By Bill Ayers
Invoice Ayers was once born in privilege and is this present day a hugely revered educator and neighborhood activist. For ten years, he lived as a fugitive. Ayers's tale of ways a tender pacifist got here to assist chanced on some of the most radical political businesses in U.S. historical past is instructed the following with outstanding candor and immediacy.
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Additional resources for Fugitive Days: Memoirs of an Antiwar Activist
She was thinking of smart bombs and surgical strikes, quick conclusions and a friendly dictator, our onetime ally, who everyone suddenly agreed was insane. I think of the mosquitoes and the baby sparrows in the bushes during the gas attacks. I think of the Kurds and the Iraqi children. And then there is Mom’s voice, my whole upbringing, the genetic gift. Where we lived, it’s true, the grass was always green, the moms were always smiling, and seldom was heard a discouraging word—the skies were not cloudy all day.
Lance collected butterflies. Mr. Sid and Mr. Worth were gay, but we had no word then to describe it, and so it went intriguingly unspoken. Sigfried Friend, dean of students, had no new ideas, no interesting passions, and he was never leaving—he was a fixture, and utterly ageless; he’d taught there before World War II, took a long break to serve in Europe, and returned in the 1940s, his hair gone gray, a fantastic scar splitting his face from forehead to neck. He began to cultivate his bushy eyebrows then, and he brushed them so they swept up and out, extending beyond the sides of his head.
Jesus, I didn’t have a chance. I wasn’t even qualified to carry the towels. The fraternity wasn’t a good fit either, the Beta house being a lot like the prep school I’d just escaped—a crowd of horny boys all living willingly in a culture of clinging, mindless conventionality— except that here we had easy access to alcohol and no one told us to go to bed or chapel or dinner or, for that matter, to our classes. Most didn’t. There was consequently a lot of public drunkenness, a lot of 40 Bill Ayers all-night parties with the brothers, a lot of barfing and stinking hangovers, a lot of forced fun.
Fugitive Days: Memoirs of an Antiwar Activist by Bill Ayers