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Campus "Unrest" demonstrations and consequences, 1970-1971

1970-05-24 Akron Beacon Journal Article: Kent State: The Search For Understanding Page 7

Sunday, May 24, 1970 Akron Beacon A23
SPECIAL KENT STATE EDITION 

'We Were Afraid The Kids Would Panic.'

Continued From A-22

the crowd, I'd say the lives of my men were endangered," he said. 

At the instant of gunfire back at "Blanket Hill" the truth was not apparent everywhere.
"I was laughing about it, listening to those jerks firing a .50 caliber machine gun over everybody's head," said Walter S. Zimmy, 24, a philosophy major, as he stood clutching his Easy Rider Captain America crash helmet. 
Below on the hill and parking lot beyond lay two young men and two young co-eds fatally wounded. 
A bullet severed the jugular vein of Sandra Scheuer.
A bullet hit his mouth and shattered the back of the skull of Jeffrey Miller. 
A bullet tore into the chest of Allison Krause
A bullet ripped through the lung of William Schroeder.

Forty minutes before she was to die Sandra Lee Scheuer took a single piece of notebook paper from her off campus room where on her dresser sat "Che: The Making of a Legend," "The Electric Koolaid Acid Test," an unstamped Mother's Day card addressed to Youngstown. She wore a red pullover blouse and blue jean bells and leather sandals. 
Ellis Berns, whose jacket would be soaked in her blood, had earlier asked her casually "Do you want to go the rally?" He lived right around the corner. 
"She said, 'Yea I'll probably be up'"
To Berns, a junior, she sounded indifferent. He left without her. 

Sandy, a junior speech therapy major who nearly always wore a ribbon in her hair and rode a bicycle around campus, arrived at Taylor Hall alone and walked down the 28 steps to the parking lot. 
Ellis Berns saw her again. "She had just Kleenex for the gas. The gas was pretty heavy. So I tore up the rag I had and gave her part of it to her. 
"We were talking and all of sudden I saw them (the Guard) crouch down or something on the hill again," said Berns, "I guess we were so scared."

Seconds before the gunfire, " I just grabbed her and tried to get her to the ground as fast as possible."
He had his left arm on her back and she slipped her right arm around the waist. They walked diagonally across the parking lot toward Prentice Hill. The Guardsmen fired. 
"I remember was muscle tension then all of a sudden it relaxed." they fell to their stomachs. 
"It was maybe five, 10 seconds I wanted to get behind the car because I didn't know if they would start up again. And I said 'Sandy, Sandy,' Berns recalled. 
A single bullet had struck on the left side of her neck, shattered her larynx and exited cleanly. 
"The bleeding was bad because it was the vein, the artery, just spurting up. It was like water out of a hose," Berns said, his books spilling from a plastic drawstring book bag. 

Another witness, Ben Parsons, a drama major given to Indian headbands, heard Berns screaming "I had a yellow towel for the tear gas. We put it around her neck 
"We were 200 to 300 feet from the dorm and the kids started yelling 'The pugs are coming!' We were deathly afraid the kids would panic and step on Sandy. 
"So we carried her to the grass. We couldn't carry her any farther, She couldn't take it," Parson said. His angered parents, disapproving of his presence there, would later refuse  to finance his education any further. Six days later he had a $1.04 in his pocket. 

They propped her neck up with a Navy pea coat so she could breath, Parsons said "I know she convulsed three times while I was giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation." 

'I guess we were really so scared'

Berns said "She was very white. She hadn't turned blue yet. I know that heart was going when they took her. 
Berns looked at his coat "The left side was covered with blood. It had skin tissue on it."
He hung it on a fence near the Student Union between a line of Guardsmen and students. 

Jeffrey Glenn Miller lay sprawled on the driveway entrance to the parking lot, a few feet from a Parcoa automatic Low Boy gate and 13 paces from a yellow sign "Dead End" 
A bullet had caught him high in the right side of his mouth, fractured his lower teeth and lower jaw, severed the blood vessel supplying the tongue, lacerated the carotid artery, shattered the base of the skill, and cut the spinal cord. he was 227 feet from the pagoda at the top of the hill. 
Miller, a 20-year old psychology sophomore - one who cut a lot of classes, dated a girl living over a pizza parlor, and saved rock concert ticket stubs - had awakened two of his five room mates at 11:45 a.m. Monday. he wanted someone to go with him to the rally. 

"I said 'No' and we both went back to sleep," said John Moir II, and they, like the majority of the 21,196 students who had enrolled at KSU the previous Autumn were not among the witnesses.
Larry Durkalski, a friend, said Miller "had hung around" the edge of the crowds Saturday and Sunday nights. He didn't want to get too close. 
Jerry Persky, 21, a junior from South Euclid, saw Miller die. Persky would shave his moustache and cut his hair to fraternity length within two hours of the killings. Someone would tell him there was a federal warrant out for his arrest. There wasn't . 
"Jeff didn't run. He just fell. He fell on his face. I didn't know he was shot," he said " I looked over to him because I wanted to see what was going on. "
"And I saw this blood just dripping out down the street, I saw that he was bleeding to death and I started to scream."
"I saw the blood. I thought Miller had just been hit with a rock," said Dick Woods, a four year Marine Corps veteran. "There was this one girl kneeling over him screaming, "They shot him! They shot him! They shot him ""
This was the girl arms raised, crying in anguish, photographed by John Filo, and reprinted again and again across the nation. 
Filo would later refuse more than $10,000 to allow an enterprising merchant to reproduce the photograph on the front of sweat shirts. 
A week later Frank Vecchio an Opa Locka, Fla., construction worker would identify the girl as his runaway daughter Mary "I guess I know my own daughter," he said simply. 
Persky raced up to Taylor Hall and grabbed the gray phone on the wall to call for an ambulance. 

