Wisconsin protesters band together day and night

Near midnight, once the thumping drums had finally fallen silent and a policeman slumped in a chair with a novel, 19-year-old Damon Terrell padded down the Wisconsin Capitol’s stone steps in sweat pants and socks, clutching a toothbrush.

Protesters of a proposal that would defang public employee unions have called the Capitol the “people’s house,” and at night the label feels especially apt.

Terrell, who said he has slept in the Capitol almost every night of the last two weeks, looked as if he were headed off to his bedroom at home. Depending on the night, dozens, scores and even hundreds of protesters have bunked overnight in the 94-year-old beaux-arts building of gleaming granite.

Famously liberal-minded Madison — sometimes derided as an island of idealism in a sea of reality — has compiled a long history of protests, including tear-gas-infused clashes during the Vietnam War. But the city’s longtime activists say these demonstrations are unique for the sustained intensity that has lured hundreds of thousands of protesters.

Unlike some causes, such as wars or tuition hikes, that tend to attract a narrow constituency, the current battle has drawn a diversity of protesters — construction workers wearing hardhats, firefighters playing bagpipes, liberal activists waving placards, students scooting into sleeping bags.

“There’s nothing like it,” said former Madison Mayor Paul Soglin, who says he was tossed to the ground and beaten by police with nightsticks at a bloody war protest in 1967.

“In a decade of antiwar protests, we were never able to reach the building trades, the Teamsters … and the nonunion people that this touched in the first 48 hours,” said Soglin, who is again running for mayor.

Terrell, a sophomore attending the nearby University of Wisconsin-Madison, learned of the protests via Facebook. The son of a salesman, he does not come from a union background, and his parents aren’t politically active. But he wants to be teacher — and so many teachers have protested that schools throughout the state have been forced to shut down.

Terrell was taking up his position in “Tha Cuddle Puddle,” an impromptu community of about 10 jovial protestors sprawled on a flotilla of blankets and sleeping bags on the chilly rock floor. He lay down to what he later reported was one of the most restful nights of his life, even though he slept surrounded by strangers in a heavily policed government building where the lights didn’t go out.

Terrell said his perseverance comes from his belief in the cause: blocking Republican Gov. Scott Walker’s gambit to end collective bargaining for most state workers and boost employee contributions for healthcare and pensions.

“The weirdest part about sleeping here is how comfortable it is,” he said. “We all sleep together, and we all wake back up to the sound of the drums.”

On Thursday morning, Terrell and his crew woke before the drums (they would arrive soon enough) and prepared for another day of noisy protest. As officers from dozens of Wisconsin police departments huddled to receive their assignments about 8 a.m., the protesters stirred, stretching and yawning in sleepwear.

Dozens of other protesters had slept in most of the free spaces on the lower floors of the Capitol, some in the rotunda beneath a dome about 200 feet above them. Tha Cuddle Puddle has bedded down in various locations and spent one night near a stone bust of “Fighting Bob” LaFollette, a congressman, senator and governor who remains the patron saint of the Wisconsin progressive movement.

Terrell, who had worn earplugs through the night, awoke beneath the cover of a blanket and an empty pizza box, marked “Tha Cuddle Puddle,” that someone had placed on top of him. He rocked back onto his shoulders and threw his legs forward, bringing himself to a standing position. A woman collected trash and a man passed out scones while some protesters covered their heads to catch a few more winks.

“Is it Friday?” Terrell asked, curious because he promised to pick up his sister and bring her to the Capitol that day. It was not.

Protesters have cycled in and out, and many have returned home to shower, change clothes or to keep their careers or schoolwork on track. Others have not. Protest leader Miles Kristan of Milwaukee — who has occasionally worn an old-fashioned Green Bay Packers helmet while leading cheers — said he planned to withdraw from his semester of technical college to focus on getting Walker to resign.

Shortly after 9 a.m., a few staccato shots announced the return of the drums, the sonic hallmark of the protests. There are hand drums, snare drums, tom-toms from drum sets. Even overturned buckets. The drums grow louder as the mornings move forward, reaching full roar by noon and stopping only for speeches and songs.

Protesters do everything under the eyes of the police. Republican lawmakers have complained of intimidation by protesters, and there were several arrests during heavily attended outdoor demonstrations. But there have been no serious incidents inside the Capitol.

“The crowds have been exemplary,” said Madison police spokesman Joel DeSpain. “We’ve been just very, very pleased.”

Food has been plentiful in the Capitol, with tables staffed by volunteers who have watched over a smorgasbord of donated peanut butter, vegetables and other foods. A homeless man who gave his name only as Joe, identifiable to Madisonians for the many years he has spent panhandling near the university, was enjoying the free food and water.

“If there were showers, it would be home,” he said.

Soglin, the former mayor, joined the overnight protesters once — on an air mattress because of multiple back surgeries over the years. “I hadn’t slept in [a public building] since the draft sit-in of May 1966,” he said.

Soglin, noting many older union workers at the protests, said he joined the sleep-in partly to show the student activists that they have the support of past generations. He also has fed off their enthusiasm.

“On a personal basis, it’s invigorating,” he said.

It’s unclear how long authorities will allow the overnight vigils to continue. Police were preparing Friday afternoon to introduce more restrictive rules limiting where protesters can sleep and what they can bring to the Capitol.

The overnight protesters say they’ll remain bivouacked as long as they can. On Thursday night, Terrell and his 22-year-old brother, Chris Terrell — who looks like a sturdier version of his slim younger brother — flexed new tattoos, still red and swollen, just above their right biceps.

They are matching outlines of Wisconsin’s jagged borders encasing closed black fists of protest rising above a banner reading “solidarity.”

dhinkel@tribune.com