American History Tellers - The 1968 Chicago Protests - The Battle of Michigan Avenue | 1

Episode Date: January 23, 2019

A special series with our sibling show Legal Wars. The 1968 Democratic National Convention attracted demonstrators from all over the country. Thousands of students, Yippies, Peaceniks, and other protestors converged in Chicago to push for an end to the Vietnam War. But the city’s police had other plans and the would-be peaceful protests erupted into violence. News programs broadcast the clashes live to a nation of stunned viewers at home. Investigators called it a “police riot,” but five months later, the newly elected President Nixon found someone else to blame.Check out Legal Wars for more stories behind America’s most famous courtroom battles.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. On this show, we look at the events, the times, and the people that shape our country. Wondery's podcast, Legal Wars, explores the stories behind America's most famous courtroom battles. The fight for free speech on the internet, the Rodney King trial that set off the LA riots. In this special series, we're bringing our two podcasts together to investigate the 1968 Democratic National Convention

and the legendary courtroom clash that followed, the Trial of the Chicago Eight. Joining me to tell this story is the host of Legal Wars, Hill Harper. Hey, Lindsay. Great to be here. And I'm very excited to share this story with your listeners. The Trial of the Chicago Eight goes back further into history than we've ever gone before on legal wars, to 1968. It was a time of immense change, activism, and turmoil. Both the American History Teller series on the Civil Rights Movement and the history of political parties covered this period. But it was in Chicago, August 1968, that race, politics, and protest collided violently. For five days and nights,

thousands of protesters were gassed and beaten by police. Hundreds were injured, and it was all broadcast live on national television. In the aftermath, a federal grand jury convened to investigate possible criminal charges. They concluded their six-month inquiry by charging eight police officers with civil rights violations. And eight protest organizers with conspiracy to incite a riot. The ensuing trial lasted for months and was a circus from the very first day. The defendants used the courtroom to amplify their protests.

It was so unruly, the presiding judge ordered one defendant gagged and strapped to his chair. Testimony was heard from counterculture heroes like Arlo Guthrie, Norman Mailer, Allen Ginsberg, and Timothy Leary. And the trial became a public referendum on Nixon, the Vietnam War, and racial oppression. But it wasn't clear that justice was being properly served. So for these episodes, Hill and I will be telling this story together. He'll bring you the protests and the courtroom drama, and I'll step in with the history. This is Episode 1. The whole world is watching.

Wednesday, August 28th, 1968. Rennie Davis can't believe he's sweating already. It's barely noon, way more humid than yesterday. He weaves his way through the crowd gathered in Grant Park, Chicago's front lawn. There's got to be well over 10,000 people here, maybe even 15,000. He was actually hoping for more, but, well, good enough. The people are ready to hear him, and Rennie's a great talker. He's wholesome, handsome, American as apple pie, resembles Clark Kent, glasses and all. The number one organizer for the National Mobilization Committee to end the war in Vietnam.

Nobody calls it that, though. They call it MOAB. And this is MOAB's anti-war rally. Rennie spots a friend. He's pleased to see he has a working radio. Rennie, cops everywhere, man. We're totally surrounded. What's the plan? I talked it over with Hayden and Dellinger. If we have to march to the amphitheater, we'll march to the amphitheater.

Let me see the radio. Rennie tunes the FM dial to local news. There's a slight echo on the reporter. Many radios in the crowd are tuned to the same broadcast. For those of you just joining us, breaking news from the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Delegates have defeated the proposed Vietnam War peace plank. The DNC is happening just down the road from this rally. Rennie had been hoping they'd keep the plank in the platform, commit to ending the war.

But no, he can feel anger move through the crowd. A shirtless teenage guy climbs a nearby flagpole to snatch down the stars and stripes. Police yank him off, wrestle him to the ground, cuff him. They drag him away, his jeans smeared with grass stains, his face streaked with mud. Rennie watches as the crowd responds. They take aim at the cops, hurling tomatoes, lunch bags, eggs, clumps of dirt. Rennie knows he must act.

He rushes to the band shell mic, watches as a wave of blue uniforms close in on the crowd like an angry sea. He needs to get control. You're throwing things at our own people. Move back. Hey, yeah, you, you, you and you. Make sure you keep our guys away from those cops. I don't want any.

But it's too late. The battle of Michigan Avenue has begun. The blue wave approaches the band shell. Before Rennie can run, the cops are on top of it. Kill Davis. Kill Davis! A cop's club finds the back of Davis' head. He falls to his knees. He's crawling, scratching. The police rush him, sticks in hand.

Don't let him get over the fence! With his last ounce of strength, Rennie climbs and throws himself over. Jesus! Rennie climbs and throws himself over. Jesus. He catches his breath. He's wearing a red tie, but it's weird. It wasn't red when he bought it. And this is how Rennie Davis discovers that he is soaked in his own blood. He decides now would be a good time to lie down.

A guy approaches, asks if he's all right. Rennie murmurs back unintelligible. What? What did you say? Rennie hears the screams, the shouts, the chants, the chaos. He knows local and national news cameras are capturing all of it. He didn't want it to go down like this, but maybe it's important people see that they see what happens when protesters gather in peace to protest their government. Through the pain, Rennie manages a smile. I said, the whole world is watching. Yeah. rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the

most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Toward the end of the 1960s, history began to hurtle forward at a breakneck speed, so fast that for many Americans, it was hard to keep track of the rapidly changing events. There were assassinations, riots, political scandals, serial killers. The Civil Rights Movement made substantial progress, and culture and the arts pushed new boundaries. But to a lot of people, culture didn't feel like a celebration.

