Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in our "ditching" attempt, we struck up conversations with fellow would be spectators, explaining that we had been in line since 2:30 a. m. but had just returned from a short tour of the city.

Nonchalantly, Dave pulled out a deck of cards to interest people in a game of hearts. The idea was quite popular. People were eager to relieve the boredom and get their minds off the cold. I got a few curious glances when I innocently announced that we needed some more decks to accommodate all of the eager participants.

By 7:30 the sidewalk was getting too cold for card games, and we abandoned that pastime in favor of more rigorous activities. Some people were doing calisthenics. Free coffee was being passed out by an anonymous benefactor. I offered my treasured cookies to our card-playing friends, and Dave and I relaxed. We had illegally made our way into line without a major conflict.

WHAT type of person would spend a night in the cold street to witness a ludicrous trial? Many people were familiar from the previous day. Several greeted me as if we were old friends. One fifty-year-old woman, somewhat reminiscent of Bette Davis in Apple Annie, sat down behind me in line. She was willing to talk to anyone and everyone about her many experiences at the trial. An ardent follower of the defendants, she summed up the whole business as "a bunch of bullshit."

She also explained to us that cameras were not allowed within the courthouse. It was even illegal for anyone to take pictures of our group outside the Federal Building. Minutes later a man drove up alongside the building, stopping about twenty fect away. There was a flash from a camera, and two policemen converged on the car. A verbal confrontation followed, and the man drove away.

Snow was just beginning to fall around 8 a. m. when the marshal allowed the first thirty-five people to enter the lobby of the building. We were again seated on the floor-but at least this time we were warm.

Now for our first set of instructions. A handsome suited man stood before us. His hands were clutched behind his back, and he paraded before us with the stern face of an army sergeant. Rules and regulations. We were to remain seated; we could not sleep, play cards, or go to the bathroom.

"Why can't we play cards?" Dave asked the marshal.

"Yesterday some kids were playing cards and they spilled cokes and made a mess."

Therefore, we could not play cards today . It was all very logical.

Finally we were given numbered passes and led to the twenty-third floor. In order we were assigned seats in the outer part of the courtroom, and given further instructions concerning conduct at the trial. We were again cautioned against sleeping. Other illegal actions included laughing, talking, and leaning forward in our seats. We were finally given free access to the restrooms and cafeteria facilities, but were warned to return within twenty minutes or lose our place in line.

Before entering the courtroom, we were divided into groups by sex. The girls were asked to empty their purses and the guys emptied their pockets. One girl's comb, considered a potential weapon, was confiscated. We had been warned earlier that we could be frisked, but I certainly hadn't believed it. Fortunately, I was carrying no concealed weapons on my person.

I had envisioned that the courtroom would be something like Boston Music Hall, allowing for many spectators. In fact, it was a scant thirty by forty feet, with stylish wood paneling and an attractive skylight overhead. Two long rectangular tables, to be used by the prosecuting and defense attorneys, sat at right angles to the judge's desk, filling the center of the room. The jurors' plush swivel chairs lined the left wall. The seats against the right wall were for the press. In the back of the room, four rows of pew-like benches were reserved for spectators.

Abbic Hoffman, wearing his almost angelic smile, wandered freely in and out of the room. His hair style reminded me of the line from Hair, "And he wears his hair tied in a small bow at the back."

Another of the defendants that I recognized from pictures was Jerry Rubin. His bushy Afro cut, full beard, and colorful attire made him look much like a clown, sort of setting the stage for the circus to follow. The orange and blue striped T-shirt that he wore almost glowed when juxtaposed with his bright kelly-green pants. Like the other defendants, he beamed continuously, thoroughly enjoying his predicament.