In the Administration Building that afternoon Leona Wright, the chief operator, saw the university's Centrex Telephone system go dead, strained in overload. She could think of only one thing, "Dallas Kennedy"
Persky reached an Ohio Bell operator "She couldn't get through, I told her ' Keep trying' this kid is really in bad shape"
"When I ran back outside there was this girl standing over Jeff prating, she had beads on, rosary beads, and was just grabbing them and crying and screaming. 
"And there was this other kid and I said let's turn him over and he turned him over and his one eye was way off. And I saw his wink, like this." - Persky blinked tightly both eyes simultaneously.
"A kid ran over and said, 'I'm First Aid' and he felt it , 

WOUNDED STUDENT IS ATTENDED BY OTHER STUDENTS 

the pulse, and he didn't feel anything. At this point the kid died."

Yet to die during a race of futility to the hospital was Allison Krause. 
the love of Allison Krause was Barry Levine, 19, an intense freshman from Buffalo, N.Y.. The night before he had stayed with her in Tri-Towers, a 12 story dorm complex. Neither lived there "We were trapped, We'd been gassed and chased across campus," Levine said. They wanted to be together.
"She skipped her 11 o'clock art class. Everything was a half strike," Levine said. His shoulder length hair was nearly as long as hers. 

Allison Krause, daughter of a Pittsburg Westinghouse executive, handed Barry Levine a wet rag before the first tear gas canister soared across the Commons. They expected to be gassed and when they got their first [?] Levine turned to Allison and said, "Pepper gas, Different than last night."
"She was crying," said Levine "but not from the gas. It was emotional. "

They fled down the southeastern slope of Taylor Hall hand in hand. On her wrist she wore a leather bracelet he had made for her. They ran across the yellow paint flaked curb in to the 89 space "Faculty Only" parking lot designated R-59 asphalt and flat.
Levine picked up a stone and hurled it "I was cursing and screaming 'Mother! Mother!" and then they ran out of gas. We sort of closed in behind, yelling Indian warwhoops, you know. No one was throwing just then. The crowd was loose, stretched out. Allison was a few feet behind me. I turned around and started toward her. I had my back to the Guard when I heard a barrage and I grabbed her hand and pulled her down crouching. 
"I thought they must be firing blanks. I just couldn't believe they would shoot bullets. And we dove behind a blue car. Allison was on her back .

"She said, 'Barry I'm hit'
"I said, 'Where? I didn't see any blood. 
"She said again 'Barry I'm hit'" She never said another word. "I saw the blood coming from under her left armpit and I started screaming" 
"He was on his knees and he had her head in his lap and he was hysterical" said Chris McVay, 18, a blue eyed blond freshman co-ed from Ravenna, the same nearby town as the Guardsmen of the 107th. 
"Oh God ! She's dead!" Chris McVay cried 
"She was gasping, breathing the whole time," said Levine "I gave her mouth to mouth resuscitation I never dreamed she'd die."

In the hurried six miles to Robinson Memorial Hospital, Ravenna, Allison Krause lay in an ambulance next to the corpse of Jeffrey Miller. They had known each other "We'd been to his apartment," said Levine "He'd been shot in the face. I didn't even recognize him."
Levine waited outside a trauma room for what seemed an hour, two hours. A door swung open and Alan Canfora, 20, shot in the wrist, walked by and asked "Is that your chick?"
"She's pretty bad" he said, lying. He knew. 
Her identity was established from a university meal ticket in the pocket of her jeans $169 a quarter. 

In Cleveland, Allison's uncle Jack read of her death, in the late edition of the Cleveland Press and telephoned her father in Pittsburgh. 
Allison;s  father, Arthur, had reached KSU indirectly by radio through the Ohio Turnpike Authority. 
"They told me it was all rumor." said Arthur Krause "Just a couple of kids wounded."
Alone of the four dead students, much of the bullet that struck Allison remained within her body. According to Dr. Robert S. Glassgow, the pathologist who performed the autopsy, the bullet fragmented into at least for pieces as it tore through her left lower lung, spleen, stomach, duodenum, liver and vena cava, the large vein leading to the heart. 
A large chuck left a gaping hole as it exited. 
In all probability, however, the FBI will be  unable to identify the weapon that killed Allison - or anyone else. The bullet fragments are too small. 

The bullet that killed William Knox Schroeder struck him as he apparently flung himself to the ground, much as a deer caught in flight. 
It began almost as a graze, fraacturing the seventh, sixth, fifth and fourth rubs before it tore inside perforated the upper left lobe of his left lung, and exited from the top of his shoulder. He died of massive internal hemorrhaging. 
In an old red shingled house Schroeder and his four roommates rented across the street from the railroad tracks, five blocks from the campus, Bruce Smith had hung a large mural. 
There in a caricature, was Schroeder in his green ROTC uniform, his feet tangled, an upside down peace symbol in place of a battle ribbon. Schroeder attended KSU on a full $630 tuition ROTC scholarship.