It felt like a war. And of course, there was an actual war in Vietnam that haunted and terrified the nation. It acted as a flashpoint of controversy that would leave a profound legacy. The French first colonized Vietnam in 1887, drawn by its lush hills and strategic location. They held a firm grip on the region for more than half a century. But in 1954, revolutionary leader Ho Chi Minh, fighting a guerrilla war against the French in the north of the country, handed them a defeat at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, which changed the balance of power in the region. A peace conference was convened in Geneva, Switzerland, and the resulting Geneva Accords stipulated that Vietnam was to be

temporarily split in half, the Communist North led by Ho Chi Minh and the anti-Communist South. The provisional division of Vietnam, however, was to last far longer than intended. A year later, in 1955, the American military got involved to counter a growing communist military in the North. President Eisenhower feared the global rise of communism and backed the government of South Vietnam with arms and military training. In 1962, President Kennedy escalated that involvement by committing 9,000 troops to the cause. After Kennedy's assassination, it became Lyndon Johnson's responsibility to dictate American policy in Vietnam,

and privately, he was ambivalent. With military coups and assassinations in South Vietnam, Johnson felt the U.S. was slowly sinking into a dangerous quagmire. He felt he couldn't withdraw, but was reluctant to send more American soldiers. Then on August 2, 1964, things appeared to change overnight. Sailing through the Gulf of Tonkin, the USS Maddox confronted North Vietnamese torpedo boats, and shots were exchanged. Four North Vietnamese sailors died. Days later, the Maddox fired upon the North Vietnamese again. These back-to-back events,

known as the Gulf of Tonkin incident, are highly controversial. At the time, U.S. leaders were aware of the doubts and gaps in military intelligence. Questions arose. Did U.S. raids provoke the attack? Were the North Vietnamese boats that prompted the second battle really even there? Or did U.S. forces respond to false radar images? Officials struggled with conflicting reports, but in August 1964, there were also highly charged political concerns, including the upcoming election to consider. And so the story the White House told Congress and the public was cut and dry. Foreign aggression towards the U.S. Navy demanded a forceful response. And on August 10th,

the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution was passed. It authorized conventional use of troops in Southeast Asia, setting the stage for a vast increase in U.S. forces overseas. By June of 1965, 82,000 American soldiers were fighting in Vietnam. At first, a majority of Americans supported the war, but the enthusiasm was short-lived. When Johnson increased the monthly draft number to 35,000, protests flared across the country. Amid the protests, thousands of young men continued to leave for the war. In 1967, there were 500,000 U.S. troops in Vietnam. The escalation also corresponded to a growing anti-war movement, comprised mainly of college-age Americans. The movement spread as the Johnson administration's control over information from Vietnam slipped,

and a barrage of unvarnished reports showed a picture of a war spinning out of control. In January 1968, U.S. forces were devastated by a series of surprise attacks known as the Tet Offensive. The month after that, 543 American soldiers died in a single week, the highest weekly casualty count since the war began. Then, in an example of violence that shocked the nation, 400 Vietnamese civilians were murdered by American soldiers in the My Lai Massacre. As the Democratic Convention of 1968 neared, most Americans agreed that the Vietnam War was a catastrophe. But it was unclear what should happen next.

Johnson reportedly told the press secretary, I feel like a hitchhiker caught in a hailstorm on a Texas highway. I can't run, I can't hide, and I can't make it stop. Meanwhile, Ohio Congressman John Gilligan proposed that the Democrats include a call for an unconditional end to all bombing in North Vietnam as part of their platform policy. He called it the Peace Plank. Anti-war leaders organized to make a definitive statement of protests outside the convention, rallying around Gilligan's Peace Plank proposal.

To them, the war, the lies, the body count were all too much. A confrontation was coming, and it would take place in Chicago. Tom Hayden is looking for Rennie. They'd spent the morning at Moab HQ, helping to plan the day's rally. Then the day turned into the Battle of Michigan Avenue, and now Rennie's nowhere to be found. Hayden's a 28-year-old strategic genius who gets to the point fast and has no problem telling others what to do. He's an activist. He helped found SDS, Students for a Democratic Society, and has spent months

coordinating activities for the MOAB in Chicago. He's a thinker. He drafted the famous Port Huron statement, which articulated the goals of the new left. And he's a fighter. One time, a white mob beat him up while he did civil rights work in Mississippi. He thought he was prepared for Grant Park today. And I've never seen anything this vicious. Those cops are after women holding babies. They got billy clubs for Christ's sake. And he can tell when things are getting worse. Desperate, squinting against the stinging clouds of tear gas, Tom runs and rapidly overturns park benches as he goes, piling them up to slow the advance of the cops. Tom, Tom, get over here. Here. I think it's Rennie! Tom sees a Moe medic calling him over.

He leaves the benches and sprints over to his friend, who's in bad shape. Rennie's head is split open. He's a bloody mess. I found him like this. We got an ambulance on the way. Rennie! Rennie, it's Tom. Did you hear that? We got an ambulance coming. Ambulance? Nice. They were... they were actually trying to kill me. Yeah, they're coming for all of us today. They're not even trying to hide it. That's your ride, Rennie. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can.

