Confessions of a Raving, Unconfined Nut

by Paul Krassner

  Oh, yeah, and my yellow leather fringe jacket was stolen from the Movement City tent.

  FBI files indicated that the government wanted to indict twenty individuals for conspiracy to cross state lines for the purpose of inciting a riot at the Chicago convention, but the grand jury wouldn’t go along with such a wholesale indictment, so the list had to be narrowed down. They removed Kathy Boudin of SDS. Although they were hesitant to indict Bobby Seale for lack of evidence, he was a prize, and they were willing to trade two white Yippies for him, so Wolfe Lowenthal and Robin Palmer were both unindicted.

  Super-Joel’s indictment was dropped when an attorney for his grandfather, Mafia godfather Sam Giancana, managed to persuade them that not only did Super-Joel come from “a socially prominent family” in Chicago but also that he was mentally incompetent to stand trial. Stew Albert and I were taken off the list because they were afraid that we might use a freedom-of-the-press defense—if we had crossed state lines with merely the intent of getting a story, it wouldn’t matter even if we incited people to riot once we were there.

  The indictments were finally narrowed down to eight. Jerry Rubin said it was like winning “the Academy Award of protest.” I felt like a disc jockey who hadn’t been offered payola. At a fundraising party on Abbie and Anita’s rooftop, Ed Sanders, Bob Fass, and I linked arms and formed a mini–chorus line doing the two-step and singing, in nyah-nyah fashion, “We weren’t indicted! We weren’t indicted!”

  After the Great Conspiracy Trial began in 1969, I visited Chicago for Thanksgiving. I had never seen Abbie scared before. He didn’t even finish his lunch in a restaurant because he was afraid of being late for court. Jerry said, “It’s the duty of a revolutionist to finish lunch,” and stayed. Dave Dellinger had already finished eating, but remained while Jerry ate, as an indication of a united front. I stayed too, but I wouldn’t have been allowed in court anyway, because I was due to be a witness.

  I was scheduled to testify in January 1970. On the evening before, Abbie coached me with a chronology of Yippie meetings, but trying to memorize all those dates and places made me nervous. It was like being unprepared for an important history exam. And Abbie gave me mixed messages. On one hand, he told me, “There’s nothing you can do to help us, you can only harm us.” On the other hand, he told me, “I want you to give the judge a heart attack.”

  I assured him, “I’ll do my best.” I didn’t sleep much that night.

  I had brought a stash of LSD with me, but things were too tense for an acid party. Instead, I decided to take a tab of acid before I took the witness stand—call me a sentimental fool—but it wasn’t merely to enhance the experience. I had a more functional reason. My purpose was twofold.

  I knew that if I ingested three hundred micrograms of LSD after eating a big meal, I was very likely to throw up in court. That would be my theatrical statement on the injustice of the trial. Also, I wouldn’t need to memorize so much information that way. I had to psych myself up, to imagine it actually happening. The prosecutor would ask, “Now where did this meeting take place?” And I would go, “waughhhhhppp!”

  They couldn’t charge me with contempt of court because they wouldn’t know I had done it on purpose. The judge would say, “Bailiff, get him out of here!” But just as he was dragging me away, I would get one more projectile off, onto the judge’s podium—“Waughhhhhppp!” And, although there would be no photographic record of this incident because cameras weren’t allowed, courtroom artists would capture my vomit with green and gold charcoal crayons for the eleven o’clock news.

  Next day at lunch, while the others were passing around a chunk of hash, I took out a tab of LSD. Abbie said, “What’s that, acid? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jerry said, “I think he should do it.” I swallowed it despite what both of them said. The acid really began to hit while I was waiting in the witness room. A few volunteers were watching film footage of Dave Dellinger pleading with a crowd at the convention:

  “Stay calm! Stay calm!”

  I said, “Boy, when the jury sees this, it’ll really be clear that Dave was doing anything but trying to start a riot.”

  The volunteers laughed. “Are you kidding?” said one. “They’re never gonna allow that to be admitted as evidence.”

