When Tom’s alarm rang at 6:00am on Wednesday June 14, 2023, which was Flag Day, I looked out of our room’s window at the Fairfield Inn in Streetsboro, Ohio and the weather appeared bleak. The sky was very overcast with low hanging clouds, and it was raining quite hard. However, when my photographer and Bob Moldenhauer checked the weather forecast for the area, meteorologists predicted the skies to clear and the precipitation to end just about the time we were scheduled to arrive at Kent State University, our first site of the day. My companions planned to explore the grounds of the campus where the hostilities occurred in 1970, then we’d visit the Kent State University May 4 Visitors Center when it opened at nine o’clock.
As I watched my companions pack up their belongs in the room for a final time, it was a bittersweet moment for me. I was anxious to visit the college again, but I also knew this was the last day of our amazing eleven-day adventure. We had visited so many awesome places and had met a tremendous number of great people, I didn’t want the trip to end.
Our departure from the hotel was intentionally delayed due to the weather, but that turned out to be a great decision made by my photographer and his friend. By the time we hit the road for the nine-mile drive to the college, the weather system had moved eastward, and the rain had completely stopped. Overall, we weren’t too far behind schedule when we arrived at Kent State University at roughly 8:15am.
Once Tom had parked the Explorer, the three of us set out on foot towards Prentice Hall. That was a significant beginning to our visit, as three of the four students who were murdered on May 4, 1970 were shot in the Prentice Hall parking lot. The fourth victim was killed along an access road leading to that same parking lot.
From the time the students were killed in 1970 until September 8, 1999, vehicles were permitted to park in any of the 88 spaces within the 125-foot by 210-foot parking lot that was situated just south of Prentice Hall. But that all changed when the May 4 Task Force, along with the victims’ families, had permanent memorials to each of the four slain students erected on the site where they had fallen. When we made it to the parking lot, which was still wet from the early morning rain, Tom placed me inside each of the four memorials where I stood to honor Sandy Scheuer, William Schroeder, Allison Krause, and Jeffrey Miller, four American kids, murdered in the heartland.
Each of the four memorials were outlined by a five-foot by twelve-foot low granite berm which featured a nameplate for each student. There were six beacons, which are lit at night, erected around the memorials. My heart broke as I stood in the first three, which were located in the actual parking lot. Even though it was difficult at times to see between the parked vehicles in the lot, I tried to spot the pagoda in the distance atop Blanket Hill. It was from that pagoda where the National Guardsmen opened fire on the protesters.
Sandy Scheuer was walking to her 1:10pm class with a classmate and was 390 feet from the soldiers when one of their M-1 rifle bullets pierced her neck. Five or six minutes later, 20-year-old Scheuer bled to death on the spot where I stood in the parking lot.
William Schroeder was also walking to class with a folder in his hand when he stopped to watch the protest. Seconds later, William was struck in the chest – he was 382 feet from the National Guardsmen when he was shot. When the M-1 bullet hit him, Schroeder was knocked off his feet and onto the pavement. An hour after he was shot, 19-year-old William Schoeder, an Eagle Scout, died on the operating table at the hospital.
Allison Krause was an active participant in the rally, although her only crime was carrying a pocketful of small rocks and yelling obscenities at the guardsmen who were 343 feet away. Unless Krause possessed a throwing arm like Robert Clemente, her rebellious antics were quite harmless. Allison, who was standing next to her boyfriend Barry Levine, was struck in the chest with an M-1 rifle bullet and fell to the pavement. The 20-year-old died in her boyfriend’s arms enroute to the hospital.
My photographer carried me to the fourth and final memorial, which was located in the access roadway between Prentice Hall and Taylor Hall. As soon as Tom set me down on the pavement between the six beacons, visual images of Jeffery Miller lying face-down on the road filled my head. Miller was only 265 feet away from the guardsmen, and of the four students who perished on May 4, 1970, he was by far the closest. After Miller threw an active tear gas cannister towards the line of soldiers, Jeff stood defiantly as he yelled at the soldiers, armed with only his two middle fingers held high in the air. When the guardsmen turned and fired their M-1 rifles towards the Prentice Hall parking lot, Jeffery Miller was hit in his open mouth and knocked to the pavement below. The 20-year-old was killed instantly, his life’s blood flowed towards the curb in a moment that was captured on film for the entire nation, including Richard Nixon, to see.
The United States Constitution and its Bill of Rights gives every American citizen the right to protest peacefully. And while none of the students who were killed or wounded on May 4, 1970 were armed, the entire four-day chaotic moment in history in Kent, Ohio was anything but totally peaceful. During the day’s leading up to May 4th, hundreds of people, some of which were KSU students, threw beer bottles at police cars, they broke windows in stores and the bank, and threatened to burn down businesses if the owners did not display anti-war slogans. At one point, on May 2nd, the ROTC building on campus was burned to the ground. However, was the blaze started by the students, or by the Guardsmen on orders from the Governor to justify the military presence on campus? The actions by the Ohio Army National Guard on May 4, 1970 wasn’t only immoral, it was murder – and the accomplice to the crime was Ohio Governor James Rhodes.
