Prologue: Caged

(February 19, 1969)


I was caged.

Then, I was driven.

Driven to Cherokee.

A hazy memory of riding caged in the back of a police car.

Two shadows in the front seat, the county sheriff and a female escort.

Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” buzzing from a tinny transistor radio.

Outside, the Iowa landscape bleak:

Cloudy and cold, condensation and frost riming the windows, piles of dirty snow dotting the countryside.

I, cargo.

Destination: Cherokee’s other place, the outline on the hill.

Shifting, crossing my legs…

Please, can we stop?

Hot and steamy inside.

Shivering, my teeth rattling.

Please…I have to go!

Hear something, George?

Naw, nothin’ important.


Cargo has no voice.

Madness has no voice.

Listen, crazy girl…

Two voices: We have come to take you away, ha, ha…

“I’m crazy, crazy…”

Fragments, crazy-quilt impressions, acid flashbacks…

I, crazy?

* * * * *

From I, Driven: a memoir of involuntary commitment ("Prologue")

© 2008-2010, by Jennifer Semple Siegel

Excerpt may not be used or copied without author’s permission.


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Monday, July 21, 2008

October 2, 1968: Mexico City Police Fire on Protesting Students, 300-500 Killed

True voice of the revolution

Mexico City, October 2, 1968; video by Atticus1975

While the media spotlight shone on Europe and the US, hundreds of protesters were massacred on the streets of Mexico. Why is it still the forgotten story of '68?

The great spectacle of 1968, and capitalism's closest shave, came in Paris. The victory, in the end, belonged to Prague. The severity of 1968 in Rome and Berlin begat years of armed insurrection, while in Chicago, flower power grew up and got serious about war in Vietnam. But the bloodbath of 1968, the detonation of a revolutionary battle that rages still, came in a place that many accounts of that year reduce, inexplicably, to a footnote: Mexico.

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