We almost didn’t go.

By the time I reached my Father’s house Friday night, there was already 2 inches of snow on the ground. All told, the St. Patrick’s Day storm claimed, “six traffic deaths in New Jersey, three in Pennsylvania and one in Maryland,” with two feet of snow falling in parts of New York. We sat around mulling over whether or not the trip was worth it for some time.

As we talked, my Dad asked where I had found the video I’d included in that day’s post. He started reminiscing about attending the very march that was featured in the video, the anniversary of which Saturday’s event was commemorating. He told my wife and I about a soldier he’d met there that day, protesting. He was far older than the average person in the crowd, and his uniform was slightly different. Turns out he was from the Abraham Lincoln Brigade.

Oct. 67′ March on Pentagon, Via Jo Freeman

Roughly, his story went like this:

The protesters were sitting lined up in rows. As it grew dark they brought out portable flood lights. After a while, the lights would cut out, and you could hear Billy clubs connecting with skulls. When the lights came back on, the front row was missing. People moved up into their place. The lights went out again. Then came the sound of craniums being cracked, again and again.

And so with these visions dancing in our heads, we decided to set the alarm for 3 am and hope the weather wasn’t going to be as bad as the News predicted. We got up, decieded to give it a try, and were out the door by four in the morning. I think we must have done about 45 mph all the way to Binghamton, and it wasn’t until we got to Harrisburg that the roads were clear enough to do a half way normal speed. It ended up taking 9 hours to travel what would usually take five and a half to six hours.

It was my first time driving in downtown D.C., and it wasn’t half as bad as I expected. I did a little creative parking, cutting across a few lanes of traffic on Constitution St. (which made my wife issue an extremely satisfying, “Oh my god, Freeed!”) to get a spot right across from the National Aquarium, in front of the African American History and Culture Museum. At this point we were right on time for the start of the march, a mile away.

Our band of three made way past the Washington Memorial, the World War II Memorial, towards the march’s start point beside the Lincoln Memorial. What we didn’t anticipate was the swarm of counter protesters and security points set up around the Vietnam War Memorial directly in our path. In the swirling crowd I could have swore I saw Michelle Malkin with cameras following her headed in the opposite direction. We had walked–wearing our “Jail Bush” pins and my father holding his, “Bombing people creates terrorists.” sign–straight into a, “Gathering of Eagles.”

But it’s not half as bad as it sounds; besides a few people shaking their heads and giving us dirty looks there were no altercations. This was behind the scenes, behind the wire. Despite our differences, we were all still Americans…together. I can understand why they were there; I would have stopped a fellow protester if they’d tried anything of the like. Of course, that all changed when we got out on to the main staging area. There the volley of slurs and hate poured forth. This contrast fueled the feeling that the majority of counter protesters were there strictly to protect the Vietnam Memorial.

To be continued…