Chapter 8: War Zone

WHEN I WAS ABLE to focus again, the cop was gone off to assault someone else. They didn’t care if they were attacking protesters, or campaign volunteers, or bystanders just trying to get home, like me.

“Can you get up?”

I looked up to see another cop. He had a club, but it wasn’t raised to hit me. He grabbed hold of my shirt and dragged me to my feet.

“What the hell are you doing here? Your people are in jail.”

“My people?”

“I recognize you. The photographer back during the riots in April.”

“Officer Macalister? Oh, yeah. I was just trying to get home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Around the corner over there.”

“Get to it and get someone to clean you up. There might not be any ambulances available for a while.”

“I was just taking pictures. I wasn’t protesting or anything,” I said. I flinched as he tapped my chest with his club.

“You enter a war zone, you’re going to get shot at. Now get going.”

He gave me a shove and I stumbled around the corner and to the door of our building. I got inside and waited for the elevator. I didn’t think I could climb even one flight, let alone four floors.

I got the outer door of the suite open and just fell on the floor. All the individual room doors were closed. I didn’t know for sure if my roommates had even checked in or not. I hadn’t met any of them. I just couldn’t move any farther to get to my room.

“Nate! Nate! What happened?”

I managed to roll over to see my guardian angel hovering over me. Funny little angel. She was all out of focus.

“Got ... caught ... in a war zone,” I choked out. There was blood in my mouth.

“How badly are you hurt? I need to get you to a hospital. Your face is cut.”

“Hit in the head.”

She felt around the back of my head and I winced, tears coming into my eyes.

“No ambulances around. All busy. Police went crazy. Beating up everybody.”

“Can you make it to your bed? Come on, honey, I’ll help you.”

I managed to get up, leaning heavily on Beth. She got the key out of my hand and unlocked my bedroom. I fell heavily onto the bed and moaned in pain from my side. When did he hit me there? She ran out of the room and down to the restroom to get a towel wet and brought it to start mopping up the blood on my face.

“Damn pigs!” I moaned. Nobody would vote for a Democrat after they saw that carnage—no matter who was nominated. There were tears in my eyes and I realized it wasn’t just from pain. Something in the air was causing them to tear up. Beth was having the same problem. The police had been pulling on gas masks the last I saw of them. Tear gas. It must be everywhere.

“You really need a doctor. I’m going to call for Deke. He’ll come to get us and take us out to a hospital.”

“Uncle Nate. He’s closer.”

“Uncle? I thought you must be related. What’s his number?”

I rattled off the number and she wrote it down, then dug in my pocket for change. She went to the payphone in the hall and called. I looked at my camera, still around my neck and clutched in one hand. My trusty workhorse 105mm lens was cracked. The roll of film was at the end. I wondered if any of the pictures would be in focus.

“Mr. Mayer will be here in fifteen minutes if he can get through. He said not to leave the room. He’ll come up for us,” Beth said as she came back into the room and sat on the bed next to me. She dabbed at my face with the towel.

“Sorry about dinner,” I said.

“Fuck dinner. Look at your camera!”

“Cracked the lens. The cop seemed to aim for it. Drove it into my face. I doubt the body is harmed. You could drive nails with this Nikon. Damned expensive lens, though.”

My eyes drifted closed. I knew I was cut above one where the camera had hit me. My jaw hurt. I might have lost a tooth. Or maybe it was just twisted out of place. And my head. My elbow. My ribs. Jesus. How many times did he hit me?

Uncle Nate and another guy arrived in my room and supported me between them as Beth followed along with a change of clothes for me. There were two cars parked at the entrance. I recognized Uncle Nate’s Cadillac, but not the other car or the three guys in suits standing next to the two cars. One opened the back door of the Cadillac and Nate got me in. Beth slid in beside me from the other side. Uncle Nate got in the passenger side and the other guy drove. I’m not sure what happened to the others.

They took me up north to Memorial Hospital. It was far enough away from the action downtown that it hadn’t started receiving the overflow from the massacre yet. Jordan Marsh was at the hospital waiting for us and he was evidently well enough known there that I was taken straight into the emergency room and a doctor started ordering x-rays and getting my face stitched.

Eventually, they put me in a room. Elizabeth kissed me carefully on the right side of my face and said she was going home with her father and would see me in the morning. Uncle Nate said he wasn’t going to bother my parents since I would be okay. He thought maybe I should save the story for them until Christmas or so.