"I know this sounds cornball," said Gene Pekarik, a high school buddy from Lorain, "but Bill really was the All American boy - bright basketball star, nice guy, all that studd." 
That morning Schroeder put on cowboy boot and his orange flared "Brian Jones" pants so called in honor of the late member of the Rolling Stones, and started off for his experimental psych class. 
"I had to cancel it," said Robert Fernie, an assistant professor. "The biology department had a liquid crystal research project in the same building, part of research project for the Department of Defense, and we were afraid someone might try to burn it down." Gene Pekarik saw him at 11:50 a.m. near the university power plant. 
"I asked him if he was going to the rally and he said, ;Yeah let's go'" Pekarik recalled. 
Everyone almost knew there would be a rally. Someone had stuck a scrawled notice on the wall of the Student Union with a wad of hewing gum. 
"He wasn't a participant he wasn't just a bystander. He went there to observe." Pekarik said 
Pekarik said he certainly hoped "there's no trigger happy reactionaries with guns"
"And Bill said, a lot of the don't have clips in their guns, Gene."
Schroeder fell near the pine trees on the slope of "Blanket Hill" He was 100 feet from the flash of the guns. 
"He was laying there covered in blood. It was all very messy. He didn't move. He didn't speak. Somebody put him on a stretcher from the dormitory. We had to move him off that onto the ambulance stretcher. " said John Barilla, 21, a senior who took a First Aid course at the YMCA in Steubenville. 
"Somebody took off his shirt. They were using it as a pillow under his back. The blood was soaking into the grass." said Jim Nichols, 24, a senior journalism student. 
"As they put him on the stretcher, he moved his leg up to help them" said Pekarik " I didn't think he was hurt bad."
Quite probably the first authoritative word of the killings to the worls outside, the City of Kent, Portage County, State of Ohio, came that afternoon from a radio dispatch of Guard Capt. Ron Snyder. And it was wrong. 
Snyder, nicknamed "Cyanide" an investigator for the Summit County coroner, has taken 42 Guardsmen over the northern opposite side of Taylor Hall at the time of the gunfire. 
"I saw the one boy fall in the roadway, "he said, presumably referring to Miller. "I tried to get to the body, to make a recovery of him" 
With eight gas masked Guardsmen, he reached the parking lot moments later. He saw thee two dead boys and he radioed "we have two dead up here. I'll give you a further report in a few minutes."

At the "War Room" at the gym. Robert E. Corbet, a WKNT radio man, heard the "two dead" and he telephoned United Press International in Columbus. He thought the dead were Guardsmen. So did the city desk of the Record Courier in Ravenna and it would headline the false report in 7000 editions. 
Capt. Albert Sands, who hasn't had a chance to change his underwear in three days, heard the report in the gym too, and he responded exactly as did the chief telephone operator. 
"Dallas" he thought 
Days later he would say that the man from Company A 

JEEP HEADS TOWARD CROWD

145th had fired 21 rounds from M-1's and a single shotgun blast. "I understand the 107th fired more than we did," he said. 

If accurate, Gen. Canterbury's initial and uncorrected estimate of "35 or 36" rounds would be too low. 
"There was a heck of a lot more rounds fired than they thought," Richard Shade, 23k, a Guardsman farmer told his mother when he returned to Chippewa Lake. 
Shade came home to care for his 70 head of Herefords and his mother said "I'd never seen him so tired. e said he wished he'd been drafted and served his time and got out instead of the Guard."

Probably no one will be able to determine precisely how many bullets were fired in those terrible 13 seconds. 
Some Guardsmen insist they lost ammunition, ejecting live bullets to the ground. 
Federal investigators indicated to Knight Newspapers that the Guardsmen may well have fired as many as 60 rounds. 
Capt. Snyder corrected his  dead count immediately, but as he stood there at the bottom of the hill he knew his presence only aggravated the students. 

"I told him to get his ass out," said Steve Tarr, 18, a freshman from Akron who last year was president of the Student Council at Hoban High School "You've killed him!" Tarr cried. 
"They were calling us goddamned murderers" said Capt. Snyder. " I made the decision at that time just to forget the bodies and get back to the top of the hill."
"I saw the captain throw a little gray ball and hit a boy in the back," said Chris McVay. "He just kept running ... I thought it was more gas." 
Capt. Snyder said he threw a canister. It may well have been the last tear gas cloud of a brutal afternoon. 

The tight wound up sounds of the hooter sirens of the white ambulances from Stow. Kent and the University cut through the clamor. Students in tears, not knowing what else to do, locked arms and made rings around the wounded. 
Douglas Wrentmore, 20, whose family lives in rural Northfield outside of Cleveland where they own three speckled grey horses,said later he was cutting across the parking lot before the fire started, 
" I thought I ought to get out of there. I wanted to make 1:10 English class." His draft board has him classified as a Conscientious Objector. 
"I heard the noise, took a couple of steps and then I couldn't walk any more. I was on the ground. I crawled behind a car. I heard bullets hit the other side of the car."

