During the Cuban Missile Crisis, a bunch of friends of mine got together. We stopped going to classes, we cut our hair, we put on suits and ties. We scuffled a couple of hundred dollars and bought an old ’49 Ford and a ’48 Chevy, and we went to Washington on a three day hunger fast, picketing the White House, protesting the resumption of nuclear testing, and supporting Kennedy’s peace race — being quite cunning in attending to the public relations aspects of our quest.