EDITOR'S NOTE: The tumultuous events of 1968 changed America forever. To mark the 40th anniversary, we are publishing readers' recollections.
In my mind, it's hard to separate 1968 from all the rest of the late sixties' and early seventies' peace, love and anti-war stuff.
Let's see, 1968 was the year before I got a winning draft lottery number and the year after I missed “The Summer of Love.”
I also know little pieces of the year, for me, were clouded in a miasma of marijuana haze. I remember 1968 was the year I saw the Vanilla Fudge psychedelic rock group at the old, original, coliseum on Independence Boulevard.
I was attending UNC Charlotte in 1968. I wasn't a hippie, though I had leanings in that direction. I had a “conservative” Beatles-style haircut. You had to be real bold back then, if you were a male, and wore your hair shoulder length or in an Afro.
But in '68 I did place a flower in a wooden coffin during an organized protest at Charlotte's old army induction center on Pecan Avenue.
Finally, I remember Susan. Was she my “girlfriend” or just a girl friend? Forty years later I'm still not sure. We dated a few times and I wrote her a love poem, but I never gave her any significant pieces of metal to wrap around her wrist, finger, neck or ankle.
The last time I saw Susan we were all grown up, she with a husband and me with a fiancee. I never talked with her again but I Googled her and found out instead of becoming a teacher, as she had planned, she became an audiologist – a hearing specialist.
A perfect vocation for a very giving and empathetic person. I was never able to determine, definitively, how to contact her again. That's OK, we're still friends forever....