Tom helps bandage Rennie's head, then gets him loaded on a stretcher and lifted into the back of an ambulance. As the ambulance disappears into the distance, Tom reflects on the past eight months of 1968. It was an election year, and a challenging year. Tom felt it had been the most trying period for America since the end of World War II. Few liked how President Johnson was handling Vietnam. The war was increasingly brutal, the political divisions grew more entrenched, and more and more troops were coming home in caskets. Criticism was especially sharp from

the Democrats, Johnson's own party. So earlier that year, Johnson made a decision that surprised many. He announced it in a televised address on March 31, 1968. Accordingly, I shall not seek and I will not accept the nomination of my party for another term as your president. Less than a week after that, Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Tom Hayden remembers a conversation he'd had with King in 1960. The leader looked at him and said gently, ultimately, you have to take a stand with your life. Almost two months to the day after King's death, Robert Kennedy was gunned down in Los Angeles at a campaign event. He had announced his candidacy in the race to become the

Democratic pick for president, challenging Johnson only weeks before Johnson's surprise announcement. Angeles at a campaign event. He had announced his candidacy in the race to become the Democratic pick for president, challenging Johnson only weeks before Johnson's surprise announcement. Tom considered Bobby Kennedy a personal friend and the most promising politician in America. He was, Tom thought, perhaps the only man who could guide the country back to the optimism of the early 60s. Now he was gone, and the presidential race was radically changed. Following the tragedy of Robert Kennedy's assassination, the battle for the Democratic presidential nomination became a two-man race, Eugene McCarthy versus Hubert Humphrey. McCarthy was a senator from Minnesota and faced an uphill battle.

He lacked Humphrey's White House experience. He also lacked Kennedy's charisma and well-regarded family name. Yet he was able to win over the youth of America. Just when many young people were giving up on mainstream politics, McCarthy openly took an anti-war position and sparked renewed enthusiasm. Student activists volunteered for him in high numbers. Many even trimmed their long hair and beards to look more respectable on his behalf, inspiring the campaign slogan, Clean for Gene. McCarthy soon established himself as a serious candidate, securing primary wins in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Oregon. But he faced a formidable opponent in Hubert Humphrey,

the sitting vice president of the United States. Humphrey aimed for the mainstream, arguing that he represented a mature and sensible approach to the future. It was a stance that alienated young activists, who demanded immediate and tangible de-escalation in Vietnam. But Humphrey's more moderate approach appealed to many of the more conservative voters, and he was seen by many as a stand-in for Lyndon Johnson. Though he had entered the race too late to participate in the primaries and win any of their delegates at the convention, Humphrey inherited delegates pledged to Lyndon Johnson, and perhaps more importantly, captured the support of party bosses and labor unions. McCarthy had the backing of young progressives,

but whoever won would face a Republican nominee with momentum and unified backing from his party, Richard Nixon. Nixon, former vice president to Eisenhower, was taking his second run at the presidency. In 1960, he'd lost to the younger and more camera-ready John F. Kennedy. But in 1968, Nixon felt his time had truly arrived. He cruised to his party's nomination, never losing his status as the frontrunner. The Democrats agonized over questions of leadership up to and during their convention in August. But Nixon, in contrast, had his party's nomination all but wrapped up by the

end of June, defeating George Romney, Nelson Rockefeller, and Ronald Reagan. Nixon kept discussion of his policies centered on domestic concerns. He vowed to bring law and order to America and end social welfare programs. He declared that his support came from those who didn't buy into the counterculture and anti-war theatrics. He called them the silent majority. When questioned on Vietnam, he kept his answers vague, suggesting he'd find a way to end the war, but offering few specifics on how to do it. When Nixon won the nomination, he sought to strike an optimistic chord with his acceptance speech.

When addressing the nation, he said, And so tonight, I do not promise the millennium in the morning. I don't promise that we can eradicate poverty and end discrimination and eliminate all danger of war in the space of four or even eight years. But I do promise action, a new policy for peace abroad, a new policy for peace and progress and justice at home. Nixon offered himself as a unifier for a troubled country, promising that the long, dark night for America is about to end. But he also brought with him a tough, combative style and a vengeful instinct that would define his presidency. For now, though, Tom Hayden and his activist friends are focused on the fight for the Democratic nominee. Though Humphrey is gaining steam, Tom isn't a supporter. Humphrey is, after all, Johnson's vice president. That makes him the

establishment. Vietnam is the defining issue, and the establishment is responsible. It's time, Tom thinks, to hold someone responsible. It's time, Tom thinks, to hold someone responsible. In the park today, the establishment crossed a line. Hours later, Tom addresses his fellow demonstrators. Rennie has been taken to the hospital, and we have to avenge him. This city and the military machine it aims at us won't allow us to protest in an organized fashion, so we must move out of this park in groups throughout the city and turn this overheated military machine against itself. Let us make sure that if our blood flows, it flows all over the city, and they gas us. They gas themselves as well. See you in the streets. See you in the streets. That last line reminds Tom of something he read on a Yippie

poster. Yippie stands for Youth International Party. The decision to come to Chicago had been made three months earlier in New York City. Picture the scene in New York's Lower East Side. Even at this late hour, the traffic is thick on Grand Street. In a dingy flat thick with pot smoke, no furniture except for a mothy easy chair and a flea-bitten couch. The idealistic young activists don't care. Hey, man, I think it's kicked. You got any more?

On this night, they're planning a trip, and not the acid kind, though they often do that too. Abby Hoffman is sitting on the floor. At 31 years old, he's already a household name around the country. His long curly mane bounces back and forth like a jester's cap when he talks. He's the kind of guy that thinks three quips ahead and always seems to be smiling even when he isn't. Counterculture kids the world over approve. Their parents mostly don't. Still clear-headed, even after a drag off the nearest joint, Abbey lays out the agenda. The way I see it, man, we got to go to Chicago. That's wherever it's at. The Democrats are doing their national convention there in August.

