Born of the unthinkable crime against the nation of November 22, 1963, and accelerated by the institutionalized violence of war abroad and riots at home, the era metastasized in the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Senator Robert F. Kennedy in the spring of our graduation.
Forces grasped at us, even in the tranquility of ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾.
But this is hindsight. ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ of our 1964 matriculation looked inward. Classes six days a week and myriad activities swept us into the centuries-old liberal arts traditions. War and unrest seemed far away.
Some 240 mostly white, privileged, and self-assured teenaged males accepted the 1964 Offer of the College. Weren’t we destined to count “art an intimate friend” and “to be at home in all lands and ages”? Weren’t we “the chosen band” of ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ song?
We soon sensed a different reality: the unprecedented events transforming America shattered our expectations. America wasn’t perfect, or always right or just. Dissent wrote the lyrics of our music, powered talk shows, divided families, and marched the streets of America.
Doubt divided us against ourselves. We studied history’s moral precepts and the “right principles” of societies while debating the failures of our own. How could a democracy so conceived so mistreat minorities, wage an unjust war, and impair its own democratic processes? Yet, in this turbulence, my ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ courses, the all-nighters, distant peace rallies, and assimilation of the raging national debates gifted me with a priceless education. In the dark of doubt, the great moral questions burned bright.
Graduation approached, Vietnam escalated, the future became more ominous. Many made decisions that defined our lives.
The question forced upon us was “for what purpose would we give our lives?” ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ helped me realize I would give my life to protect our flawed, precious democracy, as only democracy can reform democracy. I soon realized a corollary: if I would die to protect our democracy, I would dedicate my life to strengthening it.
I chose to stay in ROTC and to serve. My position of privilege gave me no right to send a less privileged person to an unjust war. Commissioned an Army officer, I served eighteen months in South Korea, just below the DMZ, with the Second Infantry Division. I am privileged to have served.
I have kept my ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ promise. My faith in democracy remains strong, despite those who test its durability today. I ask those who fear loss of our democracy whether they are willing to die to protect it. So committed, we have nothing to fear. The question and the price may shock some. I remain comfortable. I made my decision at ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾.
This reflection is part of a series written by members of the Class of 1968. Read more in For Conscience and Country
This story first appears in the Fall 2018 issue of ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø±¬ÍøÕ¾ Magazine.
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