'The Charms of the Ozarks,' by Carl R. Krafft. Oil on canvas, c.1916. Public domain.

I had a busy morning but by 1:00 was in Seoul Taco on Delmar with the communists.

Their social media said they were organized to aid The People of St Louis, a nice sentiment, but I was interested because they said in a post that they had realized that the revolution might not be entirely urban and that they were city kids with no outdoors skills. They wanted to start training in the Ozark woods and were looking for ex-military and first-responder types to teach them how to read maps, use a compass, hike with gear, perform first aid, purify water, and sleep out safely in cold weather.

I messaged to ask if I could embed in their training for a day or two and write about it. I told them I had been in the military once, so I would understand what I was seeing, and that I had written some things they might be interested in, such as how ROTC instructors at a Big Ten school told me the new generations of cadets had never been in the woods and were afraid of the dark. The communists asked me some sharp, suspicious questions but agreed to meet me for lunch to check me out. They did not give me names or descriptions, but I recognized them immediately at the restaurant because they were lurking.

Chris was a Saint Louis University grad, double major, who wore a winter cap with ear flaps, like Elmer Fudd’s. He seemed to be in charge, but his eyes were messed up, and he would not look at me.

Gianni was winter white, overweight, and wore a crucifix earring and a long chain with a crucifix around his neck. His wavy hair was parted in the middle, so his scalp showed. He was 19. He said he was “on Security Branch” and that he went to “Forest Park” (a branch of St. Louis Community College) for “funeral studies.”

When we ordered at the counter, Gianni said he would not be eating, but when the food came, he watched me take each bite. I tried to give him one of my bulgogi tacos. He wanted it badly but refused in a voice that suggested it was an act of discipline.

I asked about recent posts about urban garden plots—the university had an interest in that at the time too—and their beef with a rival organization that led to the other group defacing their project meant to promote self-determination. They talked about an ecovillage in the city and said ideology was worthless, it was all about helping people. They admitted they were Maoist.

Chris told me they had veterans in their group. A veteran, anyway, who had been in the infantry and was going to train them when they went to the hills on weekends. He said some people called vets “baby killers,” but he figured people served in different ways, and we all needed to work together.

After we had finished lunch, Gianni set about asking what skills I had, as if he still did not understand what I was doing there and had begun my job interview. I looked at him blankly. Embarrassed, he said he assumed my skills were writing and military stuff. I stressed I was not interested in joining their group but would like to write about their outdoors training, if they would let me, or else we could just say we had had a nice lunch, and I would go on my way.

They got more talkative and told me they were “broke millennials” who relied on technology. They told me more about their rivals, who they said had committed domestic violence, and how they did not want them following them into the woods. If I had been an infiltrator they would have been cooked. I asked them to please let me know of future events and wished them well but never got the call, and their Facebook page never updated again. That was a long time ago. I thought of them now because I think I saw Chris at the Tower Grove farmer’s market, looking at wrapped bouquets in a light rain.

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