They don't care how long the war goes. Their convention is just going to be a convention of death. So we should have our own convention, right, Jer? Jer is Jerry Rubin. He co-founded the Yippies with Abby. He's a bit of a household name, too. Dropped out of Cal, later made a bid for mayor of Berkeley, lost, but got over 20% of the vote. Like Abby, Jerry's got a gift for attracting media attention by offering up surreal, weird, and wacky theatrics that the cameras can't resist. For example, that time he, Abby, and 13 pals dumped $301 bills on the heads of the traders of the New York Stock Exchange, making international headlines. Men in three-piece suits knocked each other over, diving to recover the money as the bills fluttered all over like something out of a game show. That was fun,

but Jerry knows it was just practice. Now it's time for the yippies to use their trademark absurdity to take on Vietnam. But that's it, Abby. We won't call it a convention. We'll call it a festival. A festival of life. We'll get a bunch of permits, take over a park, demonstrations all over the place, workshops, exhibits, concerts, speeches. Thousands of kids will show up. We're the Youth International Party. We should even have our own candidate. Those convention hall squares, they nominate a president and he eats people, right? Yeah, yeah. More kids to Vietnam. Gobble, gobble, right? So I say we nominate a president and let the people eat him. It'll be our pig versus their pig. You want to buy a pig?

I want to buy a pig. You want to buy a pig? I want to buy a pig. The Yippies are outrageous, but they're also focused, and over the next few months, they solidify their plans to protest the DNC with a pig. Day and night, they organize. They print leaflets, posters, and buttons in the tens of thousands. The Yippies promise music, light, theater, magic, hopscotch, hookah, dolphins, leprechauns, the politics of ecstasy and more. One poster sums it all up. This will be the first coming together

of all people involved in the youth revolution. It should be a beautiful week. This is the first day in the rest of your life. And then the fateful words. See you in Chicago. Yippee. The call has gone out to the world. The 60s protest movement has never gone this big before. Tactics designed to reach an unprecedented generation of enthusiastic radicals.

And they're going to need all the help they can get, because waiting in Chicago is a formidable adversary. Mayor Richard J. Daley. We respect the constitutional rights and the human rights of everyone, but no one will take the law in their own hand or be law and order in Chicago as long as I'm married. Daly's background is working class Irish, and he's no nonsense. He's not a small man, and he's physically intimidating when he needs to be. He has zero tolerance for disorder of any kind, for any reason. He's made that much clear this year. In response to black unrest in the city following the assassination of Dr. King, Daley gave his cops free reign. Shoot to kill any arsonists or anyone with a

Molotov cocktail in their hand in Chicago. Daley may be a Democrat, but he's far from progressive. And the last thing he's going to allow on his watch is for protesters to interfere with his party's national convention. During a staff meeting in July of 1968, with a month to go until the start of the convention, Daley sits at the head of the conference table, flanked by his staff. An aide brings him up to date on the latest. Next, Mayor Daley, we have a permit request from the National Mobilization Committee to end the war in Vietnam. They want to organize a march the week of the convention. A march? Absolutely not. What else?

The Youth International Party would like a permit allowing them to spend the night in city parks. Now, Daley can't stop these people from arriving, but he doesn't have to help them one bit. He declines almost every demonstration permit application, and he's ready to go further if he has to. Permit be damned. Abby Hoffman touches down in the Windy City not long after, in early August 1968, three weeks until the start of the convention. He walks off the plane in his T-shirt and cowboy boots with 37 bucks in his pocket and little else but a change of clothes. He hops in a cab and directs the driver to take him downtown, to Dearborn Street. This is Moab's headquarters, a boxy, gray office space where the phones ring constantly and there aren't enough wastebaskets.

Balled-up papers of various shapes and sizes litter the floor. The National Mobilization Committee to End the War in Vietnam is the country's foremost coalition of anti-war activists. They're working with the wild but effective yippies. Abby's going to help Dave Dellinger with some pre-convention

community organizing. As he waits for Abby to arrive, Dave goes over plans for a soon-to-be-printed flyer. Let's start our notes to the officers with this. Our argument in Chicago is not with you. We have come to confront the rich men of power who led America into a war she voted against.

The men who have brought our country to the point where the police can no longer serve and protect the people, only themselves. Dave Dellinger is a career pacifist, conscientious objector, and one of Moab's leaders, alongside Rennie Davis. He refused to fight in World War II and did time in jail for it. But he didn't care. He'd been an ambulance driver in the Spanish Civil War and seen enough senseless loss of life to keep him from picking up another gun under any circumstances ever again. Fun fact about Dave, one of his great-uncles was Benjamin Franklin. Compared to someone like Abbie Hoffman, Dave is not your typical radical. He's 52 for one thing and buttoned up for another. One journalist described him as looking like an off-duty scoutmaster. And he's a parent, though not your stereotypical conservative 1960s dad. No, not at all. He's always encouraged his kids to stand up for what's right and to do it publicly. It's never been a problem until now,

but before Abby arrives, Dave needs to make an extremely urgent call to his 22-year-old son, Ray. Hello? Ray, it's Dad. So I talked to your mother about your offer. I appreciate it, but it's not a good idea. Why not? Well, for one, it's not safe. We applied for permits to hold marches and rallies. The yippies want to set up camp in Lincoln Park. Chicago's denying the permits or just not giving us any answer at all. They're stalling. They want to be able to say we demonstrated without the necessary permits. So they have the excuse to crack down when we do show up.

Things could get violent. I don't want you there. And who's going to protect you when that happens? I can take care of myself. Dad, you're about to turn 54. After Dave hangs up, he reflects. If Ray wants to demonstrate against the war in accordance with his own beliefs, that's his call. Scared father or no, there's no way Dave can take this opportunity from his son. And he'll hardly be alone. Ray Dellinger is just one of many young people bound for Chicago the week of the convention. In the coming days, thousands begin to gather.