  Then suddenly I was thrust into the middle of a Looney Tunes cartoon. It happened at the precise moment that I was escorted into the court by Tom Hayden and Jerry Rubin—or, as I perceived them, Tom and Jerry. The furniture started dancing merrily.

  Judge Julius Hoffman looked exactly like Elmer Fudd. I expected him to proclaim, “Let’s get them pesky wadicals!” The court clerk looked exactly like Goofy. It didn’t matter that a Disney character was making a guest appearance in a Looney Tunes cartoon—one learns to accept such discrepancies in a dreamlike state. Now I was being instructed by Goofy to raise my right hand and place my left hand on a Bible that was positively vibrating.

  “Do you hereby swear,” asked Goofy, “that the testimony you are about to give in the cause now on trial before this court and jury shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  The truth for me was that LSD—or any other catalyst for getting in closer touch with your subconscious, whether it be meditation, Zen, yoga, Aikido—served as a reminder that choices are being made every moment. So naturally I assumed that Goofy was offering me a choice.

  “No,” I replied.

  Although I hadn’t planned to say that, I realized it was a first in American jurisprudence. Ordinarily, the more heinous a crime the more eagerly will a defendant take the oath. However, my refusal to swear on the Bible was a leap of faith. Everything was swirling around in pastel colors, but there was still a core of reality I was able to grasp, and somehow I managed to flash back to a civics class in junior high school when we had studied the Bill of Rights in general and the First Amendment in particular. Now I found myself passing that lesson on to Goofy.

  “I believe in the constitutional provision for the separation of church and state,” I said, “so I will choose to affirm to tell the truth.”

  “Let ’im affirm,” said Judge Fudd—begrudgingly, it seemed to me, as if to say, Let ’im resort to the goddamn Constitution! “Administer the affirmation, Mr. Clerk.”

  Goofy repeated the oath: “. . . and nothing but the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “This you do under pains and penalties—”

  Elmer Fudd interrupted: “Listen to the last part before you say ‘yes.’”

  “If I am going to tell the truth,” I said, “I am going to tell the truth no matter what the penalties are.”

  Goofy repeated the oath and continued, “Under pains and penalties of perjury?”

  “Yes.”

  Defense attorney William Kunstler looked exactly like the Wise Old Owl. The prosecutor looked exactly like the Big Bad Wolf. I felt exactly like Alice in Wonderland. The Wise Old Owl was questioning me about the original Yippie meeting.

  Q. Do you know Jerry Rubin?

  A. Yes, I do.

  Q. And which one is Jerry Rubin at this table?

  A. The man trying to hide behind Mr. Dellinger.

  Q . Can you identify Abbie Hoffman at this table?

  A. (Pointing) He looks familiar. Yes, I would say that would be Abbie Hoffman.

  Elmer Fudd: Would it be or is it?

  Alice in Wonderland: It definitely is. It would be him too, but he is.

  The Wise Old Owl continued.

  Q. Do you know any of the other defendants at the defense table?

  A. Well, I know all of them.

  Q. You know all of the others?

  A. I mean, I’ve only met a few since I learned they were defendants.

  Q. Which of those few?

  A. Well, I had never met John Froines before. I had never met Lee Weiner before.

  Q. But the rest you have known before, is that correct?

  A. I had never met Bobby Seale, or don’t we count
him anymore?

  Q. Well, we count him even though he is not here.

  I held back from saying, “Yes, he is.” I had seen only artists’ charcoal renditions of the missing defendant on TV newscasts, shackled to his chair with a gag taped over his mouth, and that was the image that I was now hallucinating—a generic courtroom sketch superimposed in front of the defense table. His attorney was ill, so he wanted to defend himself, but Elmer Fudd disallowed that, and he ultimately removed Seale from this trial.

  The Wise Old Owl asked me who was at the original Yippie meeting.

  Q. Can you identify Anita Hoffman?

  A. Yes, the young lady who is standing.

  Q. What about Nancy Kurshan?

  A. The young lady who is now standing.

  The Big Bad Wolf: I object to this, Your Honor.

  Elmer Fudd: Yes, I think it is inappropriate that the spectators here be identified by witnesses.