A bullet had struck Wrentmore's right knee, fracturing his tibia. "I tried to get up and walk, I had to hop. A couple of kids put me in a car and took me to the hospital in Ravenna. 
"It wasn't until we were on the highway when an ambulance passed and that I knew what had happened. It wasn't really birdshot."
"I watched the kids come in after that, stretchers and stuff, Kids carrying them on their shoulders. Most of them were a lot worse off than I was. It is really something when you see a girl lying on a stretcher, her face is all contorted and swollen and then, you know, they pick up this sheet and they lay in slow over her. That does something to you."

Alan Canfora, a 21 year old self styled political radical with shoulder length reddish brown hair and a thick bushy Pancho Villa mustache, had a quick ham sandwich and glass of milk for breakfast that Monday "because I didn't want to be late for the rally."

Pam Holland and Mike Mills, both students said Alan Canfora carried a black anarchist flag on the Commons. "There was another black one and a red one." said a campus photographer, Doug Moore. 
A photographer had caught Canfora earlier standing defiantly far in front of the crowd, staring at a row of kneeling Guardsmen aiming their rifles in threat on the football practice field. 
Canfora said he saw again the rifles lower at the top of the hill."I turned and started running. I heard a volley and at the same time I felt a bullet hit my right wrist. Everything blurred I remember falling. Thick bubbles of blood wwere running from the wound." The blood covered his two thick rings. 

"I don't know whether Al had the flag in his hand or not," said Mike Mills, another campus activist , Canfora didn't say himself. 
He belittled is role "Oh I was yelling things like 'Oh, 

'I heard a volley, turned and ran'

end the war" he recalled fro his parent's home in Barberton where his father is city councilman.
A bullet hit Tim Grace in the left foot. He was Canfora's roommate, Grace, 20 a sophomore from Syracuse N.Y.,couldn;t remember when he was hit. The bullet tore through the soft leather of his chukka boot.

"He told me it smashed hit foot completely" said Ron Law, a senior in the drama department. A few days later a "gangrene-like" infection would set in and visitors to Grace's Room 306 at Robinson Memorial Hospital would be required to wear white masks and gowns. 
"Tom was very excited and was very eager to be after them," said Ben Parsons, 22, a junior from Massillon. 
"I helped them carry the guy who got shot in the foot" said Dick Woods, 24, the Marine Corps veteran from Cleveland "There was this girl standing in the doorway at Prentice Hall and she just passed out. I thought she had been shot. It was just shock."

In the Sociology Department in Lowry Hall, a girl with a long pony tail became hysterical "She ran into my office" said Mrs. Darlene Mack, a secretary, "and she was screaming "I killed him! I killed him" 
She was blaming herself for a boy being killed. She said she'd been chanting. I tried to comfort her. She told me to please leave her alone."
For more than a week KSU and thee National Guard listed Mary Delaplane as a gunfire casualty. She wasn't. 
"I was standing in the commons at the time of the shooting," said the girl, a sophomore in education. "People started to run I was carrying a wicker purse. I had a pencil sticking out and it jabbed me just above my left knee. I wanted to go to Health Service but I thought it would be overcrowded. So I went to St Thomas Hospital in Akron" Police there insisted on making a report.

The two students farthest from the pagoda were Donald MacKenzie and Robert Stamps. Both were approximately 610 feet away, the length of two football fields. The hill sloped downwards 30 feet. 
Stamps, 10 , a thin slight youth who speaks rapidly, had a pretzel in one hand and a textbook for abnormal psychology in the other. 
"I heard the shooting. Something hit me in the rear. I thought it was a rock. And then I put my hand back there and I felt blood. I thought to myself, I'd better get down. If another bullet hits me, I'm gonna be dead."
Stamps said " I jumped down on top of two girls in the parking lot. They're lying face up. As soon as it stopped I jumped up and started running again. 
" I ran right into some guy, put my arms around him, and said 'Brother I've been shot. Help me !'"

"John Barilla and I just got up when this guy fell into John's arms and kept yelling, 'Help me ! Help me! Joe Bianchi said, Barilla and Bianchi, roommates in an off campus apartment carried Stamps into Dunbar Hall, a men's dormitory. 
"We put him on a couch in the lobby and I pulled his pants down" said Bianchi. "It looked as if the bullet had bounced and hit him, ricocheted off the concrete."
A surgeon recovered the bullet lodged against the left femur. 

MacKenzie, a curly brown haired economic major resembling actor Michael Pollard, arrived on campus after an argument over the Cambodian war during a pinball game at a Kent pool hall. He had discussed the same subject at his 8:50 a.m. U.S. foreign policy class. A bomb scare Franklin Hall canceled his statistics class. 
"I could see a kid run up close behind the Guard. He had a rock and he threw it. One of the Guardsmen turned and fired, and then I heard the volley. That's when I began t get out of there. I was just loping I wasn't running very fast. 
"I felt a snap in my neck and I fell. I never lost consciousness. I got up and there was blood running out of my cheek."
Tom Lough, a sociology instructor, saw MacKenzie walking in circles in a dirt and gravel parking lot. "He was yelling, 'Help me ! Help me!'"
A bullet entered MacKenzie's left neck n inch from the spinal cord, shattered the lower left jaw and exited through his cheek, leaving a hole the size of a nickel. 
"They cut off my shirt at the Health Center tried to stop the bleeding. Then they gave me a shot and I don't remember too much anymore."

