Monday, December 24, 2012

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- New Year’s Eve, 1977




… He looked out from the ancient smudged sooted back window (showing frigid glass crack slivers breakable and some rotten pane wood ) of his fourth floor single room sad sack, no elevator, long gone downhill from prosperous Victorian mayfair swells times brownstone ready for the wrecker’s’ ball, down the street, down Joy Street, down Beacon Hill Boston Joy Street, ironically named , as the late afternoon crowd of government workers clinging to their annual New Year’s holiday early release (at the discretion of their supervisors, although they, the supervisors. were long gone at noontime, if the day’s work was done) strolled by, ditto post-Christmas shoppers who had wisely waited until after black Christmas day to bring back to Jordan’s or Filene’s those unwanted ties, toys, and bric-a-brac that inevitable arrived at that time each year, and watched wistfully as an early returning college student or two, bulging cloth book bags over their shoulders, trying to catch up on some recess-delayed study, headed a few streets over to school as the town prepared for its first First Night, an officially sanctioned chamber of commerce-style city booster event complete with usually reserved for the Fourth of July shout-out fireworks to welcome in the new year, 1977.

Closer at hand he also observed across narrow Joy Street Steve and Billy, two wine-soaked winos, wine-soaked by this hour if he was any judge,across from his smudged sooted brownstone window view appearing, as always, to be arguing over something from the sound of their voices that could be heard all the way up to his fourth floor digs. That argument would before long wind up on the floor below his where this pair, when not homeless street-bound, when not too far in rent arrears (like he was at the moment), kept a shabby flop, a flop not unlike his, single bed, mattress sagging from too many years of faithful addicted service (addicted, drugs, gambling, liquor, although not seemingly the new addiction fad, sex, for, as far as he knew and he knew for certain in his own case, no women crossed the brownstone front door threshold, not that he had seen anyway, nor given the single-minded nature of the listed addictions matched to listed tenants was that likely, a woman, a woman’s wanting habits, were too distracting to trump such devotions), a left behind rumbled hard hospital pillow, pillow-cased (by him), probably gathered by some previous tenant from one of the about seventeen local hospitals that started just the other side of Cambridge Street, Joy Street downstream river flow into Cambridge Street, sheets, rumpled and he provided as well, a bureau, a cockroach-friendly cheap bureau until he stamped out every one of the veiled bastards, for his small personal wardrobe, a couple of changes of this and that, maybe three, along with the usual stash of undergarments, a small table for bric-a-brac (which he used for occasional writing) and toilet articles, no cooking facilities (thankfully, thinking about the Steve and Billy voices moving in on him), no frig, nothing personal on the walls, a common bathroom complete with some Victorian-era tub for the four residents of each floor, and done.

As he heard the rough-hewn gravel hoarse voices of Steve and Billy making their way up the stairs he threw on his best short- sleeved shirt (simple logic-usable all seasons, heat or cold), dark green plaid like what was fashionable about 1960 and mother–bought for the first day of school, fresh from the Sally (Salvation Army) bin over on Berkeley Street, his mauve sweater (also purchased at Sally’s but earlier in the winter backing up that short-sleeved shirt decision), his waist-length denim jean jacket, not Sally-bought but bought when he was in the clover after hitting the perfecta at Suffolk a couple of months before and deciding, deciding against all gambler’s reason, that he should buy it against the coming winter colds, threw his keys in his pants’ pocket and headed down the stairs, waving and shouting happy new year to Steve and Billy, who embroiled in some argument about who was to buy the night’s Thunderbird, let his remark pass without comment, and out the door to investigate the first night officially-sanctioned activity. And to figure out how, with eight dollars in his pocket and the tracks closed for the season until after the new year, he was going to come up with a week’s twenty-two dollar rent due in a couple of days to keep the super from his door for a while.

