Blowing in the Wind

Chapter One

San Francisco State College, March,1969;  Alone on the cement pathway,  breathing rapidly, feeling vulnerable, Angela surveyed the deserted classroom buildings, the stretches of lawn, normally buzzing with students, but now empty except for the remains of a bonfire still smoldering, scraps of partially burnt papers scattered around it, the steel gray of the sky pressing down upon its ashes.  She felt as if she were lost in a war zone—in no-man's land.  She moved quickly, continuing up the path, aware that the student and faculty demonstrators would be picketing in front of the administration building at the far end of the campus, which was where she was headed. 

The silence was ominous and she clutched her portfolio tightly under her arm. Was it a mistake to come here?  She'd crossed the bay from Berkeley hoping to finish collecting the signatures she needed to receive her Master's Degree, which meant going to the administration building.  Due to the strike, which she'd supported, she hadn't been on campus for four months, attending classes off-campus.  She stared ahead, her eyes and ears sharply alert.  It was so quiet.  Eerily so.  She began to climb the cement steps going up the slope that led to California Hall, the education building.  She paused on the steps. Should she go home, return later when the strike was over?  No.  She needed the transcripts for her job. 

     She moved on, remaining alert, darting glances from side to side, unsure of what to expect.  At the top of the steps she suddenly stopped, anchored to the spot, her throat constricted.  Ahead, in the shadow of the building, a column of tall uniformed police stood in formation, four men across, the black visors on their helmets pulled down over their faces, shields held steady, night sticks and gun holsters hanging from their black leather belts. They stood like sinister statues,  stealthy, unmoving, not uttering a sound.  It was the Tactical Squad, she realized, hiding, waiting in silence for their orders to attack.

Then she heard the gunshot.  She didn't hesitate, but pivoted on the spot and raced down the hill to her car, her heart pounding.  She didn't belong here.  She had a family to care for.  Within seconds she'd started her car and raced out onto Nineteenth Ave heading for the bridge to Berkeley.