Three days later, Dr Joseph. W. Ewing, an Akron plastic surgeon, issued a written statement that MacKenzie's wound was "certainly not caused from a missile from a M-1 rifle" or a .45 pistol. He said there was not enough damage. 
A World War II combat surgeon. Dr. Ewing is a close

See NOT ASHAMED Page A-24

Saving...

Sunday, May 24, 1970 Akron Beacon A23 SPECIAL KENT STATE EDITION 'We Were Afraid The Kids Would Panic.' Continued From A-22 the crowd, I'd say the lives of my men were endangered," he said. At the instant of gunfire back at "Blanket Hill" the truth was not apparent everywhere. "I was laughing about it, listening to those jerks firing a .50 caliber machine gun over everybody's head," said Walter S. Zimmy, 24, a philosophy major, as he stood clutching his Easy Rider Captain America crash helmet. Below on the hill and parking lot beyond lay two young men and two young co-eds fatally wounded. A bullet severed the jugular vein of Sandra Scheuer. A bullet hit his mouth and shattered the back of the skull of Jeffrey Miller. A bullet tore into the chest of Allison Krause A bullet ripped through the lung of William Schroeder. Forty minutes before she was to die Sandra Lee Scheuer took a single piece of notebook paper from her off campus room where on her dresser sat "Che: The Making of a Legend," "The Electric Koolaid Acid Test," an unstamped Mother's Day card addressed to Youngstown. She wore a red pullover blouse and blue jean bells and leather sandals. Ellis Berns, whose jacket would be soaked in her blood, had earlier asked her casually "Do you want to go the rally?" He lived right around the corner. "She said, 'Yea I'll probably be up'" To Berns, a junior, she sounded indifferent. He left without her. Sandy, a junior speech therapy major who nearly always wore a ribbon in her hair and rode a bicycle around campus, arrived at Taylor Hall alone and walked down the 28 steps to the parking lot. Ellis Berns saw her again. "She had just Kleenex for the gas. The gas was pretty heavy. So I tore up the rag I had and gave her part of it to her. "We were talking and all of sudden I saw them (the Guard) crouch down or something on the hill again," said Berns, "I guess we were so scared." Seconds before the gunfire, " I just grabbed her and tried to get her to the ground as fast as possible." He had his left arm on her back and she slipped her right arm around the waist. They walked diagonally across the parking lot toward Prentice Hill. The Guardsmen fired. "I remember was muscle tension then all of a sudden it relaxed." they fell to their stomachs. "It was maybe five, 10 seconds I wanted to get behind the car because I didn't know if they would start up again. And I said 'Sandy, Sandy,' Berns recalled. A single bullet had struck on the left side of her neck, shattered her larynx and exited cleanly. "The bleeding was bad because it was the vein, the artery, just spurting up. It was like water out of a hose," Berns said, his books spilling from a plastic drawstring book bag. Another witness, Ben Parsons, a drama major given to Indian headbands, heard Berns screaming "I had a yellow towel for the tear gas. We put it around her neck "We were 200 to 300 feet from the dorm and the kids started yelling 'The pugs are coming!' We were deathly afraid the kids would panic and step on Sandy. "So we carried her to the grass. We couldn't carry her any farther, She couldn't take it," Parson said. His angered parents, disapproving of his presence there, would later refuse to finance his education any further. Six days later he had a $1.04 in his pocket. They propped her neck up with a Navy pea coat so she could breath, Parsons said "I know she convulsed three times while I was giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation." 'I guess we were really so scared' Berns said "She was very white. She hadn't turned blue yet. I know that heart was going when they took her. Berns looked at his coat "The left side was covered with blood. It had skin tissue on it." He hung it on a fence near the Student Union between a line of Guardsmen and students. Jeffrey Glenn Miller lay sprawled on the driveway entrance to the parking lot, a few feet from a Parcoa automatic Low Boy gate and 13 paces from a yellow sign "Dead End" A bullet had caught him high in the right side of his mouth, fractured his lower teeth and lower jaw, severed the blood vessel supplying the tongue, lacerated the carotid artery, shattered the base of the skill, and cut the spinal cord. he was 227 feet from the pagoda at the top of the hill. Miller, a 20-year old psychology sophomore - one who cut a lot of classes, dated a girl living over a pizza parlor, and saved rock concert ticket stubs - had awakened two of his five room mates at 11:45 a.m. Monday. he wanted someone to go with him to the rally. "I said 'No' and we both went back to sleep," said John Moir II, and they, like the majority of the 21,196 students who had enrolled at KSU the previous Autumn were not among the witnesses. Larry Durkalski, a friend, said Miller "had hung around" the edge of the crowds Saturday and Sunday nights. He didn't want to get too close. Jerry Persky, 21, a junior from South Euclid, saw Miller die. Persky would shave his moustache and cut his hair to fraternity length within two hours of the killings. Someone would tell him there was a federal warrant out for his arrest. There wasn't . "Jeff didn't run. He just fell. He fell on his face. I didn't know he was shot," he said " I looked over to him because I wanted to see what was going on. " "And I saw this blood just dripping out down the street, I saw that he was bleeding to death and I started to scream." "I saw the blood. I thought Miller had just been hit with a rock," said Dick Woods, a four year Marine Corps veteran. "There was this one girl kneeling over him screaming, "They shot