“couldn’t even afford to go to Zap” (antiny burg of three hundred inhabitantsnhidden deep in North Dakota lignitencoal country). Zap was an NDSUn”in-joke” at the time, and kids beingnwhat they are, a crazy idea wasnplanted. . . .n. . . and germinated. The NDSUnand UND student newspapers rannteaser ads about the “Zap-In.” The APnpicked up the story; calls came in tonNDSU from all over; and the first “Zipnto Zap” was planned for May 10,n1969.nZap’s residents weren’t sure whethernthe kids were really coming, or why, ornwhat might happen if they did. MayornNorman Fuchs was worried at first, butndecided to be a good sport. He thoughtnmaybe two hundred kids would show ,nup, and so he posed for pictures wearingna “Zap, N.D. or Bust” sweatshirtnor playing with his “Zip-Zap,” a newntoy. An obviously accomplished poet,nFuchs wrote to several North Dakotancolleges, promising such delicacies asn”Zapburgers, fleischkuechle: [Germanndeep-fat-fried hamburger-and-onionndumplings] with Cow Belle sauce, hotndogs with or without the bun . . . andngood, clean, beer-bust, food-munching,ntear-jerking, rib-tickling fun.” Innspite of (false) rumors that a band ofnHell’s Angels from California wasncoming to the “Zap-In,” the townnplanned a barbecue and evening dancesnon Friday and Saturday nights, asnwell as a Frisbee tournament and andrink-off between the two universities.nJan’s Cafe started freezing fleischkuechle.nA group from Florida pulledninto town on. Thursday and put upnsigns in the two bars saying, “Floridanwas First.” The town decided to makenthe best of what seemed an inevitablenbut harmless invasion of several hundrednkids.nOn May 10, 1969, two to threenthousand college-age youths descendednon Zap — which had no motel. Itnwas unusually cold, even for early Maynon the tundra, and the tiny park wherenMayor Fuchs had envisioned the revelersnsleeping was less than satisfactory;nthe next fateful morning, sleepingnbags, blankets, and jackets were coverednwith frost. Only outdoor toiletsnwere available, far from the park.nThe kids hung out in the town’s twontaverns — Lucky’s and Paul’s —nstanding on each other’s shoulders andn”shooting the moon.” Lucky’s had sixnbooths and five stools. Paul’s had sixnbooths and ten stools. The 20,000nbottles of beer in town were obliteratedneariy in the evening. The kids decidednto help tear down a Main Street buildingnin the process of being demolishedn— and used the lumber to start anbonfire in the unpaved street,nJan’s cafe seated 25. Before then3,000 kids came, she had made happynplans to sell 200 kids 1,200 hot dogs,n2,000 Zapburgers, some chiliburgers,nand 60 cases of pop. People who laternunfaidy came to be called “profiteers”narrived from all over, hoping to makensome money on T-shirts, souvenirs,nand food. Some of them had inventedntheir products only the day before.nAll the hopeful (if halfhearted)npreparations of the Zap residents andn”profiteers” were sadly inadequate fornthe raging horde of cold, drunk, hungry,ndisappointed kids, and some ofnthem — a very few — got mean. Jan’snCafe was gutted. Lucky’s bar was tornnapart. Paul’s bar suffered several brokennwindows, and its owner sat up with hisnloaded shotgun all night. The citynauditorium was trashed. To fuel theirnbonfire after the dilapidated buildingnwas gone, the kids used furnishingsnfrom the places they’d ruined. AndnGod only knows what they did with allnthe beer they drank.nIt was too much for the peacefulndenizens of Zap. At midnight a frustratednMayor Fuchs, who hadn’t hirednany back-up law enforcement for hisnconstable, asked the National Guardnfor help. The Guard had anticipatednthe move, drawing up plans for “OperationnZap” a week earlier, estimatingn3,000 to 6,000 students. At 7 A.M. onnSaturday (May 11), 500 NationalnGuardsmen, armed with rifles (bayonetsnonly; no bullets) and five-footnwooden clubs, moved into Zap andnprodded the groggy, frost-covered,nsleeping Zippers into their cars. Thendrunk kids drove to nearby Beulah andnHazen and eventually to Bismarck, 80nmiles southeast. In various Bismarcknparks they slept off their headaches. BynSunday afternoon, Bismarck parkncrews were bulldozing mountains ofnbeer cans, and the kids were on the waynback to school. The Bismarck Tribunenannounced erroneously that “martialnlaw” had been declared in Zap.nThe city was left with 750 pounds ofnnnbeef and a lot of frozen fleischkuechle.nIt cost the state $23,000 to break up anfling that caused $3,000 in damages,nnearly half of which the penitent universitynstudents raised after they gotnback to school. Area hospitals werenbusy with many slight and some seriousnwounds, including the student stabbednin the buttocks with a bayonet whonbecame a separate news story when hentold the attending physician to send thenbill to the state and the state refused tonpay. And the Jefferson Airplane featuredn”Paz, South Dakota” on theirnVolunteers album. Zap was on the mapnat last.nTen years later, absolutely nothingnhappened. But in eariy April of thisnyear, the 20th anniversary of the “Zipnto Zap,” rumblings of plans for “Zip tonZap 11” were heard. Fraternities werenrumored to have chartered buses. ThenNDSU Spectrum staff, most of whomnwere in diapers when “Zip to Zap I”ntook place, sold T-shirts and set a datenof May 6. “Zip to Zap 11” became annWe locate those rare,nunusual, hard-to-findn(but beautiful)nout-of-print books…nthe ones you can’tnfind at book storesnany more.nSend us your wishnlist. We can find justnabout £iny book evernprinted.nREED BOOKSnBox 55893, B’ham.AL 35255n205/871-9239nSEPTEMBER 1989/43n