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As the convention approaches, they're in the streets. In Lincoln Park, they're on national TV. People start to pay attention. Hippies, yippies, students, teachers, druggies, draft dodgers, pacifists, housewives, rock stars, and the just plain curious. Hear from all over the country to demand social reform at home and peace abroad. Mayor Daley is paying attention too. He cancels all days off for his police department. Institutes a mandatory 12-hour shift for every officer. He calls in 15,000 Illinois National Guard troops.

They're on combat alert. Daly makes sure the police superintendent knows what to do. Jim, I want a 10 p.m. curfew strictly enforced, especially in the parks. Got it? It's now August 23, 1968, three days until the convention begins on the city's south side in the International Amphitheater on Halstead Street. Five miles away, at the Chicago Civic Center, the Yippies unveil their candidate. The Youth International Party's presidential hopeful has been christened Pigasus. Abby Hoffman bought him a few days ago from a dumbfounded Illinois farmer.

Pigasus arrives at the rally in a station wagon under the care of seven yippies. Honestly, Jerry Rubin is a little annoyed by Pigasus. He doesn't think he looks mean enough and tells Abby so. He looks so wimpy. But Jerry is a team player. It's fine. If they can't have Pegasus in the White House, they can have him for breakfast. I, Pegasus, hereby announce my candidacy for the presidency of the United States of America. Jerry is reading the pig's acceptance speech when the cops arrive to apprehend the swine. Jerry Rubin is also arrested, the first of several that day. That night, the cops catch Pigasus' wife, Piggy Wiggy,

after the Yippies let her loose in Licken Park. She's reunited with her husband at a local shelter. Protesters gather outside crying, Free the pigs! Free the pigs! Eventually, the animals go back to their farm. The pigus's farce is the quintessential

yippie stunt. Pure political theater. A good laugh. But no one's laughing on Monday, August 26th, day one of the DNC. Tom Hayden gets as close to the convention

as the roadblocks will allow. He watches National Guardsmen load up their M1 rifles, gas canisters, and shotguns. Rennie Davis observes that 2,000 feet of barbed wire surround the International Amphitheater. Back in Lincoln Park, about a thousand demonstrators, mostly in their early 20s, nervously wonder if they'll be able to sleep in peace that night. On August 26, 1968, the Democratic National Convention began. The summer heat was intense and exacerbated tensions inside and outside of the International Amphitheater. Outside, anti-war demonstrators fought cops. Inside, Democratic politicians

fought each other. There were competing slates of delegates from Texas, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and North Carolina, and they clashed over which group would be allowed to officially represent their state. It got physical. There were punches, kicks, and some delegates were forcibly removed from the building. Those in the International Amphitheater were well aware that there were thousands of demonstrators gathered outside. Some took notice of the violence. On the convention floor, Senator Abraham Ribicoff of Connecticut announced his support of McGovern

and criticized the Chicago police for its Gestapo tactics right in front of the host delegation from Illinois. Richard Daley, the mayor of the city and in the Illinois delegation, was incensed, shouting from the floor, cursing at Rybikov with an anti-Semitic insult that, while not picked up by the microphones televising the speech, was still clear to anyone watching. Adding to the tension was the uncertainty about who the party's nominee for president would be. The two-man race of Humphrey and McCarthy had been shaking up just two weeks before when South Dakota Senator George McGovern entered the contest.

McGovern was openly opposed to the war and saw himself as the candidate who came closest to capturing the spirit of the late Robert Kennedy. Delegates at the convention still had yet to choose from now three candidates. But it wasn't just the candidates that many anti-war activists had their eyes on. They were also watching the proposal to the Democratic platform, the Peace Plank, authored by Ohio Democrat John Gilligan. The plank called for an end to bombing in North Vietnam and for serious steps to be taken toward ending the conflict altogether. The Democrats were set to vote on it at the convention, and if supported by a majority of delegates, the plank's strong anti-war message would become an official part

of the Democratic platform heading into November's presidential election. The debates were tense. While state delegates were fighting about representation, some media got caught in the middle. Reporting for CBS, a 36-year-old Dan Rather took a punch to the gut on live TV. I'm sorry to be out of breath, but somebody belted me in the stomach doing that. What happened as a Georgia delegate? It was mayhem inside the convention, and yet still unclear which way the votes would go. That evening, 2,000 protesters violate Mayor Daley's curfew and refuse to leave Lincoln Park, the largest public park in Chicago. The police arrive and set off the first battle. They beat and arrest demonstrators until dawn. The next day, Black Panther co-founder Bobby Seale arrives from Oakland to make a speech filling in for fellow Panther Eldridge Cleaver, who dropped out last minute.

That whenever the people disagree with the political decisions that's been made upon their heads, that whenever the people disagree with those political decisions, the racist power structure sends in guns and force to see that the people accept those political decisions. But we are here as revolutionaries to let them know that we refuse to accept those political decisions that maintain the oppression of our black people and other people in the world. The fiercely eloquent seal is leather-clad and laser-focused. He isn't interested in protesting the Democrats, and he doesn't give a damn about Pegasus. But he and many other Panthers think it's a good idea to encourage young white people to rebel, to fulfill their potential as true revolutionaries. Maybe then they can be allies and aid in the black struggle against oppression. True convergence is occurring in Chicago

as political, racial and social radicals intersect and clash with the authorities for the right to influence America's future. The day after that, Battle of Michigan Avenue. Rennie Davis barely escapes with his life after getting helped into the ambulance by Tom Hayden. Twice the cops come for Dave Dellinger's head with nightsticks and twice Ray Dellinger pulls his dad out of harm's way in the nick of time.