him! They shot him! They shot him "" This was the girl arms raised, crying in anguish, photographed by John Filo, and reprinted again and again across the nation. Filo would later refuse more than $10,000 to allow an enterprising merchant to reproduce the photograph on the front of sweat shirts. A week later Frank Vecchio an Opa Locka, Fla., construction worker would identify the girl as his runaway daughter Mary "I guess I know my own daughter," he said simply. Persky raced up to Taylor Hall and grabbed the gray phone on the wall to call for an ambulance. In the Administration Building that afternoon Leona Wright, the chief operator, saw the university's Centrex Telephone system go dead, strained in overload. She could think of only one thing, "Dallas Kennedy" Persky reached an Ohio Bell operator "She couldn't get through, I told her ' Keep trying' this kid is really in bad shape" "When I ran back outside there was this girl standing over Jeff prating, she had beads on, rosary beads, and was just grabbing them and crying and screaming. "And there was this other kid and I said let's turn him over and he turned him over and his one eye was way off. And I saw his wink, like this." - Persky blinked tightly both eyes simultaneously. "A kid ran over and said, 'I'm First Aid' and he felt it , WOUNDED STUDENT IS ATTENDED BY OTHER STUDENTS the pulse, and he didn't feel anything. At this point the kid died." Yet to die during a race of futility to the hospital was Allison Krause. the love of Allison Krause was Barry Levine, 19, an intense freshman from Buffalo, N.Y.. The night before he had stayed with her in Tri-Towers, a 12 story dorm complex. Neither lived there "We were trapped, We'd been gassed and chased across campus," Levine said. They wanted to be together. "She skipped her 11 o'clock art class. Everything was a half strike," Levine said. His shoulder length hair was nearly as long as hers. Allison Krause, daughter of a Pittsburg Westinghouse executive, handed Barry Levine a wet rag before the first tear gas canister soared across the Commons. They expected to be gassed and when they got their first [?] Levine turned to Allison and said, "Pepper gas, Different than last night." "She was crying," said Levine "but not from the gas. It was emotional. " They fled down the southeastern slope of Taylor Hall hand in hand. On her wrist she wore a leather bracelet he had made for her. They ran across the yellow paint flaked curb in to the 89 space "Faculty Only" parking lot designated R-59 asphalt and flat. Levine picked up a stone and hurled it "I was cursing and screaming 'Mother! Mother!" and then they ran out of gas. We sort of closed in behind, yelling Indian warwhoops, you know. No one was throwing just then. The crowd was loose, stretched out. Allison was a few feet behind me. I turned around and started toward her. I had my back to the Guard when I heard a barrage and I grabbed her hand and pulled her down crouching. "I thought they must be firing blanks. I just couldn't believe they would shoot bullets. And we dove behind a blue car. Allison was on her back . "She said, 'Barry I'm hit' "I said, 'Where? I didn't see any blood. "She said again 'Barry I'm hit'" She never said another word. "I saw the blood coming from under her left armpit and I started screaming" "He was on his knees and he had her head in his lap and he was hysterical" said Chris McVay, 18, a blue eyed blond freshman co-ed from Ravenna, the same nearby town as the Guardsmen of the 107th. "Oh God ! She's dead!" Chris McVay cried "She was gasping, breathing the whole time," said Levine "I gave her mouth to mouth resuscitation I never dreamed she'd die." In the hurried six miles to Robinson Memorial Hospital, Ravenna, Allison Krause lay in an ambulance next to the corpse of Jeffrey Miller. They had known each other "We'd been to his apartment," said Levine "He'd been shot in the face. I didn't even recognize him." Levine waited outside a trauma room for what seemed an hour, two hours. A door swung open and Alan Canfora, 20, shot in the wrist, walked by and asked "Is that your chick?" "She's pretty bad" he said, lying. He knew. Her identity was established from a university meal ticket in the pocket of her jeans $169 a quarter. In Cleveland, Allison's uncle Jack read of her death, in the late edition of the Cleveland Press and telephoned her father in Pittsburgh. Allison;s father, Arthur, had reached KSU indirectly by radio through the Ohio Turnpike Authority. "They told me it was all rumor." said Arthur Krause "Just a couple of kids wounded." Alone of the four dead students, much of the bullet that struck Allison remained within her body. According to Dr. Robert S. Glassgow, the pathologist who performed the autopsy, the bullet fragmented into at least for pieces as it tore through her left lower lung, spleen, stomach, duodenum, liver and vena cava, the large vein leading to the heart. A large chuck left a gaping hole as it exited. In all probability, however, the FBI will be unable to identify the weapon that killed Allison - or anyone else. The bullet fragments are too small. The bullet that killed William Knox Schroeder struck him as he apparently flung himself to the ground, much as a deer caught in flight. It began almost as a graze, fraacturing the seventh, sixth, fifth and fourth rubs before it tore inside perforated the upper left lobe of his left lung, and exited from the top of his shoulder. He died of massive internal hemorrhaging. In an old red shingled house Schroeder and his four roommates rented across the street from the railroad tracks, five blocks from the campus, Bruce Smith had hung a large mural. There in a caricature, was Schroeder in his green ROTC uniform, his feet tangled, an upside down peace symbol in place of a battle ribbon. Schroeder attended KSU on a full $630 tuition ROTC scholarship. "I