Remembering the Kent State Shooting 50 Years Ago Javascript must be enabled to use this site. Please enable Javascript in your browser and try again. × Search search POPULAR SEARCHES SUGGESTED LINKS Join AARP for just $9 per year when you sign up for a 5-year term. Get instant access to members-only products and hundreds of discounts, a free second membership, and a subscription to AARP the Magazine. Leaving AARP.org Website You are now leaving AARP.org and going to a website that is not operated by AARP. A different privacy policy and terms of service will apply.
Kent State — and the Day That Changed America
The killing of four young protesters a half century ago had a profound impact on the nation
Mary Ann Vecchio screams as she kneels over the body of Kent State University student Jeffrey Miller who had been shot during an anti-war demonstration on the university campus on May 4, 1970. John Filo/Getty Images Get instant access to members-only products and hundreds of discounts, a free second membership, and a subscription to AARP the Magazine. Kent State University, in northeastern Ohio, was no exception. Protesters burned an ROTC building over the first weekend in May. The Ohio National Guard was sent to the campus. But even against the backdrop of increasing violence, no one was prepared for the news that rocked America on Monday, May 4: Four young people had been killed by gunfire from National Guard troops at Kent State. The deaths would deepen the anger toward the war and further divide America. A photo by student journalist John Filo, of a young woman kneeling over the body of a student, became an indelible image of the era. Ohio National Guardsmen assemble on the Kent State University campus near the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) building as it burns. Howard Ruffner/Getty Images Eight guardsmen would be indicted by an Ohio grand jury. They claimed self-defense. All charges were eventually dropped. No one was ever convicted of the shootings. But that afternoon, all anyone who was there knew was that something unthinkable and tragic had happened. Here are some accounts of eye witnesses. John Filo
A 21-year-old journalism student then, Filo snapped the iconic photograph of a slain youth at Kent State and won a Pulitzer Prize. The photo became the lasting symbol of the tragedy. Today he lives in Hightstown, New Jersey. I went outside with my camera and six rolls of film. Thousands of students wanted to see what was going on, and I did, too. I went to where the guardsmen were. It looked like a battlefield with the burned-down ROTC building. A jeep rolled in with law enforcement. The National Guard announced this was an illegal gathering. Boos and jeers followed. The National Guard regrouped toward Taylor Hall and left my vision. I walked down the sidewalk and, all of a sudden, the guard reappeared. They're shooting at me! I thought it was a new scare tactic. I thought, This is crazy. These blanks are going to put out someone's eyes. I wanted to get a picture of them firing, but a guardsman was pointing his rifle at me. I heard the bullet go by my head, whizzing like a bee. It hit a metal sculpture, knocking off rust, then hit a tree, with a chunk of bark coming off. God, someone's using live ammunition, I thought. I saw a body on the asphalt. There was so much blood, I couldn't believe it. My initial reaction was: Am I shot and don't know it? I walked to the dead person. I shot my picture. Then I saw this young girl run up — Mary Ann Vecchio. I knew I was running out of film. I already had the best picture I ever shot. I needed time to change film, but I didn't have time. Mary Ann knelt next to a body. I didn't shoot right away because it might have been my last available frame. Mary Ann screamed. I shot the picture, then two more. I immediately reloaded my camera. Back then, being a photographer was not popular. Some thought you were working for a secret agency. The police didn't want you shooting their actions. I had students screaming at me, “What kind of pig are you?'' I stayed until the wounded were removed. It seemed like forever. What happened next was more bizarre. Initial radio reports said two guardsmen and two students were killed. A few hundred students sat and looked at the National Guard. They said that if the students didn't disband, they were going to shoot again. No one moved. It was the most afraid I've ever been. Professor [Glenn] Frank was in tears. He said, “These people are crazy. You must get out of here.'’ The mayhem was over. Finally.
John Filo hugs Mary Ann Vecchio, the young woman featured in his Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph. AP Photo/Jeff Glidden Twenty-five years later, I finally met Mary Ann. We both cried. She realized that I had to do what I had to do as a photojournalist. She was 14 and a runaway at the time of the killings. She reacted differently that day. Decades later, it dawned on me why. It was her youth. Others kept their distance — she convulsed. She wanted to save this person.