For the next hour or so, Tom carried me to various spots around Taylor Hall where the events of May 4th had unfolded, while Bob visited other areas around campus. When the two of us arrived at the top of Blanket Hill, my photographer placed me onto a bronze plaque that was embedded in the ground. The plaque was there to designate the spot where Ohio Army National Guard soldiers had been positioned when they fired their M-1 rifles at the unarmed students in the distance. Seconds after I was carefully set onto the plaque, I fell head-over-heels onto the hard, metallic plate. Although I was stunned for a moment, I felt no worse for wear after my face-plant. When Tom picked me up, he said “You look okay, don’t be so clumsy”, then he set me in the grass near the plaque where I was able to stand upright.
After I had posed for a few photos on Blanket Hill, including a couple where I stood on Don Drumm’s steel sculpture known as Solar Totem #1, the two of us made the long hike around Taylor Hall. There, at the bottom of a steep hill and near The Commons, we saw the Victory Bell. Prior to May 4, 1970, that bell had been historically used to signal victories during football games. But at 12 noon on that historic and tragic day, the Victory Bell rang out to signal the start of the rally. Moments later, the first protester began to speak.
When I stood under the Victory Bell and looked out at The Commons, I saw the area where the ROTC building once stood before it was burned to the ground on May 2, 1970. But in my mind’s eye, I also saw two thousand angry Kent State students who had gathered near the bell for a rally – a protest originally aimed at President Nixon’s escalation of the Vietnam War. By time the May 4th rally began, however, the focus turned to the student’s disgust for Ohio Army National Guardsmen invading their campus. Then I saw him out of the corner of my painted eye – a young student wearing a red cowboy shirt, denim bell bottoms, and a brown headband holding back his long hair. Twenty-four minutes later, that young man would be dead.
As Tom carried me back up to the top of Blanket Hill, we walked in the footsteps of the Ohio Army National Guardsmen – the same pathway they used to push the defiant protesters towards the east side of Taylor Hall and into the Prentice Hall parking lot. Being on the campus, visiting the sites where the May 4th Massacre occurred, reminded me of the few times I’ve visited Dealey Plaza in Dallas. And the similarities between the two events became eerily ironic. An unarmed JFK was shot to death in broad daylight, likely by the government, and the truth behind the shooting has never been revealed. The true killer or killers have never been brought to justice. In both cases, after each of the victims were buried, Americans looked at gory images of the events and were left wondering how something like that could happen in America. The sad thing is – what happened in 1963 and 1970 can still happen in 2023 and beyond.
My photographer and I rendezvoused with Bob just outside of the Kent State University May 4 Visitors Center. Inside the small museum, we saw a few artifacts associated with the students who were killed. There were also a lot of photographs and newspaper articles about the tragedy, as well as a section about the cultural and political atmosphere of the 1960s. But it was the 11-minute documentary that really hit home. The three of us sat in subdued silence and watched as the events of May 4th unfolded before our eyes, with no way to stop the impending bloodshed of innocent students. During our time inside the museum, however, another tragedy unfolded – and this one hit closer to home. When Tom removed me from the camera case so I could pose next to several of the artifacts, my right arm stayed at the bottom of the bag. Once again, for the third time in my life, my arm was detached from my body above the elbow. While I wasn’t sure when my arm came off, I knew it had to have been the result of my face-plant on the bronze plaque. From that moment on, I knew something didn’t feel quite right – but I couldn’t put a finger on the reason why. Now I know!
When the documentary was finished and the three of us walked out of Taylor Hall, we headed across the Prentice Hall parking lot during our long hike back to our vehicle. During the walk, I stood in the camera case with the faces of Allison, William, Sandy, and Jeffery emblazoned in my resin mind. I was furious, and sick to my stomach at the same time. I wish just one National Guardsman who pulled the trigger of his rifle that fateful day would come out and admit the truth about who was behind the murders and the coverup. Or perhaps the devious, lying, scumbag student/FBI informant Terry Norman would want to clear his conscious once and for all and admit to his role in the tragedy. The truth will set you free, and will free the souls of Jeff, Sandy, Allison, Bill, Alan, James, and Robbie. The truth will also help heal the scars still felt by John, Thomas, Dean, Joe, Don, and Doug. Maybe, just maybe, a horrible tragedy like the one that happened on May 4, 1970 will never occur in our nation again.
** THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORIES OF ALLISON KRAUSE, WILLIAM SCHROEDER, SANDY SCHEUER, AND JEFFERY MILLER **
