It was my first foray into democratic resistance since I went to the Massachusetts State house in the early '80s to protest the state raising the drinking age. I was in college after all. My favorite moment of that event came from a young college footballer who was quite impressed with his politically-based protest sign. This was only weeks after several American soldiers had been killed in a terrorist blast at the embassy in Beirut. His sign commented on the fact that some of those soldiers were themselves not yet 21 years of age. I understood his point but had to laugh at his wording. His sign read "18 soldiers killed in Beirut. What about me?" Oooookay.

I had planned on attending the anti-war protest since I had first heard about the event at the local farmer's market, where I go each Sunday morning for Fuji apples from Mr. Ha, a very happy Asian guy who remembers me every week, and tamales from the Corn Maiden. It's my only weekly routine. The aroma of fresh fruit and the sounds of families and sidewalk music fill the air. Jazz, bluegrass, blues, folk and Native American.

I have become increasingly uncomfortable with Bush's push to invade Iraq. It's not that I'm a fan of Saddam. I'm just not convinced that Bush has proven the need to attack now. Without U.N. support or, for that matter, international support, I just think it's too soon. I won't get into my thoughts about it all. This page is more about Saturday's Los Angeles event.

As I was heading to the gathering spot at Hollywood and Vine, I was impressed by the swells of people, of all races, ages and (seemingly) incomes who were also taking part. I was impressed, for this is Los Angeles, the stereotyped land of the superficial. I was reminded of my location when I overheard a stylish woman, walking in the opposite direction, talking on her cell phone. Greatly concerned, she said (I swear) "Please tell Mr. Michael that I broke a nail and I desperately need to see him this afternoon."

I don't even think she noticed all the people with signs.

Photo courtesy L. A. Times.

I have a fairly nice camera so when I arrived to the starting point, it was fairly easy to step into the media section so I could get a better photo of the large anti-war banner that stretched across the march's start. After a few shots, someone noticed and asked me to leave the media section. He guided me under a rope just as someone called for the marchers to begin. Incredibly, I found myself on the front line of the march, standing shoulder to shoulder with celebrities James Cromwell, Rob Reiner, Mike Farrell, Angelica Huston, Alfre Woodard, Tyne Daly, Ed Asner, Kelly Lynch, Christine Lahti, Jane Kazmarek, Wendy Malick, Daniel Benzali, and West Wing actors Martin Sheen, Bradley Whitford and Richard Schiff.

Photo courtesy L.A. Times.

The mrach was underway. Here's a few things that happened along the way:

No one with a megaphone could seem to agree on a good rallying cry and just when the crowd seemed to latch onto something catchy, the cheer would change. Rob Reiner commented that this was why Communism never got it together. Martin Sheen finally got everyone to sing Lennon's Give Peace a Chance.

As the march began, a short black woman asked me to tell her if I saw anyone famous. She was intent on marching at the front of the crowd. I pointed out Martin Sheen. She asked who Martin Sheen was. I pointed out Rob Reiner. She asked who Rob Reiner was. I pointed out Ed Asner. She asked who Ed Asner was. I gave up. She walked in front of me for a while and because of her rather wide booty, two fanny packs, and almost no realization that she was in a crowd, she kept bumping into everyone around her. It was not until I worked my way in front of her that I started to become free of ankle wounds.

I wonder if anyone else noticed the movie posters adorning the window of the Larry Edmund's bookstore, a movie collectibles shop on Hollywood Boulevard. GHANDI, GLORY, THE GREAT DICTATOR, and APOCOLYPSE NOW.

James Cromwell carried a young boy on his shoulders for the entire walk. Bradley Whitford noticed a sign for Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance and told his wife Jane that he wanted to go see it. She laughed. He didn't. He said he really did want to see it. Whitford was a funny guy. He also suggested we all stop into Musso and Frank's restaurant for martinis.

Something very unsettling happened at one point. The woman who wanted to hang with the stars ended up behind me. She desperately wanted to walk beside them and she tapped me on the shoulder to ask me something.

Pointing to Malcolm in the Middle's Jane Kazmarek, who was just in front of me, she asked, "Are you walking with them?" I knoew she wanted to walk in front of me again.

"Uh," I said so very eloquently, "we're all walking together I guess, right?"

She wouldn't have any of it. She tapped Jane on the shoulder.

"Is he with you?"

Jane looked surprised. "Him? No."

The woman then called me a liar in front of Jane, her husband and the other nearby celebrities. She then lied herself and exclaimed that I was with the media and I wasn't supposed to be marching with the regulars.

"I'm not with the media!!" I kind of laughed and yelled.

Jane chimed in "Are you CIA?"

I responded that I was too intelligent, they wouldn't take me. Jane got a kick out of this and said "He's just one of us."

The march was huge. A half hour after we arrived at the intersection of Sunset and La Brea, marchers were still arriving. I ventured back into the crowd and talked with various protesters. I met some old women and some Hollywood runaways who wanted to protest but didn't want their faces shown. Casey Kasem walked by as someone screamed about Palestine.

There was much political talk, many opinions, and many t-shirts being sold. I had an unexpected view of the march, as I was witness to the celebrity angle, but I was also witness to the strength of a wide range of people to stand up and make their voices heard.