The prelude promised nothing more serious than the latest variation on such nostalgic student pranks as pantie raids and phone-booth packing. A breezy little article in the North Dakota State University newspaper encouraged students to “zip” to the mining town of Zap, N.D. (pop. 300) for a Mother’s Day “Zap-Out.” Sure enough, late last week columns of collegians began rolling down Zap’s unpaved main thoroughfare, their cars emblazoned with signs readiag ZAP OR BUST. Mayor Norman Fuchs, sporting a ZAP N.D. OR BUST! sweat shirt, and some of the townsfolk turned out to offer a friendly greeting. All seemed to believe the college newspaper’s plan of turning Zap—with its two bars and one café—into “the Fort Lauderdale of the North.”
By late Friday the college crowd had swelled to 2,500, a good 90% of them male. Emanuel Sandau, the elderly owner of Lucky’s Bar, stocked thousands of extra cans of beer in the back room and immediately began to do a brisk business. Soon there were too many tippling collegians. They spilled out of the jammed bar and into the windy 40° cold of the North Dakota night. Bored and beery, they began looking for excitement—and warmth. Gradually, what began as a springtime put-on turned into a night of terror.
Youngsters dismantled an abandoned frame building and made a bonfire of its doors, siding and window frames. Booths and tables were ripped from the taverns. Windows were smashed, and merchandise was scattered wildly. Tipsy students wandered into the community hall, maliciously shredding wallboard and vandalizing a soft-drink machine. A car that careened into the bonfire area was attacked and wrecked by 500 students. Ugly fist fights were started. Nearby Hazen’s hospital offered first-aid service throughout the night for fallen pugilists.
Mayor Fuchs, who only hours before had boosterish dreams of a boomlet for Zap, now walked along Main Street in a daze, saying: “Animals! Animals!” He tried to bring the fire under control, but when the volunteer fire department arrived a score of youths jumped on the truck and began taking it apart. Finally, the thoroughly frustrated Fuchs called for help. Governor William Guy responded with 500 National Guardsmen, who came dressed for combat and armed with rifles and 5-ft. clubs. Within an hour the students were gone, leaving behind a shattered community. Not one of the town’s stores could open for business that day. Jan Beick, whose modest café rang up impressive sales of $150 Friday night, estimated his damage at $2,000 on Saturday morning. The zapped Zappians could at least console themselves that next year’s rites of spring may be visited on another community. How about Donnybrook, N.D.?
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