As he walked up Cambridge Street pass City Hall where it veered into Tremont toward the Common he suddenly had an idea, hell, why hadn’t he thought of it before, constantly studying those racing forms up in that fourth floor cold water flat, hell not even cold water, not in the room anyway, he thought must had finally gotten the better of him. What better night to work the pan-handle, the pan-handle that a few years back he had worked into an art form of sorts before the chilly winds of the 70s, his own hubristic addictions, Susie, and , hell, just some plain bad luck, had forced him into a few years of work, work doing a little of this and a little of that, before he got tired of that little of this and little of that, and focused all his energies on his “system,” his absolutely fool-proof system of beating the ponies, the dogs, or whatever other animal wanted to run like hell for the paying customers, the guys, the guys like him, who all had their own sure-fire beat-down systems and who could live, like him, on easy street on the profits. Just now though he had to work on his approach, his new year’s festive crowd approach since he knew his act would be rusty starting out.

Funny, he thought, most civilians, most people who have never been on the wrong side of the bum, think pan-handling is just pan-handling, put out your hat or hand kind of polite, kind of “sorry to bother you,” and pitch for spare change, and mainly keep moving along playing the percentages by covering a lot of ground fast, or just staying put, maybe on the ground looking like some third world refugee with all your worldly possessions about you. Jesus. Forget all that, that was strictly for winos and losers. It might have worked in about 1926 or 27 when people actually looked at a person, any person, when something was spoken to them, even by a ragamuffin stranger, or actually took the time and looked down at the ground and thought poor guy. Today a guy needed an angle, a reason for a passer-by to stop. And that is where his old friend’s advice, his hobo road friend Black River Whitey, told around a jungle camp fire one night out in Indio, out in the California desert near the old Southern Pacific railroad tracks, about the tricks of the trade came in handy.

Black River Whitey simply said this- shout at or do some fake (maybe not fake when you get into it) mental flip out when asking for dough. Nothing over the edge, way over the edge, but firm. See the idea Whitey said was that those couple of dollars (hey, not quarters or chump change like that) they practically threw at you to get you out of their faces was far easier for them to do than to guess at what your next move will be, especially a guy with his girl and he thinking of later in the night thoughts and maybe scoring and not wanting to go mano y mano with some half-hobo and, and, losing. Beautiful. But he thought as he walked toward the Common and his night’s work past a couple of half-frozen stoop winos spread out down on the ground, cup in front, across from Park Street Station any fool could see where winos and other lamos best stick with that cup in front of them and be glad of the few quarters that trickle their way.

Of course, Whitey also mentioned, if you had time and had some dough to get some half-decent clothes, clothes like he had on now (only half-decent you don’t want to pitch hard luck stuff in a Brooks Brothers suit, not on the mean streets anyway), you could work “the down on your luck” angle, needing an angel angle that worked with private social welfare organizations and single women especially. He knew the score on that one because he had, young enough, just gentile shabby enough, just “rehab-able ” enough, and just civilized enough to pull it off made many dollars in tough times the last time they came his way a few years back (and a couple of friendly one night stands with some lonely women too, and not bad looking either, as a bonus). But that was day time magic, lunch time, and took precious time and that night with frozen temperatures in the air and distracted fast-moving people going from place to place the shout-out was his strategy of choice by default.

And his night of work, after a few off-hand rusty stumbles and a bunch of brush-off, worked, worked to the tune of thirty-two dollars, about six packs worth of cigarettes of all kinds (oh yah, Black River Whitey always said if they pleaded no dough ask for cigarettes, or something, but keep asking), a least six belts of high shelf booze from no dough pleaders to keep the chill off, a couple of joints (to be saved for cooler, maybe a stray woman, times) from lingering 1960s freak-types, and he thought, an offer to stay at some woman’s house for the night, although the booze might have been taking his head over by then. (Besides he was still half-pining for Susie, Susie who had up and left him with her wanting habits intact, when he decided he would rather do a little of this and that than work the nine to five numbness.) Now if he could only keep that dough ready for the rent and not bet on some foolish new year’s college football game or something before then he might be able to work on that sure-fire system of his in the comfortof him room and really be on easy street.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Boston First Night- Copley Square New Year’s Eve Pardon Private Manning Stand-Out


 
 

Stand In Solidarity With Private Manning In Copley Square As We Celebrate The New Year, The Year Of Bradley’s Freedom. (This spot is now the traditional First Night spot for all those who want to stand against current wars, impeding wars, and for national liberation struggles so we will be among kindred spirits as people gather to watch the First Night parade that starts in the area later in the evening.)   