Meanwhile, Jerry Rubin, wearing a plastic bandolier and love beads, is chased through the park by the cops. He manages to lose them and takes his aggression out on an empty squad car, throwing paint on it. Unbelievably, Abby Hoffman misses the battle. He's stuck in court, arrested hours before after getting caught sitting in a cafe with the word f*** written on his forehead. Yes, that was illegal. In court, Abby's so furious to be sidelined from the streets,

he rips up his arrest papers in front of the judge. Bobby Seale misses the mayhem too. He's already on a plane back to Oakland. All day, Mayor Daley gets continuous updates from convention police headquarters centered at the amphitheater. The command center contains electronic maps overseeing the entire city, radio and video links to various security units, and hotlines to the Pentagon and White House. Daley paces in rage, his hatred for the protesters and media boiling over. Now they're saying I called Abraham

Rybakov a Jew mother****er on the convention floor. Faker. I called him a faker. The demonstrators were right. The whole world was watching because there were cameras everywhere in that park. The events of the 28th broadcast the violence into suburban homes and the nation's families sitting down before the evening news are shocked to their cores. Now they're moving in. The cops are moving in and they are really belting these characters. They're grabbing them. Sticks are flailing.

People are laying on the ground. I can see them. Colored people. There's a... Cops are just belting them. There are... The cops are just laying it in. Oh, there's piles of bodies on the street.

There's no question about it. You can hear the screams. And there's a guy that's just dragging along the street, and they don't care. I don't think, they don't think, don't know whether he's alive or dead. Holy Jesus, look at him. Oh, he's, five of them are helping him. Over 1,000 people, both protesters and police, require medical attention. Then on Thursday, August 29th, the convention concludes and the dust settles.

The park is empty. The barbed wire comes down. The streets are hosed. Battered protesters, troops, and Democratic delegates all go home. In the end, as the convention drew to a close, it was clear that a majority of delegates held the view that it was not yet time to make an official commitment to ending the war. They proposed a slower approach, one also supported by the more moderate Hubert Humphrey.

When the peace plan came up for a vote, it was defeated by a 3-2 margin. For anti-war activists, there was even more dismal news, though. After four days and four nights of intense argument, Hubert Humphrey, the establishment candidate, officially secured the Democratic nomination for president. My fellow Americans,

my fellow Democrats, I proudly accept the nomination of our party. Humphrey was just too far ahead in the delegate count for McCarthy or McGovern to catch up. McGovern entered the fray late in the game and won just 146 delegates. McCarthy won 601. But Hubert Humphrey wrapped up the convention and the race for the nomination with nearly 1,800. Also coming out on top was Edward Muskie, senator from Maine, Humphrey's pick for vice president.

The newly selected Democratic ticket and the failure of the peace plank meant the gap between the party leaders and those in the streets would grow even larger. To activists, it was further proof that the political leaders couldn't be counted on to make the bold changes that were called for, and the a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started

digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcasts editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself.

Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail? If you haven't listened yet, head over do it. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? From Wondering, the makers of Dr. Death and Over My Dead Body, comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Isn't it funny how witnesses disappear or how evidence doesn't show up or somebody doesn't testify correctly? In order to win at all costs. If Paul asked you to do something, it wasn't a request. It was an order. I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. In the race for the presidency, the matchup was set. Humphrey for the Democrats versus Nixon for the Republicans. From the start, things looked very good for Nixon. His party was united behind him, and he'd locked down his nomination with little fuss. In contrast, the Democrats were a disaster. Their convention had been one long, bloody screaming match, and the party was still divided. With about four weeks to go until the election, Humphrey trailed Nixon in the polls. Humphrey's numbers were so bad he seemed more like a third party candidate, doing only about as well as the actual third-party candidate, George Wallace.

Desperation pushed Humphrey to at last publicly contradict his boss, President Johnson. He told an audience in Salt Lake City that if elected, he'd order an end to all bombings in North Vietnam. The gambit worked. In the coming days, he saw a sharp increase in donations, and suddenly there were no protesters gathered at his campaign stops. It also helped that the openly racist George Wallace was having trouble gaining traction outside the Deep South, an area typically held by Democrats. As campaigning heated up in October,

Humphrey had Nixon's lead cut down to just eight points. Nixon chose to stay the course on Vietnam. He avoided specifics and instead relied upon broad statements about nationalism and American values. When pressed, Nixon claimed his goal was to avoid undermining President Johnson's strategy and potential peace efforts. But it turns out Nixon was lying. In late October, news broke that Johnson was nearing a peace deal between North and South Vietnam. The South Vietnamese scuttled these plans when they abruptly walked away from negotiations. It was later revealed that Nixon played a key and secret role in the sudden breakdown of talks.

Nixon's team was close with Anna Chenault, member of the China lobby and a Republican fundraiser. Chenault was close with the South Vietnamese and told them to hold off on negotiating peace. She argued that it was much smarter to wait until Nixon was president. He would be able to get them a better deal. Nixon's game made sense for a man bent on winning the presidency at all costs. He was well aware that if peace was won on Johnson's watch, Humphrey, his vice president, would benefit. Nixon couldn't allow Humphrey the opportunity to boast that he was part of the administration that ended the war just days before the election. Nixon considered his underhanded maneuver an act of political survival,

but Johnson called it treason. Unfortunately for Johnson, he was in no position to throw stones. He'd had Chenault illegally surveilled, and this was the only reason he even knew what Nixon had done. Though aides pressed Johnson to leak details of Nixon's plot anyways, Johnson refused. He simply couldn't prove that Nixon personally directed Chenault to sabotage the negotiations. And in the end, Nixon's plan worked. Three days after South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu announced that peace was off the table, Richard Nixon defeated Hubert Humphrey and was elected the 37th President of the United States. In the coming years, details of what came to be known as the Chenault Affair did leak,