I am the luckiest person on earth. After winning the Pulitzer Prize at 21, I was thinking that I was a pretty damn hotshot photographer. A couple of days later, I got a call from the AP photo editor, who was my hero. He said, “Congratulations. Let's see what you can get tomorrow.'' Tom Grace
Grace was a 20-year-old student on the day of the shootings. He was wounded in the left foot by a gunshot. Today he lives in Buffalo, New York. There had been a lot of discussion at school about our country's recent invasion of Cambodia, and what had happened on campus in previous days. More than 1,000 National Guardsmen were on campus and in town. I promised my girlfriend that I would not go to the rally. My father had been in the National Guard. I chose to go to the Commons for the protest. I thought, What harm could there be? In retrospect, it was very naive. Ohio National Guardsmen aim their weapons at protestors on the Kent State University campus. Howard Ruffner/Getty Images On campus, we saw the National Guard in a skirmish line. They ordered us to disperse. It only seemed to rile up students more. Some were veterans. The National Guard launched tear gas canisters into the crowd. Some students defiantly remained. I fled up the hillside. I had been (slightly) effected by the tear gas. By the time I got to Prentice Hall, girls moistened paper towels for us. I helped students overcome by tear gas. AARP Membership — $12 for your first year when you sign up for Automatic Renewal Get instant access to members-only products and hundreds of discounts, a free second membership, and a subscription to AARP the Magazine. Flowers & Gifts 25% off sitewide and 30% off select items See more Flowers & Gifts offers > Back in the dorm, I remember girls screaming. One applied a tourniquet to my leg. I was placed on a gurney and wheeled into an ambulance. A wounded girl already was in the ambulance —Sandy [Scheuer, who died en route to the hospital]. That was a bad situation. At the hospital, my pain worsened. A lot of damage was done to my foot. My mother had been a nurse. She came [to Kent State from out of town] and convinced the surgeon to try to save the foot. They did. I spent 13 days in the hospital. John Cleary
A 19-year-old student then, Cleary was shot in the chest but recovered from his wounds. Today he lives in Gibsonia, Pennsylvania. Through the grapevine, I knew there was a rally and that the National Guard was there. I went there out of curiosity; it wasn't my thing. I was kind of oblivious to all of the anti-war protests. With my family's military background, I looked at soldiers as professionals. It never dawned on me that they would shoot unarmed students. I had no fear anything would happen. I expected them to do the right thing, to maintain order. I borrowed my roommate's camera. I was observing, when it was announced this was an illegal rally. Tension built. There was tear gas, a lot of obscenities and a few rocks thrown. But thousands were merely observing. I felt that had the National Guard held its ground, the protest would have run its course. We would have moved on, probably to our next class. Or, if they had shot into the air, I believe students would have dispersed. Anti-war demonstrators at Kent State University run as National Guardsmen fire tear gas and bullets into the crowd. Bettman/Getty Images The National Guard took a different tact. The troops walked by me to the practice football field. They knelt, aimed their rifles into the crowd, then stood up and retreated to the hill. I thought it was winding down. There was no threat to the guard at that point. I thought I'd get one more picture. I was about 100 feet away from the guard. I started to swing my camera to take a picture, when I was hit in the chest by gunfire. It felt like a sledgehammer. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. If the bullet had been a couple of inches one way or the other, I wouldn't be here. I was 19. I still have metal fragments in my body. Ron Snyder
A 33-year-old officer in the National Guard then, Snyder was captain of his unit, but it was not involved in the shootings. Today he lives in Rootstown, Ohio. I was there and saw it all. Our job is to provide brutal force. These were not demonstrators — these were rioters. There was a lot of commotion, for lack of a better word. Two nights earlier, they burned the ROTC building to the ground. Man, the sky was aglow. The only thing left was charcoal. From the highway, it looked as if someone firebombed the city of Kent. We woke Sunday, May 3, and restocked our tear gas for the grenade launchers. We had used them in Akron during the 1968 racial riots. That is where I got the nickname “Capain Gas.'’ My object with tear gas was to prevent personal confrontation. We know that if we are eyeball to eyeball, somebody's going to get hurt. We got an intelligence update — people were coming in from out of town. We were told some had machine guns. That night, there were roughly 1,000 to 2,000 people at the corner of campus. They started making a problem. We had armored vehicles and a helicopter — the idea was a show of force. Brig. Gen. Robert Canterbury was on the scene. He was a World War II veteran, a stern guy. We were told that there would be a mass arrest at the dormitories. After being read the riot act, they destroyed everything in sight. I was in charge of 60 to 80 troops. I could see students (inside the dormitory) fighting amongst themselves — fistfights. My concern was that I knew that if I turned my company loose, there was going to be a lot of hurt and blood. The next morning, May 4, we received intelligence updates. They sounded really bad. More people were coming from other cities. I sensed there were hostile people there. Just before noon, things started turning worse. Canterbury and the police decided to disperse them. Tear gas was used first. Some protestors picked up the canisters and threw them back. As they became more disorderly, they were again ordered to leave the Commons. They did not leave. It becomes a riot then. The students were nasty and threatening. The general said, “If they attack, you're going to have to shoot." One company was going to swing around the architecture building and push them that way. We were to block our side. We took position between two buildings. I was unable to see the other company moving up the hill. I saw a surge of students running toward the guard. Then the firing started. A bullet struck a building to my left and concrete flew off. I backed up. I didn't know what was happening. I saw some students fall. I got on the radio and called for ambulances. My thought was, Who is shooting and where is it coming from? I didn't know who did the shooting. I checked everybody's weapons in my company to ensure they had not been fired. Our company moved out to see who was alive and who was dead, and if anybody could be helped. The dead were dead; the others were helped by students. There was nothing else I could do. I heard nothing like [a command to fire]. There was no order. If one guy shoots, another trooper is coming behind him [to shoot]. I am not defending anybody. But if one guy shoots, they're all gonna shoot. I can tell you that, based on what I have read, every guy who fired thought his life was in danger. AARP Membership — $12 for your first year when you sign up for Automatic Renewal Get instant access to members-only products and hundreds of discounts, a free second membership, and a subscription to AARP the Magazine. More on politics-society AARP Membership — $12 for your first year when you sign up for Automatic Renewal Get instant access to members-only products and hundreds of discounts, a free second membership, and a subscription to AARP the Magazine. AARP VALUE & MEMBER BENEFITS See more Health & Wellness offers > See more Flights & Vacation Packages offers > See more Finances offers > See more Health & Wellness offers > SAVE MONEY WITH THESE LIMITED-TIME OFFERS