I went to sleep.

We didn’t get back downtown until Monday, Labor Day. Jordan and Nadia were solicitous, but didn’t overdo the care and concern. I mostly stayed out of sight in Elizabeth’s room or on her little patio. I watched a lot of news on the television and found out a little more about what was going on.

Daley came off like a little Mussolini ordering the police to disperse the rioting protesters wherever they appeared in the city. He renewed his order from April that police were to shoot to kill any rioter setting a fire or holding a Molotov cocktail. From what I saw, it was the police who were the rioters. The protest had been peaceful up until the police attacked them.

Hubert Humphrey had been nominated with Edmund Muskie as his VP candidate. Everyone who cared about what was happening in Vietnam was in despair. Police even broke in on McCarthy’s campaign staff in the Hilton and beat them, arresting them for supposedly throwing things out the windows.

Now there were no alternative candidates opposed to the war. Humphrey was Johnson’s little puppet. Nixon had already announced he would keep McNamara on as Secretary of Defense. Nobody was going to vote for the racist Wallace except all of the racist South. And at least one member of the draft board in Huntertown.

I was pretty depressed when I got back to my room and met my roommates. It was a pretty brief meeting. Two of them had come in on Sunday and were headed out to see the sights and see if there were any protests going on. Couple of days late. Nothing was going on downtown now. Street sweepers were trying to clean up any evidence that Chicago was ever anything but a peaceful welcoming city. Run by a fucking dictator and the gestapo.

They looked at my face and wanted to know all about the Battle on Michigan Avenue. It had already acquired the name and capital letters thanks to the live broadcast on network news. The third guy arrived early in the afternoon and took one look at me before closing himself into his room. Elizabeth and I went to Camera Warehouse and Levi shook his head when he saw me. He handed me a new Nikkor 105mm lens and took the cracked one to see if he could repair it. I headed up to the darkroom to see if there was anything usable on the roll of film I’d shot.

The riot in front of the Hilton lasted seventeen minutes, according to newscasters, who said that was thanks to the fast work of police in dispersing the unruly crowd. I had twelve seconds of action as a policeman rained blows down on my head and camera. I’d taken half a dozen photos of what was happening in front of the Hilton before the first blow hit me. When I rolled over to show I was a journalist with a camera and not a protester, I pressed the shutter release and just held it down as the camera fired off thirty exposures, including six with the cracked lens.

I set up to print them in a series, like I’d done with Patricia’s pregnancy photos. These were full frame photos, so I couldn’t get as many on a single sheet as I’d done with the cropped photos of the pregnancy. Nonetheless, I got three across and four down on the 16x20 sheets, so I displayed all the exposures on three sheets.

Levi looked at them and shook his head, then immediately asked for a set. I handed him that set and went up to print another for myself. When I was done, I found Levi had changed his window display. He’d attached my cracked lens to an old Nikon body and set it on a red cloth in the window. Surrounding it were the three panels that showed what a first-hand view of the riot looked like.

I sent a couple of photos over to the Trib, but the riot was old news. They suggested that I include a picture of the victim and that I submit my photos in a more timely fashion because the newspaper had deadlines to meet.

I’d changed the film in the camera and switched to the 50mm, while I was at Beth’s house. I’d taken a couple of timed photos and then Beth took a couple of photos of me, showing the bandages and the black eye. I hadn’t lost any teeth, but they’d been knocked loose and my mouth was swollen. I needed to see a dentist as soon as the holiday was over. I processed the film, even though I hadn’t exposed the whole roll. I printed an 8x10 of my self image and took it to Levi. He immediately put it in the window with the rest of the display. He didn’t put any captions or a display title in the window. Just the images and the broken lens. I thought it was pretty gutsy to identify the store with the images of that night.

Tuesday, we started classes. Elizabeth assured me that she’d be okay walking over to State Street and up a couple of blocks to the DePaul campus. She’d met several other students who would be making the trip and they’d walk together. My classes were right on Michigan Avenue about a block and a half away.

I won’t say a lot about classes. They were as interesting as first day classes could be, but I will mention Mr. Jonas in the photojournalism class. He did some typical introductory things and then asked each of the fifteen of us in the class to introduce ourselves. All I managed to get out was my name.

“What happened to you?” Jonas demanded.

