The Catalyst

 Lubbock Revisited On the Ides of March in 1987 a few former Texas Tech students gathered at a Hyde Park house in Austin to celebrate a rather unusual reunion. For, although most of us had been enrolled at Texas Tech College, this wasn't your usual class reunion. After 17 years, curiosity had gotten the best of us. We had to see how a band of dissolute hippies had evolved. For many of us, it was less than a year that we had been together--from the fall of 1969 until the following May of 1970. But in that short time we shared experiences that would bond us for many years to follow, even though some of us did not keep in touch. That bonding process happened elsewhere. In fact, it occurred nationwide, and as in any wartime era, the whole country was swept up in it. What made us different, perhaps, was that our numbers were so small. There were only a few in Lubbock who would challenge a system so encrusted in conservatism that the slightest hint of change met with stern resistance. And for most of us, it would be the only time we would make a political stance, would oppose a war and, in our naivete and youthfulness, take a risk. Texas Tech and the Lubbock community would face, maybe for the first time, renegade students who would continually pester them and become thorny implants in the side of authority. We were impudent enough to stage silent protests and moratoriums, march to the Administration Building, adorn black armbands to symbolize the Viet Nam deaths, wear our hair long, and attend classes (when we went at all) in a rather disheveled state. There were other unpopular causes that we crusaded for--at one point we even tried to get Texas Technological College changed to Texas State University. Although Tech had a Liberal Arts College, the name alone branded it as a technological school. The most important vehicle for change created during that time was an underground newspaper, The Catalyst. Its founders were even sophisticated enough to get a sponsorship from a Unitarian church and form the Channing Club. As a church-sponsored organization, Tech granted it the same privileges other campus groups enjoyed. However, when The Catalyst continued to print news that took jabs at the Tech administration, the local politicos, the Nixon Administration, and two other newspapers--the ultra-conservative Lubbock Avalanche-Journal and the timid University Daily--it was banned from sale on campus. The Catalyst staff sued. And, even more amazingly, it won its battle and set a precedent for other campus newspapers across the state. The Tech administration did not give up without a fight and enlisted the state attorney general, Waggoner Carr, to join its defense team. At one point the editor was thrown in jail for possession of drugs. His drugs, however, turned out to be prescription cough medicine from the Texas Tech infirmary. Yet, because the arrest came during finals, everyone believed it was simply harrassment. There were other events that served to bond us together, if only in the face of adversity. A candlelight peace vigil ended with the crowd being battered by eggs. A futile and hilarious attempt to take over the ROTC building almost caused the Lubbock police department's expensive new riot tank to make its first run. There were jeers and threats by the students we called Aggies, who wore cowboy hats and were, after all, just like we had been before we turned bad. Yet there were delightful surprises. There was a man in cowboy hat and boots who stood with us during a protest even though he probably didn't espouse our views. But he felt we had the right to express them. Unless, of course, you believe the more plausible theory of his being an undercover policeman just making sure we didn't start a riot. There were also the music concerts in McKenzie Park, organized by Mary the Eskimo. It was during these events that others like us from the town expanded our numbers. And, to cap it all off, there was what became known as the Lubbock Flop Festival, a pop festival in an old dusty cottonfield that drew no national rock bands (as advertised). It did, however, manage to attract a state convention of about 200 DPS patrolmen, who seized the opportunity to practice their maneuvers on us daily until those who weren't arrested were washed out by thunderstorms. These memories, and many others, were dredged up during the reunion. To help stimulate this immersion into old times, the invitation asked people to bring Lubbock memorabilia. A special call was sent out for anyone who had a "Lucky Me, I Live in Lubbock" bumper sticker. Finis Nabors, who has lived in Austin since the 70's, arrived with the winning sticker--and its counterpart: "Fuck Me, I Live in Lubbock." Kent Cowan, who now has an electronics company in Midland, brought his Texas Tech identification card and--what all male students had to carry then but few have now--his draft card. Scott Wilmot, though contacted at the last minute, drove up from Houston and brought a complete set of Catalysts. Peter Lilly, from New York City, brought a copy of the petition the Catalyst had filed against Texas Tech. Dino Sinclair, ever the flower child, had worn a blue workshirt (with a painted flower on the back) almost daily to classes at Tech. Its remnants, with flower intact, were carefully preserved in a glass frame for display. My photographs of the group in 1969 and 1970, which were not appreciated for their content by my photojournalism teacher at Tech, became a frame of reference for us, the before and after. It wasn't until the morning after the party, while taking down the photographs and decorations, that Jon Holmes remembered who Kathy Williams was. Kathy, now working in social services in Lubbock, had driven down the night before the party. Her photograph must have reminded Jon of the time she was known as the "Sex and Drugs Girl" because of her famous speech at an outside rally about the effect of marijuana on sexuality. Ironically, she was a virgin and didn't do drugs. But she read the current literature, and spoke with some authority, if not from practical experience. What had happened to us in 17 years? Many are in social services or health fields--Lynn Fisk, Steve Heath, Dino' Sinclair, Kathy Williams, and John McClung. Two men, Finis Nabors and Virgil Massey, are working, have families, and are going to school to start new careers. Jon Holmes, a writer and recently elected to the Massachusetts board of the Civil Liberties Union, avowed he was "still fighting the Law and the Law was still winning." Some of us have actually not changed very much. Artist Cecille Hollyfield has been selling t-shirts on the drag for years and David Bearden, editor of East Austin's The Villager, is still supporting his favorite cause, rights for blacks. Even those who might be considered to have upwardly mobile jobs--Peter Lilly in a New York Bank, and John Trotter, in a Houston computer firm--could not by any flexing of the imagination be labeled Yuppies. The reunion came closer to resembling a family barbecue than a gathering of former Viet Nam war protesters. Hank Fletcher of Houston, like a favorite uncle, videotaped the event. Also like a family member who couldn't be there, Sid Shaw, now a Washington, DC-based staffer for UPI, phoned and talked to everyone at the party for over two hours. After all, we were, to some degree, an extended family because the events that almost tore the country apart had brought us together. Now most of us are relatively secure and settling down to a traditional life. So traditional that we plan on having another reunion.

== We need you photos, artifacts and parafernalia for a proposed exhibit at the Southwest Collection at Texas Tech University. We are also proposed to place a state historical marker on campus or nearby and will be seeking donations to defray the costs. Please look through your prized possessions and dust them off. We will let you know later where to send them for inclusion in a display. ==