but Nixon and Chenault steadfastly denied the charges. Though Chenault finally came clean in her 1980 autobiography, Nixon maintained innocence until his dying day. It wasn't until 2017 that his role in the scheme was finally confirmed when biographer John A. Farrell uncovered damning notes taken by Nixon's right-hand man, H.R. Haldeman. Nixon won with 301 electoral votes for Humphreys' 191 and Wallace's 46. The result of the popular vote was much closer, with Nixon getting 43.4% over Humphrey's 42.7%. Wallace got 13.5% of the popular vote. The results, though, spelled trouble for the Democrats' near-term future. Adding Nixon and Wallace's popular vote percentages reveals that 57% of Americans voted against the Democrats. And worse, 40% of those

who voted for Johnson in 64 voted for Nixon in 68. The Democrats emerged from 1968 profoundly damaged. Until then, they could reliably count on the support of the South. But in 68, they lost the South to Wallace and would never recover it. The election also showed how the nation's culture was changing and how politicians could benefit by highlighting cultural differences. Nixon successfully characterized the counterculture as lawless, un-American, and feminized. He capitalized on how some voters had grown wary of the spectacle of liberal activism and social unrest, and he advocated that the nation hold true to American values, coded language to appeal to those opposed to America's

rising diversity. This strong wave of conservative backlash would forcefully swell in the late 1970s, sweeping Ronald Reagan into the White House. But it started in 1968 with Richard Nixon and the triumph of his silent majority. I, as you probably have heard, have received a very gracious message from the vice president congratulating me for winning the election. Having lost a close one eight years ago and having won a close one this year, I can say this. Winning's a lot more fun. Richard Nixon was president. The political alignment of America fundamentally shifted.

The Democrats retained the House and Senate, but in addition to losing the presidency, they lost the support of the southern states. But that's not all they lost. Gone, too, was the public's confidence in their ability to manage the war. On December 1, 1968, the National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence released what became known as the Walker Report. President Johnson had formed the commission earlier that year as he struggled to process the back-to-back assassinations of King and Kennedy. Tasked with analyzing assassination, protest violence, firearms, and law enforcement, the committee naturally turned its attention to the chaos at the Democratic National Convention. After reviewing more than 20,000 pages of statements from more than 3,000 eyewitnesses,

the commission summed up the violence in two words, police riot. But Richard Nixon had other ideas about who to blame. And when he sworn in on January 20th, 1969, he got to work. Nixon appointed his personal friend John Mitchell as the new attorney general. They both agreed with Chicago Mayor Daley that someone needed to be held responsible for what happened that summer. And they had an idea of who it should be. On a brisk day in early March 1969, the ambitious and formidable prosecutor U.S. attorney Thomas Foran heads for Mayor Daley's fifth floor office in Chicago's City Hall. The two are political allies.

Foran has made his name putting the scum of the city's underworld behind bars, and the mayor is grateful. Tom, please sit down. Foran takes a seat opposite Daley, who reclines behind an imposing, enormous oaken desk. Before the mayor is a bust of Lincoln. Behind him, the American flag. Tom, I want you to know we're moving forward, and it will be your job to bring the outside agitators to justice. Foran smooths his tie and allows himself to smile.

His pleasure can't be overstated. But he wants to maintain his composure. He knows that if he plays this right, there may be a Senate seat with his name on it. I won't let you down, sir. On March 20th, 1969, 16 indictments come down. Half are cops. Foran does his part to make sure they get off quickly and easily. The other half of the indictments are quickly labeled the Chicago Eight. All men and all white, except for one. And so they're looking to extradite you to Illinois. I'm already on trial for my life, now they want to charge me with this bullshit? I was in Chicago for a day. A day. Bobby Seale is sitting in the San Francisco County Jail awaiting trial on conspiracy to commit murder. He's

innocent, but the authorities of New Haven, Connecticut claim he secretly gave the order to take out an informant who'd infiltrated that city's chapter of the Black Panthers. That's bad enough, but now he can't believe what his lawyer Charles Gary has just told him. Well, you made a speech and you're black. They're saying you incited the crowd to violence. Plus, since you don't live in Illinois and flew in from California, they're calling that conspiracy to travel across state lines to encourage a riot. Wait, conspiracy? With who? With who indeed? Bobby Seale has never met any of the other seven guys under indictment, except for Jerry Rubin. And Rubin is practically a stranger. Seale had a five-minute chat with him in Chicago, but apparently that's more than enough conspiring

for the Nixon administration. If Seale goes down on the Chicago charges, he'll sit in a cell for years. If he goes down on the New Haven charges, he'll sit in the electric chair. The stakes are highest for Seale, but one by one, the rest receive their indictments. Yippie masterminds Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin are the cultural radicals of the group. Dave Dellinger, Tom Hayden, and Rennie Davis are the political radicals. The final two are Lee Weiner and John Froines, soft-spoken college science instructors with no radical leadership credentials whatsoever. Weiner rocks a big bushy beard. Froines has a mustache. Nevertheless, both were in Chicago in 1968 and involved in the protests.

And for the government, that's enough wrong place, wrong time for the men to be accused of conspiracy. In addition, they're accused of teaching others how to make incendiary devices, though there's no witnesses to support this other than the undercover cops, and no physical evidence either. Weiner and Froines are just as mystified as Bobby Seale as to how exactly they wound up roped into this trial. It's good to be home. Abbie Hoffman's upbeat when he steps off the plane in Chicago to stand trial in September 1969.

