Raising Fences by Michael Datcher

Author:Michael Datcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: e9781682301180
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2015-10-06T00:00:00+00:00

Berkeley was intellectually intoxicating. At Telegraph and Bancroft, the mouth of campus, there was usually someone passionate stating her position on world events. Students, university employees, and Berkeley locals provided a constant audience.

One afternoon, I crossed Bancroft into a thirtyish white guy’s harangue about how drugs were bringing down the U.S.A. People were sitting on the steps of the student union, while others were crowding around. The street lecturer was talking loud and accentuating points with an index finger raised high above his head.

“Peee-pole are looking for ways not to deal with their livesss. They’re running away from their prob-lemmss, even when they know they can’t escape from themselvesss. Peee-pole who do drugs are scared of life. They’re cowardsss.”

A guy lounging on the steps with about ten other people shouted out a question: “You ever consider that maybe some peee-pole just like the feeling of being highhh?”

The audience laughed and cosigned with yeahs.

“Yes, I have considered that possibility. But why must you take some chemically engineered druugg to make you hap-pyy? That’s the very problem I’m speaking of…”

“Marijuana is not chemically engineered, it’s 100-percent all-natural, wholesome, organic,” someone else shouted from the steps.

“It comes up right out of the earth like potatoes and celery and onions, and weed doesn’t even make your breath stink.”

Laughter.

“Poison ivy comes out of the earth and it’s 100-percent natural, toooo. I don’t see pee-pole trying to roll that up in those funny little papersss.”

More laughter.

That kind of topic exchange was happening all over campus. On the Supreme Court–type steps leading up to Sproul Hall; in the square courtyard of Dwinelle; at the main entrance to Moffit Library.

As I made my way around campus, I was constantly stopping to listen in. I had never been in a place where so many people were excited about ideas. It seemed they had been discussing these subjects all their lives. Everyone was so smart.

Although I’d always been a good student, I walked around Cal in my letterman’s jacket feeling like a dumb jock. All the Summer Bridge talk about black students choking under Berkeley’s rigorous academic program had me intimidated. I was feeling ill-prepared. Inadequate. I wanted these white students to know I was as smart as they were, even though I didn’t believe it myself.

I went to the optometrist just off campus and bought a pair of black-rimmed, circular glasses. I thought that maybe if I looked smarter, people wouldn’t challenge me as much. Find out that I got into Cal through affirmative action. That my high GPA couldn’t keep the SAT from drop-kicking me. I had to get on these people’s level before I was discovered.

I started fixing myself. Enunciating my words the way Moms would make me do when I spoke in her presence. I started to ask myself what I believed about abortion, the Democratic party, Ronald Reagan, and a host of other issues. Berkeley was forcing me to turn up my mind.

I poured myself into my studies, in and out of class. The teach-in never went out of style.

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