“I got too close to the riots Wednesday night,” I said.

“Did you get pictures?” he asked.

We’d been told to bring a portfolio of work with us to our first day classes, so I opened it up and pulled out the three sequence prints and the afterward print.

“What this shows is that journalists are no longer immune to attack,” Jonas said. “It is something you will all need to learn, hopefully not the hard way, like Nate did. Did you learn anything else, Nate?”

“Develop the prints and get them to the newspaper,” I said. “Then go to the hospital.”

The class sort of laughed at that, but Jonas was off and talking about the role of the photojournalist in today’s society. It would be an interesting class.

The woman who was scheduled for my Thursday shoot when I was still in the hospital had been rescheduled to Saturday the seventh. Molly Pratt would arrive at ten. First, my assistants—all four of them—had to fuss over me. I hadn’t seen Leora, Theresa, or Cassie since the incident and they were all very concerned for my health and that I had an adequate number of boobs to soothe me. Elizabeth assured them that her two boobs had barely been enough, but that she was sure I would heal faster through the application of others.

They were applied, but with my mouth still sore, the enjoyment was limited. I did spend a moment to truly savor Cassie’s dark nipple, though. She seemed pleased that I liked it. But everyone had to get themselves respectable before Molly arrived.

Cassie checked her in downstairs and brought her up to the studio. When she saw me, she stopped short and stared, then rushed to me.

“Are you okay? They told me you were sick on Thursday. They didn’t say you were in an accident! Do you need more time? We don’t have to do this today. My schedule is flexible. We can wait another week,” she said, pretty much all in one breath. I didn’t know who she was but I’d seldom met someone more effusive in her concern for my well-being.

“I assure you, I’m mostly fine,” I said. “I’ve had a week of rest and really need to do some work. I’m glad you were able to come in today.”

That was only a little lie. The week had not been particularly restful as I was plunged into my daily schedule of classes. My schedule was pretty much like high school with classes from eight in the morning until five in the evening. The only big difference was that I didn’t have every class every day. Photo Lab met three times a week for an hour at 11:00. I’d already learned something about different papers in that class. It would be good. My lighting class met for two hours in the afternoon on Tuesday and Thursday. So far, we were in rudiments of the theory of light. Since this was a theatre tech class, I expected a lot of it would be relative to lighting the stage.

Three of my classes met five days a week: English composition, which they called Writing and Rhetoric, at 8:00 in the morning; Photojournalism at 10:00; and World History at 4:00. My day was bracketed by two core classes, so I never had an early out.

“Well, if you need a rest or anything during the day, you just let me know,” Molly continued. “We can take a break whenever you need to.”

That was usually part of my speech, but I got Molly settled with me at the table and we talked about what she was after.

“I’m a senior theatre student at DePaul,” she said. “It’s time to prepare my resume and photo portfolio. I know an actress who came to you and she said to ... um ... literally ... put myself in your hands. Um ... Wow! I said it. I don’t need costume shots from my shows like Farrah did—those were just hilarious—but I need some good glamour shots that I can use in different situations, depending on what role I’m up for.”

“Okay, Molly. Let’s start with a couple good portraits so we get used to working together. Then we’ll start putting together scenes for your Attic Allure poses,” I said. It was definitely going to be a long day. I was glad I had all four girls to back me up and help with scenery and props. I was moving around fairly well, but my cracked rib still reminded me it was there whenever I moved wrong or took a deep breath.

Fortunately, Molly was easy to work with. She was about five-five and trim. She had nice full breasts that were well-displayed in the structured bra and blue sweater dress she wore for her portrait. Her mahogany hair hung to her shoulders and had a slight curl to it.

I positioned her in front of the red backdrop and had Cassie look through the lens when I’d put a red filter on it. Got the name right that time. It dropped the tone of Molly’s dress down a few notches, but brightened the backdrop a bit. It did great things for the highlights in her hair.

“Molly, I’d like to get a couple of pictures with your hair up. Beth, can you give Molly a hand with her hair?” Beth and Leora both rushed to help put Molly’s hair up in a loose bun with a few strands hanging down.

“What’s this do?” Molly asked.

I approached her and ran a finger down her cheek from her ear to her shoulder. She squeaked just a little.

“I need to have one nice picture that shows this beautiful neck of yours. So elegant. It just makes me want to nibble on it.”