He's backed by 24 yippies, some in baseball jerseys. Abbie's not from Chicago, but he wants the world to see him as playing for the home team. America's home team, you might say. And as Abby puts it, this is the world series of injustice. The other seven defendants are on their way. Tom Hayden arrives from Berkeley, fully expecting to be sentenced to hard jail time. He's left behind the Bay Area sunshine,

his new girlfriend Anne, and her baby from a previous marriage, who he loves as his own son. Unlike Hoffman, Hayden lands in Chicago depressed, knowing it may be a very long time before he's able to enjoy time with them again. Jerry Rubin arrives in Chicago annoyed. He's here from Santa Rita Penitentiary in California, where he got arrested for participating in a local demonstration. The marshals there tossed him in the back of a van and drove him 2,300 miles across the country in chains. When Rennie Davis and Dave Dellinger land in Chicago, they each separately reflect on the roles they'll play during the trial. Rennie knows the Chicago Eight are coming from very

different backgrounds, varying strategic points of view. He can employ his diplomatic skills to help mediate disputes and unite the group. Dave Dellinger doesn't want to be on trial, but he's looking forward to it. He's the oldest defendant by far and an absolute pacifist. He will lobby his fellow defendants to stay true to their principles no matter what. If that means voluntarily going to jail, so be it. Bobby Seale's arrival in Chicago comes under much more sinister circumstances. Shut up and get in. Where's my lawyer? I said shut up. Back in San Francisco, in the dead of night, Seale, in leg irons and cuffs, is loaded into a black sedan by federal agents.

What makes this illegal? Well, for starters, Seal's lawyer, Charles Gary, is supposed to lead the defense team, a group of lawyers that includes William Kunstler and Leonard Weinglass. But Gary is currently in the hospital for emergency gallbladder surgery. The group filed a motion to delay the trial for six weeks until he gets better. Until that motion is decided, a separate court has declared that Bobby Seale can't be extradited to Illinois from California. But the government wants the trial to begin as scheduled, so Bobby Seal is essentially kidnapped from jail and driven to Chicago in

secret. On September 9th, 1969, the motion to wait until Charles Gary recovers is denied by the trial's recently appointed judge. We're going to meet him a little later. It's now impossible for Gary to participate any further in the case. The trial starts in two weeks. The defendants call an urgent meeting. They decide they don't have much choice. William Kunstler must take over as lead counsel. At 50, Kunstler is nearly as controversial as the clients he represents. He's brash, loud, flamboyant, passionate. Some think William Kunstler is brilliant. Others think he's a troublesome publicity hound. But it's hard to argue with his credentials.

He's represented Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Stokely Carmichael, and Malcolm X. Jerry Rubin and Bobby Seale are in Cook County Jail for the time being, and Kunstler is still getting accustomed to the idea of spearheading the defense. The defendants who aren't in jail share a cheap communal apartment on Chicago's South Side. Kunstler decides to meet them there for a pre-trial meeting, knowing it will be hard to replace Charles Gary. Gary was well-respected by all and the only lawyer on the planet that Bobby Seale trusts. This is not a quiet group.

Kunstler has to shout to get control of the room. Guys, guys, listen for a second. That's what I'm saying. The government wants the jury to believe you guys advocated for violence, conspired to incite a riot in Chicago and deserve to go to prison for it. We know that's ridiculous. But in court, we have to go a step further and make it clear that this is a political trial. We have a right of resistance. That's what I want to make clear, and I'm going

to make it clear in that courtroom. The whole system is f***ed, and we're going to bring it down. Okay, Abby. Tom, what do you think? I still say the most logical approach is to focus on the jury. Theatrics are great, but we shouldn't get carried away. Deliberate, rational argument that wins over one, maybe even two jurors, That's all we need for a hung jury. I like my idea better. Your idea is unwise. Len, you want to weigh in here? Leonard Weinglass is a law professor at Rutgers.

Tom brought him onto the legal team. He knows every last detail of the case. Both strategies could be effective. Either way, I believe the facts alone should be enough to keep you out of jail. But the prosecution won't make it easy. I think we need to defy the court at every turn. Dave, it's not an either-or. Let's go for both strategies in there.

Let the world see what the yippies are all about. But let's also remind everyone that this is all a political sham. And Nixon just wants to distract everyone from the corrupt and unjust war in Vietnam. That was Rennie Davis with the compromise. Abby Hoffman wraps up the meeting. We're going to make that judge and that court look completely ridiculous, man. I can't wait. On Friday, September 26th, 1969, just before 10 a.m., Abbie Hoffman enters the

federal building by performing a full front flip somersault. He sticks the landing. The trial of the decade has begun. On the next episode of this special American History Tellers and Legal War series, the insults and the punches keep flying. We'll also delve into the rise of the Black Panthers and their impact on the civil rights movement. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on

Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. I hope you enjoyed this episode. If you like this show, one of the best ways you can show your appreciation is to give us a five-star rating and leave a review. I always love to know your thoughts, and detailed reviews are one of the best ways for others to find the show. Tell your friends and family, and show them how to subscribe. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Sound design by Spoke and Derek Behrens. This episode was

co-hosted by Hill Harper. Our writer is Hannibal Diaz. Our legal consultant is Katie Burghardt Kramer, and our researchers are Caitlin Crammond and Dan Wallace. Our editors are Casey Miner and Dorian Marina. This episode was produced by Stephanie Jens, George Lavender, Jenny Lauer Beckman, and Katie Long. Our executive producers are Marshall Louis and Hernan Lopez for Wondery. aspiring entrepreneurs get the opportunity of a lifetime. I wouldn't be chasing it if I didn't believe that the world needs this product. In each episode, the entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. This is Matt's point, baby.

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