know this sounds cornball," said Gene Pekarik, a high school buddy from Lorain, "but Bill really was the All American boy - bright basketball star, nice guy, all that studd." That morning Schroeder put on cowboy boot and his orange flared "Brian Jones" pants so called in honor of the late member of the Rolling Stones, and started off for his experimental psych class. "I had to cancel it," said Robert Fernie, an assistant professor. "The biology department had a liquid crystal research project in the same building, part of research project for the Department of Defense, and we were afraid someone might try to burn it down." Gene Pekarik saw him at 11:50 a.m. near the university power plant. "I asked him if he was going to the rally and he said, ;Yeah let's go'" Pekarik recalled. Everyone almost knew there would be a rally. Someone had stuck a scrawled notice on the wall of the Student Union with a wad of hewing gum. "He wasn't a participant he wasn't just a bystander. He went there to observe." Pekarik said Pekarik said he certainly hoped "there's no trigger happy reactionaries with guns" "And Bill said, a lot of the don't have clips in their guns, Gene." Schroeder fell near the pine trees on the slope of "Blanket Hill" He was 100 feet from the flash of the guns. "He was laying there covered in blood. It was all very messy. He didn't move. He didn't speak. Somebody put him on a stretcher from the dormitory. We had to move him off that onto the ambulance stretcher. " said John Barilla, 21, a senior who took a First Aid course at the YMCA in Steubenville. "Somebody took off his shirt. They were using it as a pillow under his back. The blood was soaking into the grass." said Jim Nichols, 24, a senior journalism student. "As they put him on the stretcher, he moved his leg up to help them" said Pekarik " I didn't think he was hurt bad." Quite probably the first authoritative word of the killings to the worls outside, the City of Kent, Portage County, State of Ohio, came that afternoon from a radio dispatch of Guard Capt. Ron Snyder. And it was wrong. Snyder, nicknamed "Cyanide" an investigator for the Summit County coroner, has taken 42 Guardsmen over the northern opposite side of Taylor Hall at the time of the gunfire. "I saw the one boy fall in the roadway, "he said, presumably referring to Miller. "I tried to get to the body, to make a recovery of him" With eight gas masked Guardsmen, he reached the parking lot moments later. He saw thee two dead boys and he radioed "we have two dead up here. I'll give you a further report in a few minutes." At the "War Room" at the gym. Robert E. Corbet, a WKNT radio man, heard the "two dead" and he telephoned United Press International in Columbus. He thought the dead were Guardsmen. So did the city desk of the Record Courier in Ravenna and it would headline the false report in 7000 editions. Capt. Albert Sands, who hasn't had a chance to change his underwear in three days, heard the report in the gym too, and he responded exactly as did the chief telephone operator. "Dallas" he thought Days later he would say that the man from Company A JEEP HEADS TOWARD CROWD 145th had fired 21 rounds from M-1's and a single shotgun blast. "I understand the 107th fired more than we did," he said. If accurate, Gen. Canterbury's initial and uncorrected estimate of "35 or 36" rounds would be too low. "There was a heck of a lot more rounds fired than they thought," Richard Shade, 23k, a Guardsman farmer told his mother when he returned to Chippewa Lake. Shade came home to care for his 70 head of Herefords and his mother said "I'd never seen him so tired. e said he wished he'd been drafted and served his time and got out instead of the Guard." Probably no one will be able to determine precisely how many bullets were fired in those terrible 13 seconds. Some Guardsmen insist they lost ammunition, ejecting live bullets to the ground. Federal investigators indicated to Knight Newspapers that the Guardsmen may well have fired as many as 60 rounds. Capt. Snyder corrected his dead count immediately, but as he stood there at the bottom of the hill he knew his presence only aggravated the students. "I told him to get his ass out," said Steve Tarr, 18, a freshman from Akron who last year was president of the Student Council at Hoban High School "You've killed him!" Tarr cried. "They were calling us goddamned murderers" said Capt. Snyder. " I made the decision at that time just to forget the bodies and get back to the top of the hill." "I saw the captain throw a little gray ball and hit a boy in the back," said Chris McVay. "He just kept running ... I thought it was more gas." Capt. Snyder said he threw a canister. It may well have been the last tear gas cloud of a brutal afternoon. The tight wound up sounds of the hooter sirens of the white ambulances from Stow. Kent and the University cut through the clamor. Students in tears, not knowing what else to do, locked arms and made rings around the wounded. Douglas Wrentmore, 20, whose family lives in rural Northfield outside of Cleveland where they own three speckled grey horses,said later he was cutting across the parking lot before the fire started, " I thought I ought to get out of there. I wanted to make 1:10 English class." His draft board has him classified as a Conscientious Objector. "I heard the noise, took a couple of steps and then I couldn't walk any more. I was on the ground. I crawled behind a car. I heard bullets hit the other side of the car." A bullet had struck Wrentmore's right knee, fracturing his tibia. "I tried to get up and walk, I had to hop. A couple of kids put me in a car and took me to the hospital in Ravenna. "It wasn't until we were on the highway when an ambulance passed and that I knew what had happened. It wasn't really birdshot." "I watched the kids come in after that, stretchers and stuff, Kids