(The author is a Wellesley junior from Ohio who transferred from Northwestern last fall.)

UNLIKE most Wellesley girls who spent the semester break skiing at Stowe or visiting boyfriends at Yale or Princeton, my ten-day intercession found me at Northwestern University. Evanston, Illinois, on Chicago's North Shore, is commonly known to Easterners as the oldest and strongest enclave of Black Power and Greek Power.

After wasting much time running from sorority to fraternity visiting old friends, an inspiration came to me. I could not spend ten days in Chicago and then return to Boston without visiting the city's major entertainment attraction-namely, the Chicago Conspiracy Trial.

My first attempt at gaining admission to the trial proved both disappointing and interesting. After an hour's ride on the "El," I was outside Chicago's Federal Building on a Wednesday moring. I immediately saw that my situation was hopeless.

About 80 people were already in a single-file line which ran the length of the building and continued around the block down Dearborn Street. The admittance procedure was explained to me. At about 8 a. m. thirty-five spectators would be allowed into the lobby of the building. The first twenty-five of these were certain to see the trial, and the last ten were standbys. If any spectator left the courtroom, his seat would be given to one of the standbys. When 10 a. m. arrived, these select thirty-five would be corralled into elevators and taken to the twenty-third floor of the building, a step closer to the trial itself. Finally, at 10:15 the courtroom door would open, and they would enter in single file to find seats in the rear of the courtroom. A similar procedure would admit an additional thirty-five to the afternoon session of the trial.

After deciding to return (muchcarlierl) the next day, I was about to leave when a stately-looking black woman, briefcase in hand, appeared at the door of the Federal Building. She arrogantly tried to attract our attention by young, "You people-quit wasting your time here! I'm a lawyer and I was just up in the courtroom and I know that you'll never get in! Why don't you come over to the Civic Center and give support to Sidney Peck? He case is being tried there and you in just walk in."

By the questioning look on everyone's fa?? I could tell that I was not the only member of the group who was un??e of the identity of one Sidney Pe?? Courageously, I confronted her. "V??o is Sidney Peck, anyway?"

"What does it matter? He's a member of the peace movement, so if you really want to do some good, you'll support him," she answered, offering no further information.

It is approaching 11 a. m. Having no h??e of getting into the building nor any interest in Mr. Peck's case, I returned to Evanston.

AF??ER much persuading, I conned a f??ernity man into accompanying me into Chicago the next day. Promptly 5 a. m. Thursday morning Day and I entered the subway station at ??vis Street in Evanston. Our only supplies were a roastbeef sandwich sm?ggled from the fraternity house and my small sack of Marshall Field chocolate chip cookies procured the day before.

At 6 a. m. nearly a hundred people were already lined around the Federal Bulding. Given my memories of the day before and some quick mental a?rihmetic, I estimated that we would

not get in.

"Are you as ruthless as I feel?" injured Dave.

"Yes!"

Without questioning the morality of our action, we guiltily marched to the front of the line and sat down amongst a group of blanketed students. We quickly learned that the kids still inside sleeping bags (nearer to the front) had deposited themselves there sometime between 10 p. m. and midnight the night before.