top of page

         The action the group decided on was a physical blockade of the train and a fast. It was to begin on September 1. “One truth seems clear,” Brian wrote. “Once the train carrying the munitions moves past our human blockade, if it does, other human beings in other parts o the world will be killed and maimed. We are not worth more. They are not worth less.”

         Nine days before, on August 23, Holley and Brian had celebrated their wedding, with hundreds of well-wishers — an eclectic gathering of Harmonic Convergers, midwives, veterans and stray oddballs like me. Holley looked like a bride in her white dress and flower tiara. Brian looked somewhat sheepish standing next to her in his best clothes: a white, long-sleeved formal Nicaraguan shirt called a guauyabera and his Cardinals cap.


         On the morning of September 1, about 50 of us gathered at the tracks in a lighthearted spirit. Brian’s slight uneasiness about the prospect of going to jail for the first time in his life was the source of gentle laughter. We joined hands. People spoke or prayed this was followed by a sparsely-attended news conference.        
         From the highway, one can look into the weapons station and see if a train is coming for some distance. It travels from the bunkers down a straight track, moving slowly through the base with its lights on. Having been there since June 10, we had seen many, so it caused barely a ripple of excitement when someone said, “A train is moving down the tracks.” A delegation from the group, including Brian and Duncan Murphy, walked over to the base to alert them, once more, to our presence.

"We are not worth more. They are not worth less.”

         Two days before the celebration, Brian had sent a letter to the commanding officer of the weapons station, Captain Lonnie Cagle, telling him of the planned fast and blockade, intended, he said, not as an act of civil dis- obedience, but as an act of obedience to international law and the Nuremberg Principles. “I want you to know in advance of this plan,” he wrote. “If not incarcerated, deceased or otherwise disabled, I am committed, as the spirit moves me, to be physically on the racks for part of each of the 40 days… Because of the seriousness of these matters, I ask that we have a personal meeting to discuss them.” He sent copies of the letter to county agencies, to various members of Congress, to friends.

         Although we had announced it, promoted it and Marine and Navy security guards in camouflage stood nearby watching our activities, we were very careful to make sure there would be no surprises.

         When the group arrived at the main gate, the train had already come to a stop just inside. Seeing this, Brian and Duncan returned to take up their positions on the track, while two others went ahead and spoke to at least three different representatives from the weapons station. They were assured that everyone there as well aware of our presence on the tracks.

bottom of page