carrying them on their shoulders. Most of them were a lot worse off than I was. It is really something when you see a girl lying on a stretcher, her face is all contorted and swollen and then, you know, they pick up this sheet and they lay in slow over her. That does something to you." Alan Canfora, a 21 year old self styled political radical with shoulder length reddish brown hair and a thick bushy Pancho Villa mustache, had a quick ham sandwich and glass of milk for breakfast that Monday "because I didn't want to be late for the rally." Pam Holland and Mike Mills, both students said Alan Canfora carried a black anarchist flag on the Commons. "There was another black one and a red one." said a campus photographer, Doug Moore. A photographer had caught Canfora earlier standing defiantly far in front of the crowd, staring at a row of kneeling Guardsmen aiming their rifles in threat on the football practice field. Canfora said he saw again the rifles lower at the top of the hill."I turned and started running. I heard a volley and at the same time I felt a bullet hit my right wrist. Everything blurred I remember falling. Thick bubbles of blood wwere running from the wound." The blood covered his two thick rings. "I don't know whether Al had the flag in his hand or not," said Mike Mills, another campus activist , Canfora didn't say himself. He belittled is role "Oh I was yelling things like 'Oh, 'I heard a volley, turned and ran' end the war" he recalled fro his parent's home in Barberton where his father is city councilman. A bullet hit Tim Grace in the left foot. He was Canfora's roommate, Grace, 20 a sophomore from Syracuse N.Y.,couldn;t remember when he was hit. The bullet tore through the soft leather of his chukka boot. "He told me it smashed hit foot completely" said Ron Law, a senior in the drama department. A few days later a "gangrene-like" infection would set in and visitors to Grace's Room 306 at Robinson Memorial Hospital would be required to wear white masks and gowns. "Tom was very excited and was very eager to be after them," said Ben Parsons, 22, a junior from Massillon. "I helped them carry the guy who got shot in the foot" said Dick Woods, 24, the Marine Corps veteran from Cleveland "There was this girl standing in the doorway at Prentice Hall and she just passed out. I thought she had been shot. It was just shock." In the Sociology Department in Lowry Hall, a girl with a long pony tail became hysterical "She ran into my office" said Mrs. Darlene Mack, a secretary, "and she was screaming "I killed him! I killed him" She was blaming herself for a boy being killed. She said she'd been chanting. I tried to comfort her. She told me to please leave her alone." For more than a week KSU and thee National Guard listed Mary Delaplane as a gunfire casualty. She wasn't. "I was standing in the commons at the time of the shooting," said the girl, a sophomore in education. "People started to run I was carrying a wicker purse. I had a pencil sticking out and it jabbed me just above my left knee. I wanted to go to Health Service but I thought it would be overcrowded. So I went to St Thomas Hospital in Akron" Police there insisted on making a report. The two students farthest from the pagoda were Donald MacKenzie and Robert Stamps. Both were approximately 610 feet away, the length of two football fields. The hill sloped downwards 30 feet. Stamps, 10 , a thin slight youth who speaks rapidly, had a pretzel in one hand and a textbook for abnormal psychology in the other. "I heard the shooting. Something hit me in the rear. I thought it was a rock. And then I put my hand back there and I felt blood. I thought to myself, I'd better get down. If another bullet hits me, I'm gonna be dead." Stamps said " I jumped down on top of two girls in the parking lot. They're lying face up. As soon as it stopped I jumped up and started running again. " I ran right into some guy, put my arms around him, and said 'Brother I've been shot. Help me !'" "John Barilla and I just got up when this guy fell into John's arms and kept yelling, 'Help me ! Help me! Joe Bianchi said, Barilla and Bianchi, roommates in an off campus apartment carried Stamps into Dunbar Hall, a men's dormitory. "We put him on a couch in the lobby and I pulled his pants down" said Bianchi. "It looked as if the bullet had bounced and hit him, ricocheted off the concrete." A surgeon recovered the bullet lodged against the left femur. MacKenzie, a curly brown haired economic major resembling actor Michael Pollard, arrived on campus after an argument over the Cambodian war during a pinball game at a Kent pool hall. He had discussed the same subject at his 8:50 a.m. U.S. foreign policy class. A bomb scare Franklin Hall canceled his statistics class. "I could see a kid run up close behind the Guard. He had a rock and he threw it. One of the Guardsmen turned and fired, and then I heard the volley. That's when I began t get out of there. I was just loping I wasn't running very fast. "I felt a snap in my neck and I fell. I never lost consciousness. I got up and there was blood running out of my cheek." Tom Lough, a sociology instructor, saw MacKenzie walking in circles in a dirt and gravel parking lot. "He was yelling, 'Help me ! Help me!'" A bullet entered MacKenzie's left neck n inch from the spinal cord, shattered the lower left jaw and exited through his cheek, leaving a hole the size of a nickel. "They cut off my shirt at the Health Center tried to stop the bleeding. Then they gave me a shot and I don't remember too much anymore." Three days later, Dr Joseph. W. Ewing, an Akron plastic surgeon, issued a written statement that MacKenzie's wound was "certainly not caused from a missile from a M-1 rifle" or a .45 pistol. He said there was not enough damage. A World War II combat surgeon. Dr. Ewing is a close See NOT ASHAMED Page A-24