On Occasion I Speak Lightly Of 'My Adventurous Youth'...
As I am embarking on a wait of several days which cannot be hurried, and have both time on my hands and an inclination for distraction, I thought I would share a tale from those days. It's one of the few that turns out well for all concerned, even the last few ranks of that trotting column of police.
I left home at a tender age in the summer of 1969, under circumstances acrimonious enough to require action but not worth going into here. It was a very busy week.
I found for associates a gaggle of dead-end kids, mostly wards of the state, who clustered on the Wells Street strip in Old Town. Street freaks, we called ourselves; hippies were the weekenders who came to visit, and tourists came to gawk. There was one particular sit, a step at a building's unused entrance, which was beside a most uneven patch of sidewalk. We would congratulate the people surprised by that on having a nice trip.
One place people of our sort could congregate off the street and strip that summer was the downtown office of the Youth International Party, the Yippies. It was a good deal less grand than the title sounds. In those days there were a number of nondescript commercial buildings in the Loop, especially towards the south end, renting space for any enterprise you could imagine.
There was no furniture in the front room of the Yippie office, but there was a coffee urn and carpet on the floor. In the back room lurked a college age fellow, much more of a 'clean for Gene' sort than might have been expected. He even wore a tie. There were always a few freaks there, in tatty bell-bottom jeans, shirts ranging from tie-dye to plain tee-shirts by way of peasant blouses and regular buttoned work-shirts and Army surplus gear. I had a denim vest. Hair was long and shaggy, footwear divided between sandals, sneakers, and Frye boots. Sometimes the college kid emerged with something simple for us to do --- pass out leaflets or stick up flyers, that sort of thing. The Conspiracy Trial was looming, and demonstrations were being planned for its commencement.
I do not recall how the subject of the great gold paper-mache piggy bank was raised, or just when and how, on the morning the trial was to begin, the thing was entrusted to eight of us. We certainly had no part in constructing it, and I have never had an inkling who did. It was sizeable, a good four or five feet in length and of a height to match, set on long rails like a sedan chair, which we bore on our shoulders, four to a side. It was, of course, a reference to Pigasus, the previous year's Yippie candidate for President. There was a large slot in its back, beneath which was a bag to contain whatever was put in there, and we were to carry it about the Loop, as much for display as for actually collecting funds for the party and/or its lawyers. We were after a while to join a crowd attending speakers in Grant Park, where the proceeds were to be counted.
We proved quite popular with the downtown pedestrians. It was something to see, both the big gold-painted pig and its freakish bearers. I remember no hostility, and a lot of smiles, from the office girls and suit and tie types. We went mostly up and down State Street, which still had traffic and busses, as well the movie theaters now long gone, a corset and lingerie shop, restaurants where you could get a burger and fries and a coke for a buck and a quarter. We joked and jibed with the people, and quite a few actually did put money in the slot, sometimes needing a boost up to reach it. We were elated by the reception we got, it wasn't what we had expected.
We headed for the park more or less on time, though I have forgotten what time that was. I had a watch, and wasn't the only one who did, and anyway there were clocks all over the place on State Street. We were headed for the speakers stand and crowd, at the south end of the park. As we drew near, a column of policemen appeared from between two buildings, its ranks turning smartly to place their backs towards us. We were not seen. The men were moving at a trot, turning a corner, and far too focused on their dressing and intervals, and their target ahead, the gathered crowd they were to disperse, to take much notice of what might be behind them.
We followed, also at a trot. It was one of those things --- we'd been carrying this weight together all morning, we were a unit, what occurred to one occurred to all, and simultaneously. We caught them up, still unnoticed just a few feet behind the rear rank of policemen. For a few glorious moments, the assembled crowd before the speakers stand were treated to the sight of a column of police heading towards them with a large gold pig bringing up their rear, held up over their heads.
It could not last, of course. We saw police in the rear rank turning to look over their shoulder, and when they did, we gave a mighty heave to our burden, eight minds again with but a single thought in physical unison. Pigasus the Golden flew a few feet, landing on the police in the rear rank, tumbling them and quite startling the tail of the column. We took off running, in a variety of directions. I got away clean, I don't know about any of the others, but never heard any tales of dire fates. It seemed wisest not to return to that office, though. I expect the police found some recompense for their discomfiture in pocketing the cash. There was something north of a hundred dollars in the big gold paper-mache piggy bank they got out from under to chase us.
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thank you for sharing 
Pigasus...
i’m glad it turned out well.
Pigasus the Golden.
I was a Yippie while going to college in NJ. It was a hoot.
