1971

My father thought he was a revolutionary. He robbed banks, blew up buildings and marched and sang we shall over come some day. My brother and mother and I followed him around the country. He couldn’t stay in one place for very long.

My mother met him at the University of Michigan and said that it was love at first sight for the both of them. My father was organizing anti-war rallies and he was a pretty big fish in a fair sized pond. He met guys like Eldridge Cleaver and Jerry Rubin. He said they were good guys but he was little jealous of them. They wrote books and became National celebrities and he was getting older and wasn’t making much money. My mother comes from a wealthy family but my father was full of pride and my mother's parents didn’t like him so he wouldn’t accept any assistance. He was a cook at the student union while he went to graduate school. He was writing his dissertation about a anti-war priest, I forget his name. My father's heart wasn’t in it though.

He wanted to be a warrior but he wasn’t one. He wouldn’t have lasted two days in the Bolivian mountains but he wanted to go and do his part. He thought that it was a great struggle between right and wrong, good and bad, black and white. He was confused my mother said. But his heart was in the right place and he loves you and your brother very much. He got in with the wrong crowd, but he thought that they were going to lead him to his destiny. He told her he had connections. She told him to be careful but he wasn’t and now he's in jail.