the movement was about, or what the movement was trying to accomplish, were all way out in left field. I read a few books which I read carefully. They disappeared into my pot pipe.

My half-baked, though heart felt indignation over the plight of a hundred year old slaughtering session by the US Army, consisted of reefer and mescaline than it did over anything like the well-being of Native Americans. Then, my conscience was complicated by my very own acute toxic psychosis in an institution which gives the impression that the youth is being subverted by the government.


About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at
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