The thirteen seconds of gunfire changed not only my hometown but much more. Though it has been 51 years now, I remember the day well.
I believe I was the first person in my school to know of the shootings. I was out doing what I did every day around that time. While cutting school to ride around and smoke a couple of cigarettes, the news came over the radio. As to details, there weren’t any. I did know my uncle was there with the National Guard. Later, we learned that one of the people who was fired was from Mantua. I also knew my dad was probably in the area, and he was. He was having lunch, and at least one bullet went over the restaurant where he ate.
The guy I knew from town was a nice, decent guy. I had known him and his family for years. That’s how it is in small towns. His brother had been killed in Nam. I’ve heard some say that’s why he was fired. Completely false. 
His brother, another young man I knew well, actually better, died about two months later in what would be the last major battle of the war. However, the aftermath would still leave a lasting impact on a small town and the country.
Later, I attended Kent State University, and most of my classes were in the building you can see in the picture. I would later work on the college newspaper located in that building and had the opportunity to interview students and professors there that day. I do have to say that professors defused what happened immediately after.
From interviews and just general knowledge from reading, it still puzzles me why it happened. A protest covered by the First Amendment that turned violent is challenging to reconcile. However, the protest wasn’t peaceful, and not all of the protesters were students. Add in young, tired National Guardsmen who had been patrolling in the interstates during the trucker strike, and I’ve been able to understand the fear factor they must have felt.
I remember a man, Dr. Jerry Lewis, a sociology professor, whom I interviewed extensively. He invited me to attend his class at the site and described it to his students. I listened to what he said, but in my opinion, some of it was wrong. I told him why. It didn’t matter.
There would be another campus shooting 11 days later at Jackson State, killing two and wounding 12. Jackson State was a predominately black college, but few heard of it. I have a relative tell me he had no idea, never having heard of Jackson State, and concluded he had not because of racism. I disagreed and still do. Kent State so dominated the news in the days following May 4; it almost seemed as though nothing else was on the news. So, unless you were paying attention to the news, Jackson State didn’t seem to be on the national radar at the time.
Getting back to Kent State(this is an example of my stream of consciousness where I keep going without any clue where I’m headed), I’ve heard protesters referred to as “dirty hippies,” and the Guard referred to as killers or murderers. After about 50 years, I consider neither point valid.
The shootings at Kent State and Jackson State, for that matter, were tragic events. I can know to an extent how it feels to protest. I did it at Ohio State in 1972, although more as an observer. But I remember the feeling of police charging the crowd with riot batons and seeing students beaten to the ground around me. Not a good feeling.
But then I put myself in the shoes of the Guard on the hill who fired at Kent State and have wondered how I would have reacted-perhaps the same way. There is no way for me to know. It also means there is no way for others to know.
I recall one protest at Ohio State and how the police moved and trapped the crowd at what is known as Mirror Lake, I believe. The students were surrounded, and I anticipated the worst by police converging on the area, which provided no escape. They’d already used batons and nightsticks, so I waited for 
what I believed to be inevitable. But it didn’t happen. There was restraint, and we were told to disperse. Off we walked in different directions. Police officers were stationed along the streets, nightsticks in the hands of many, but the officers stood at attention.
One officer had a bandaged face. I was unsure why, but I stopped to ask him what happened. He had been hit in the face with a brick the night before by a student. But he was polite and not angry. This wasn’t exactly what I expected.
I’m no longer in a position to evaluate the events of May 4 as far as determining fault. What I mean is I’ve made up my mind. I know there have been changes in how the Guard is deployed, and I’m sure more professionalism, like the police officer I met at Ohio State. What I do know is I hope it never happens again.