“Oh. Okay,” she whined. I didn’t nibble on her neck. I went back to the camera and she sat up straighter and even more elegantly than before. It was good.

“Now let me see what we have for your seduction scene,” I said.

“Do you want me to undress?” she asked.

“Not yet. I want to pick a costume and set, then I’ll help you,” I said. She caught her breath, but just nodded. “Theresa, I’ll want the light blue drop for this. Leora, I saw a kind of Spanish looking dance dress back there. Would you try to find it and see if we can fit it to Molly? Beth and Cassie, we need something that will give us just a hint of Spain and dancing. I think a guitar and a fan. Something to lean the guitar against, I don’t think we want her to hold it. I’m going to use pools of light, and I’d like something that she can interact with. I suppose we could use a chair or a stool, but it would be nice to have something a little more interesting.”

“That painted pillar we got in from the restaurant that went out of business,” Cassie said to Beth. “I never could understand what they used that for.”

“Good idea,” Beth said. “Get that and I’ll go find a guitar and a fan.”

I headed back to the stage area where Molly was watching Theresa pull out the drop.

“Change of plan, Theresa. Sorry. I’ll be using the black backdrop for this set instead. I’ll need four spotlights from the corners of the performance area, set high up and pointed down.”

“No problem, boss,” Theresa said. Leora brought the dress and it was just what I was hoping for.

“I might need your help in a few minutes to make sure the hair and makeup are right,” I said to her. “Right now, though, Theresa needs your help holding the ladder. We don’t want anyone falling off or tipping over.”

“God, yes. I still won’t get on the ladder, but I’ll hold it for the monkey,” Leora laughed. I took Molly behind the privacy screen.

“Let’s get your dress changed, shall we, dear?” I said. I didn’t wait for her acknowledgment, but went straight to work on unbuttoning the front of the soft sweater dress. She just stood patiently and stepped out of it when I was ready. She stood in her pantyhose and bra. “Do you have high heels with you?”

“Yes. They’re in my case.”

“I’ll have Leora help you into them when we get your dress on. The pantyhose are good because they will look nude all the way to your waist. I’m sure we’ll get this dress to flip up far enough to see your leg.”

I guided her as she stepped into the dress and I pulled it up to her waist.

“This dress is very off the shoulder,” I said. “The sleeves only attach under the arms. We’ll need to remove this before we put your arms in.”

I popped the catch on her bra and swept it off her arms and boobs in a single move. Then I pulled the dress up and held it at her chest with my hands cupping her breasts.

“Go ahead and put your arms in the sleeves and I’ll hold it until we can secure it behind your back. This is very nice.”

“Yes, it is very nice,” she said pulling a sleeve up one arm. “Not many boys have actually done that. I never considered it to be a normal part of dressing. I’ll have to rethink that.”

She got the other sleeve up and I zipped the dress up. It came to about mid-back. I stepped around in front of her and tugged the dress and sleeves up to where they seemed to fit. She had very nice breasts, and this dress showed a depth of cleavage. It left her shoulders bare. I pulled the stool over for her to sit on.

“Leora, we need help with your shoes and makeup. Beth, we need a flower for her hair.”

I stepped out from behind the privacy screen and the girls moved around to do what was needed. Cassie was setting the pillar in place and leaned the guitar against it. I checked the pillar and it was basically just a big cardboard tube that maybe carpet had been rolled on. It had been decorated in a garish blue and yellow pattern that might have been intended to represent tile. There was a wide base plinth and a sizable cap on top. If the food in the restaurant was as carefully prepared as this pillar, it was no wonder they went out of business. It seemed pretty stable, but I wouldn’t have Molly lean against it.

Theresa turned on the lights and I had Cassie stand where I wanted the main action to occur while Theresa and I adjusted the lights.

“Ready when you are, Molly,” I called as soon as I had the camera loaded.

She was a vision. Beth and Leora got just the right touch with the flower, hair, and makeup. Molly carried the fan and twirled around once, causing the skirt to flare out wide.

“We’ll start with some simple poses, and then I want to try a couple of action shots.” I started posing Molly where I wanted her. I had to adjust a couple of lights and then started taking pictures. I moved her around like a doll. I had her hold the fan overhead and pulled the hem of her skirt up to her hand to expose her leg. Those high heels really did wonders to the shape of her legs. I was pleased.