Inner Revolution


If our colleges and universities do not breed men who riot, who rebel, who attack life with all the youthful vim and vigor, then there is something wrong with our colleges. The more riots that come on college campuses, the better world for tomorrow. –William Allen White

There was a lot of ten­sion, pent up anger, and more than enough mis­trust to go around. The sides were well defined, this was us against them. We were out on the street mak­ing our pres­ence– and our opin­ions– known. They were out to make sure we did not do any­thing stu­pid, and were out in enough force to make sure they could con­trol us if we did.

How this debate started I do not remem­ber; I just know it gal­va­nized us all into imme­di­ate action. I remem­ber stand­ing out there on the wide open quad, mad as hell. We were in small groups, here and there, in the sun. With­out any­one specif­i­cally direct­ing us, we all decided to move to the admin­is­tra­tion building.

To get there, we would all need to march down­hill along a long, straight track bounded on both sides by thick woods. More than just a trail, it was wide open; it’s fifty foot width was car­peted with smooth, cool grass, well grown in and deeply greened. The way was smooth, so long as we stayed to the open trail. The trees that bor­dered the way were thick, so thick there were barely pen­e­tra­ble; they were, in effect, a brick wall. The thick woods would keep us focused and chan­nel us straight to our objec­tive, and a meet­ing with the president.

The fur­ther down the path we went, the darker our world became. The clouds thicken and bruised the sky. We came to a point where the path was blocked. Side to side, they had strung razor wire across out path. We had expected this; we had a way around the wire: We went under­neath it. As soon as we had cleared that bar­rier, we saw our next problem.

Slowly, lum­ber­ing up the hill toward us was a giant rocket on a mobile launch vehi­cle. The white gird­ers of the launcher were heavy and unwieldy. The weight of the rocket sunk the wheels of the trans­port into the soft earth, mak­ing progress slow. The diesels push­ing the launcher up the rise moaned under the stress, the ground rever­ber­at­ing in sym­pa­thy with their labor­ing. Slowly, delib­er­ately, the back end began to swing around as the pushed the launcher into its final position.

The overt threat of the mis­sile in pour path was obvi­ous, but we knew they would never fol­low through on that threat. To use the weapon on us would be overkill; it was there as a sym­bol of their might. It was also there as another imped­i­ment in our path; it stretched com­pletely across our path, from the impas­si­ble tress on one side to those on the other.

I had been caught on the other side of the block­ade; most of my friends had not made it as far down as I had. Now their progress was blocked by the rocket and the gantry. I tried to make my way around the bot­tom end of the mas­sive vehi­cle; I saw some clear­ance between it and the trees. As I climbed over and through the obsta­cles, I looked up into the bot­tom of the still prone rocket, right into the exhaust noz­zles. They were small, much smaller than I would have imag­ined. There were a lot of deflec­tors and wid­gets around the noz­zles, to help direct the flow and steer the rocket in flight. I grabbed some of the fruit off the trees and threw it into the exhaust noz­zles. The fruit stuck in the aper­tures, block­ing the gasses from escap­ing, and mak­ing the giant rocket use­less against us, at least in its pri­mary purpose.

I was with Yianni, plan­ning our next attack on the col­lege admin­is­tra­tion. We had to get to Dean Aggasi. Yianni was on a phone, and he was motion­ing me to be silent. I could only hear half the con­ver­sa­tion, but it was enough.

Mr. Agassi, I am from Cam­pus Secu­rity, and we are just ver­i­fy­ing your online accounts. We have your pri­mary account under ‘a.agassi’, and I need to have your back-up account name.”

As Yianni waited for an answer, I thought this was a bold attempt to get infor­ma­tion. But I also real­ized if he played it cool, we could do it, we would get what we needed, a path to Dean Agassi no one else had.

I under­stand your con­cern, sir, and yes, I know you must be care­ful. We only need the back-up address in case the Uni­ver­sity sys­tem fails. I am not ask­ing you for per­sonal infor­ma­tion, or pass­words, or any way to breach your account; I just need the e-mail address.”

Yianni seemed to have finally put him at ease, because we got the backup e-mail address. I think it was also because we had called him on the Uni­ver­sity phone sys­tem. We were in the Admin build­ing, and using their phones. Yianni had seen the Dean on the speed dial, and just called him up, mak­ing his plan up as he went along.

I high-fived Yianni, and we walked out of the admin building…

I woke up.

Rat­ing 3.00 out of 5

About Dave Koch

Father, writer, entrepreneur, web coder, 2008 Presidential candidate, husband and friend. Sometimes I play guitar.
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