The Campus Security Police Chief fired several shots over the heads of the milling students to hurry them along.
“An onlooker gathering data on the tribal traditions by which the youth of the tribe challenge their elders, and on the age-old defensive responses of the elders. Just an impartial observer.” A bullet passed over the heads of the students, broke the window of his room, and whizzed past the ear of Jonathan Relevant. “Hey! What’s the big idea? I’m an innocent bystander!"
“Nobody’s an innocent bystander! The noncombatant is always the first victim! In the end, the uninvolved always become the most involved of all! So face it. You're Relevant. You’re involved!”
It was another piece for the puzzle.
The SDS-ers, already slugging it out with the jocks, broke ranks and fled as the campus bluecoats charged. Arms still locked, the Afro-Americans went limp as the cops moved in on them. A few black heads were busted to break their chain. A few more were busted gratuitously. Finally the blacks broke and ran, confirmed in their blackness by the cops’ zeal.
They regrouped across the campus and watched as the bluecoats picked up the statue and carried it into the Administration Building. “Where are we going to do?” One of the blacks asked the question that was on all their minds.
“You really want to know, baby?” G. P. Porter was boiling. “Okay! Right on! I’ll tell you! . . .”
G. P.’s plan was put into action shortly after the police left the Administration Building. The only cop left was the one usually on guard in the center hall. Behind him, against the wall, and circumspectly facing it, was the Angel Gabriel. The cop took a firm grip on his billy when the black students came through the door.
“We’d like to see the chancellor,” G. P. told him.
“You got an appointment, boy?”
“No. But we’re a delegation to-—”
“Can’t see the chancellor without you got an appointment, boy.”
“Unh-hunh!" G. P.’s eyes narrowed. “So be it!” Motioning to the others to follow, he headed for the stairs leading to the offices on the second floor.
“Now you hold it right there, boy!” The cop blocked the staircase. He raised his club threateningly.
Less than a minute later he was flat on his back with three blacks sitting on top of him while a fourth twirled his billy. They stripped him and tossed him out the front door, completely nude. Jonathan Relevant watched as the naked figure scooted across the campus. He was the only witness when the nude cop ran smack into Miss Judith Uptyte, the college librarian, a virgin lady in her sixties.
By then G. P. and the others had stormed into the chancel1or’s office. “What’s the meaning of this?” Chancellor Hardlign demanded.
“We’re here to discuss black manhood!”
“I’ll be glad to discuss it.” The chancellor maintained his calm. “But not under coercive circumstances. I’m always available to my students. Just make an appointment.”
“And meanwhile Gabriel will be melted down for shrapnel! No thanks!” G. P. was firm. “You’ll talk to us right now!”
The chancellor sucked in angry air. “Now look here-—” The telephone rang. “Excuse me.” He answered it. “Hello. . . . As a matter of fact, I am rather busy at the moment, Miss Uptyte. . . . What’s that? . . . Naked, did you say? . . . One of our campus officers . . . leaped out of the shrubbery at you. . . . Sexual assault. Well, I agree, but . . . no, Miss Uptyte, please don’t do that. . . . Well, of course I’m concerned about your reputation, but there’s the reputation of the university to be considered as well. . . . But if you file a formal complaint the publicity will . . . I promise you that immediate action will be taken. . . . Yes. . . . Good-bye.” Chancellor Hardlign hung up the telephone and turned back to confront G. P. “A rather serious matter has come up,” he said. “Evidently one of our policemen has turned into some sort of sex maniac and is running amok. I have to take measures. So if you’ll all be good enough to leave now-—”
“No!” G. P. sat down on the floor and some of the other blacks followed suit. “The Afro-American Society has been trying to go through channels for over a year to get this joint to enlarge its quota of admissions for blacks, and we know where that’s at!” he told the chancellor.
“There are no quotas at Harnell!”
“And there are no blacks to speak of either!”
“If you won’t get out of my office, then you leave me no alternative!” Chancellor Hardlign reached for the phone.
G. P. yanked the phone wires out of the wall.
“Vandalism!” The chancellor stormed out from behind his desk. Before he could reach the door, it was closed and two blacks stood blocking it. “Am I to understand that you’re going to keep me here against my will?” Chancellor Hardlign was livid.
“Harnell’s being liberated,” G. P. told him. “And you’re a hostage to see that it stays liberated.” G. P. got to his feet. “You stay and guard him,” he instructed four of the blacks. “The rest of you come with me. We’ve got to secure the building.”
The blacks used desks, filing cabinets, all sorts of ofiice furniture to barricade the Administration Building. Only one window was left unblocked to serve as entrance and exit. Two of the larger boys were stationed there to guard it by G. P.
G. P. left via that window and headed for the chemistry lab of the Science Research Institute. He intended to load up on explosives. A little TNT might go a long way in discouraging any attempt to retake the Administration Building. From his window, Jonathan Relevant watched the young black race across the quad until he vanished behind the building next door.
G. P. used a crowbar to get into the basement storeroom of the chem lab. Choosing carefully, he loaded up a large sack. Just as he started back for the window, he spotted a campus cop bending over to examine the jimmied lock. G. P. went out the storeroom door and headed down a long corridor. The door at the other end admitted him to the basement of the building next door. He came to a staircase, went up one flight, and emerged to find himself in a corridor of the main building of the research institute proper.
G. P. wandered down the hallway. Hearing footsteps, he stopped short. There was a door opposite him. He had little choice. He turned the doorknob. The door swung open. G. P. stepped into the room and found himself nose to nose with —
“Eldridge Cleaver!”
“Glad to know you.” Jonathan Relevant knew the young man wasn’t Eldridge Cleaver. But if he wanted to pass himself off as the Black Panther spokesman, Jonathan saw no reason to puncture the illusion. It seemed a harmless enough impersonation.
“Eldridge Cleaver!” G. P. set the sack of explosives down on the floor and grinned ecstatically at Jonathan Relevant. “I’d know you anywhere from your pictures!”
“Right on!” Jonathan Relevant realized that he, himself, was Eldridge Cleaver. You’re a little slow, Jonathan Relevant told the Jonathan Relevant who was Eldridge Cleaver. I hesitated, the Jonathan Relevant was was Eldridge Cleaver silently replied, ’cause I was wondering whether to take the Fifth. It’s the California syndrome. You know, he added with a credit line to Ogden Nash, if you're a Panther, don't anther.
“I’ve read everything you ever wrote.” G. P. was babbling worshipfully. “Eldridge Cleaver! Talk about the right guy at the right time! I figured you were probably in Cuba, or China, or Algeria, some place like that, hiding out, you know? Man, am I ever glad to see you!” G. P. hefted the sack of explosives.
Suddenly Leander Pigbaigh filled the doorway to the room. “What yew doin’ heah, boy?” he demanded. “No students ’lowed heah, nigra nor otherwise. This place is under gov’ment see-curity an’—”