An Unmarked Trail - The Odyssey of Federal Judge Harlington Wood, Jr.

I started back for Checkpoint Charlie. As I approached it, heading again for the storefront German checkpoint, I got into a little last minute trouble. I was taking a shortcut across a grassy strip when I heard loud shouts of “Achtung! Achtung!” I was sternly directed by the broad gestures of a German officer to get back on the sidewalk. There was no problem for me, however, at the German checkpoint. While I was there checking out, a tall slim man wearing a tam came running, but not fast, down the street by which I had just come. He headed directly toward Checkpoint Charlie and, he thought, to freedom, bypassing the German store checkpoint. His hands were outstretched and he was plaintively calling at the top of his voice, “Andre, Andre.” The German police didn’t just yell at him but grabbed him quickly, took him into custody and led him away somewhere. As I walked into our free territory I said “Good night” to the American soldiers at our checkpoint, then looked around for someone who might be named Andre and waiting for that unfortunate man.

My upper was just a pad on a shelf. I managed to get the window partly open, which let in the soot, but at least it was not so stuffy. After a difficult night, I got up before the women did and went for a “good omelette with ham” for breakfast, but added in my log, “It was not really an omelette, more like pieces of ham on a fried egg.” Anyway it was all right. My roommates just threw their empty bottles and jars out our compartment window. It got hot and dirty with soot all over. At the next stop the men, all without shirts, rushed to a trough at the station and with much splashing washed themselves, then got back on the train.

Reverend Adams and I turned onto Big Foot Trail. Just ahead was the government roadblock; actually, it was more checkpoint than roadblock. Reverend Adams wrote that there seemed to be more agents at our roadblock that day than usual because of where he and I were headed. Perhaps, but I did not notice. Some of the agents did come to the car to shake hands. I did not regard that mutual cordiality as a sign that they were not sure they would see me again, as Reverend Adams did. After that brief roadblock stop we started on down the trail and over the ridges toward Wounded Knee. In a couple of miles I could see the Indian roadblock across Big Foot Trail. It was a real roadblock and appeared to be made up of old cars and cinder blocks. As we approached and slowed, a few armed Indians came out in front, leveled their rifles at us, and motioned for us to stop and get out of the car. We did. If I had thought those Indians were pointing their rifles at us belligerently, I would have been frightened; but I was hoping it was no more than a little show. That is all it was. Maybe it was a test of our seriousness, too, as on other occasions the presence of armed Indians had been enough for the government to call off the scheduled negotiations.

That spring the nation’s capital, true to our expectations, passed through the most massive, sustained and varied period of public demonstrations in its recent history. Only a truly democratic, constitutional and understanding government, functioning as it was intended to function, could have withstood such massive outpourings of various segments of political thought and activities in opposition to a governing administration and its policies. Few governments would permit it, much less constructively protect, provide for and even assist the legitimate expression of dissent. Our government did that in many ways, unknown to many and unappreciated by others.