  The Wise Old Owl: Your Honor, they were at the meeting.

  He has just stated they were at the meeting. I am asking him to identify them.

  Elmer Fudd: He hasn’t been identifying them. They stood up when their names were mentioned. He hasn’t gone down there and identified them.

  Alice in Wonderland: Do you want me to go down there and identify them?

  Elmer Fudd: No, I don’t want you to do anything but to answer questions properly.

  The Wise Old Owl: Your Honor, I am going to object to his not being able to identify these two women. If they had been men, they would probably be indicted here as defendants because they have been in every one of the meetings. They have been stated by witness after witness as being present.

  The Big Bad Wolf objected.

  Elmer Fudd: “If they had been men, they probably would have been indicted here,” and anything else that followed these words, are stricken from the record and the jury is directed to disregard them. I will say that if there is anyone else that this witness identifies, I would ask them not to wave back at the witness.

  Alice in Wonderland: Now, look, I’m a man and I wasn’t indicted.

  The Big Bad Wolf: May we have that comment stricken, Your Honor?

  Later, the questioning—about a backstage conversation at a benefit for the Yippies and The Seed, Chicago’s underground paper—took on an aura of the Marx Brothers meet Abbott and Costello.

  Q. Who was there?

  A. Abbie Hoffman was there. Jerry Rubin was there. Nicholas von Hoffman from The Washington Post was there . . .

  Q. Now, would you state who said what at that meeting?

  A. Yeah, Jerry said that we ought to make the formal application to the city of Chicago for the permits, that we ought to do that the very next day. Do you want the specific details of the conversation?

  Q. Yes. Go ahead.

  A. Well, we proceeded to—

  The Big Bad Wolf: Who said what?

  The Wise Old Owl: Mr. Foran has suggested that you state who said what to whom as you can recall it.

  Elmer Fudd: I approve of the suggestion.

  The Wise Old Owl: I approve of it myself, Your Honor.

  Alice in Wonderland: Is everybody through approving?

  The Wise Old Owl: Everybody has approved.

  Elmer Fudd: The witness has been told that before, however. It is not an original thought of Mr. Foran’s.

  Alice in Wonderland: Mr. Hoffman suggested—

  Elmer Fudd: Is it Mr. Hoffman or Von Hoffman? Which was it? There were two there, weren’t there?

  Alice in Wonderland: Oh, that’s correct.

  Elmer Fudd: You have mentioned a Von Hoffman, Nicholas.

  Alice in Wonderland: That’s right, but now—

  Elmer Fudd: Which one is talking now?

  Alice in Wonderland: Now I said Mr. Hoffman.

  Elmer Fudd: Now it is Mr. Hoffman.

  Alice in Wonderland: That’s correct.

  Elmer Fudd: There was no Von in there? I thought you said Von Hoffman of The Washington Post was there, didn’t you, in response to Mr. Kunstler’s inquiry?

  Alice in Wonderland: That’s correct.

  Elmer Fudd: Well, then, there was somebody there.

  Alice in Wonderland: Yes, and now I am talking about Mr. Hoffman.

  Elmer Fudd: Now you are talking about Mr. Abbot Hoffman.

  Alice in Wonderland: Abbie. Abbie.

  Elmer Fudd: All right. I want to place the various Hoffmans or Von Hoffmans who were at that—I don’t want anybody to be confused about the Hoffmans.

  The Wise Old Owl: “Von” is of the German nobility, Your Honor, and Mr. Hoffman has never been of the German nobility.

  Elmer Fudd: Oh, is that what the “Von” means?

  The Wise Old Owl: That’s what the “Von” means.

  Alice in Wonderland: I never call him Mr. Hoffman anyway. Abbie. Abbie said that—excuse me, did Your Honor say something?

  Elmer Fudd: Go ahead and say what was said, if you ever get around to it—just like Mr. Foran said, who said what to whom.

  Go ahead, if they said anything. If they said nothing, you don’t have to say anything.

  Alice in Wonderland: Abbie said, “Let’s get it done as quickly as possible.”

  The Wise Old Owl: Was that as far as you can recall the extent of the conversation?

