Scott Delaney knew the war had made him a little crazy. He didn’t mind being crazy, but thought it best he got educated. In those days, the classrooms of the community college he went to were in a single building. The college was new and so were most of the students. Parking lots surrounded the building.
Scott Delaney was twenty-one years old. It was wonderful being around so many young women. There were tall ones, short ones, slim and voluptuous ones. Asian, black and white ones. In good weather, under thin cloth unfettered, young breasts moved mysteriously. Some of the young women wore ragged blue jeans while others preferred very short skirts and dresses. Some were shy while others looked you in the eyes as long as you wanted. They made it seem absurd that three months earlier, he had been trying to kill short men and women who wore sandals made from car and truck tires and carried AK-47 assault rifles and that these men and women had been trying to kill him.
Scott Delaney was a college student in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania three months after being discharged from the United States Army.
Everyone wanted to do something. No one knew what it should be.
Student leaders telephoned the other branch campuses. Their students were in the same predicament. Energy was there, but leadership was lacking. It was as if government had declared open season on students. Scott Delaney was sick knowing that American troops had fired on unarmed American students. What the fuck were they doing on a university campus with live ammo anyway?
“Oh, well,” a buddy who had been overseas with Scott said. He attended the same community college as Scott. “What do you expect?” the buddy said. “They’re only the National Guard.”
Guy Hogan is a Vietnam War Veteran