  Alice in Wonderland: Oh, no. I just didn’t want to bore the judge.

  Elmer Fudd: Oh, I’m very much interested. You’re not boring me. Besides, you’re obligated to answer even if you bore the court. You must answer.

  The Wise Old Owl: Don’t be misled by the judge’s expression . . .

  During recess, I started fiddling around with a gavel that was on the witness stand, and the bailiff took it away from me. I recalled when Jerry got busted in New York for marijuana, and Abbie and I got the giggles in court because someone had changed the motto on the wall behind the judge to read in god we rust. And I recalled when Abbie got busted in New York for throwing a bag of blood at a demonstration, but I testified that I had flashed the V sign to him and he was simply returning it. The judge asked me what the V sign meant, and I explained that it had different meanings—it could mean hello or it could mean victory.

  “Well,” asked that judge, “what did it mean to you on this occasion?”

  “It meant, Hello, victory.”

  Recess was now over and the Chicago Conspiracy Trial resumed. Although I felt myself being sucked into some kind of psychic whirlpool, I was still able to speak with lucidity. But then, as the questions continued, I became increasingly nonlinear about the dates and locations of various meetings. I had really wanted to throw up, but now I didn’t feel the slightest bit queasy.

  Q. Mr. Krassner, I call your attention to approximately nine pm on the night of August 7, 1968, and ask if you can recall where you were.

  A. August 7, I was in Chicago.

  Q. Where were you at that time, if you can recall?

  A. August 7. What time of day was this?

  Elmer Fudd: Nine o’clock.

  Q. Nine pm, approximately nine o’clock at night.

  A. Nine o’clock at night, Auguest 7. That would have been—what day of the week was that?

  Q. I don’t know myself. It’s a Wednesday.

  A. Oh, I was confusing with the previous thing. August 7. That was the day that

  Elmer Fudd: The question is, where were you?

  My mind went blank. At the defense table, Abbie was mouthing the word Chicago and the marshal moved to prevent him, as if we were on a TV game show and he had to warn Abbie, “No coaching from the audience.”

  Alice in Wonderland: In Chicago.

  Elmer Fudd: That is a big city.

  Q. Do you remember what place you were at?

  A. Oh, you mean—

  Q. I didn’t hear you.

  Elmer Fudd: Nobody else did. He didn’t say anything.

  Q. That explains it. Do you know at what place in Chicago you were on August 7 at approximately nine pm?

  A. That w
as the time—wait. I’ll have to phrase this—let’s see.

  Q. Is your memory exhausted as to where you were at the time?

  A. Specifically, yes.

  Elmer Fudd: You don’t remember where you were, is that it? He hasn’t said he doesn’t remember where he was.

  Q. Well, I will ask him. Do you remember where you were at that time?

  A. See, I’m having a difficult time associating that particular date in my memory with the event of where I was.

  Q. Well, is your memory exhausted as to where you were on that particular day, that particular time?

  A. Yes. It’s—yes.

  Q. Do you remember when you came to Chicago?

  A. It was August 21.

  Q. I call your attention to August 24, the evening of that day. Do you recall where you were then?

  A. Tuesday—that’s a Tuesday, right?

  Q. That would be a Saturday night.

  A. At the Coliseum. There was an Unbirthday Party for Lyndon Johnson.

  Q. You are a week ahead of yourself.

  A. I’m sorry.

  Q. This is Saturday, the 24th.

  A. Oh, I thought we were into the convention week already. I am sorry.

  Q. Well, I will withdraw that question for a moment, and I will show you—

  Elmer Fudd: May I suggest that you may not correct the answer of the witness.

  The Wise Old Owl: He is obviously confused, Your Honor. He was a week ahead.

  Elmer Fudd: He is not confused.

  The Wise Old Owl: I thought he was confused.

  Elmer Fudd: You simply corrected his answer by saying he is a week ahead of himself. Let the witness testify. Now, if you want to withdraw the question, I will strike the answer.

  The Wise Old Owl: Your Honor, it was obvious he was confused as to the week.

  Elmer Fudd: No, it isn’t obvious at all. If you want to withdraw the question, you may.