 

Let’s Redouble Our Efforts To Free Private Bradley Manning-President Obama Pardon Bradley Manning -Make Every Town Square In America (And The World) A Bradley Manning Square From Boston’s Copley Square To Berkeley to Berlin-Join Us In Copley Square (at the Boston Public Library, corner of Dartmouth and Boylston Streets ), Boston , Ma. For A Stand-Out For Bradley- First Night, Monday December 31st From 3:00-5:00 PM

***********

The Private Bradley Manning case is headed toward a late - winter trial now scheduled for March 2013. The recent news on his case has centered on the many (since last April) pre-trial motions hearings including defense motions to dismiss for lack of speedy trial (Private Manning’s pre-trial confinement is now at 900 plus days), dismissal as a matter of freedom of speech and minimal effect on alleged national security issues (issues for us to know what the hell the government is doing either in front of us, or behind our backs) and dismissal based on serious allegations of torturous behavior by the military authorities extending far up the chain of command while Private Manning was detained in Kuwait and at the Quantico Marine brig for about a year ending in April 2011. In December Private Manning himself, as well as others including senior military mental health workers, took the stand to detail those abuses.

 

Some more important recent news from the November 2012 pre-trail sessions is the offer by the defense to plead guilty to lesser charges (wrongful, unauthorized use of the Internet, etc.) in order to clear the deck and have the major (with a possibility of a life sentence) espionage /aiding the enemy issue solely before the court-martial judge (a single military judge, the one who has been hearing the pre-trial motions, not a lifer-stacked panel). Other news includes the increased media attention by mainstream outlets  around the case, as well as an important statement by three Nobel Peace Laureates  (including Bishop Tutu from South Africa) calling on their fellow laureate, United States President Barack Obama, to free Private Manning from his jails.

 

Since September 2011, in order to publicize Private Manning’ case, there have been weekly stand-outs (as well as other more ad hoc and sporadic events) in various locations in the Greater Boston area starting in Somerville across from the Davis Square Redline MBTA stop (renamed Pardon Bradley Manning Square for the stand-out’s duration) in Somerville on Friday afternoons and later on Wednesdays. Lately this stand-out has been held on each week on Wednesdays from 5:00 to 6:00 PM in order to continue to broaden our outreach at Central Square, Cambridge, Ma. (Small Park at the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Prospect Street just outside the Redline MBTA stop, also rename Manning Square for the duration.) Join us. President Obama Pardon Private Manning Now!  

Año First Night Boston Copley Square-Nuevo Manning Eva Perdón privado stand-out


Año First Night Boston Copley Square-Nuevo Manning Eva Perdón privado stand-out

En solidaridad con Manning privada Copley Square Al celebrar el Año Nuevo, el Año de la Libertad de Bradley. (Este lugar es ahora el lugar tradicional First Night para todos aquellos que quieren estar en contra de las guerras, las guerras actuales que impiden, por la liberación nacional y las luchas por lo que será uno de almas gemelas como las personas se reúnen para ver el desfile primera noche que comienza en la zona tarde en la noche.)

Vamos a redoblar nuestros esfuerzos para liberar privado Bradley Manning-Presidente Perdón Obama Bradley Manning-Hacer todo Plaza de la Ciudad en América (y el mundo) A Bradley Manning Square De Copley de Boston Square a Berkeley para nosotros Berlin-Join In Copley Square (en la Biblioteca Pública de Boston Biblioteca, esquina de las calles Boylston y Dartmouth), Boston, MA. Para un stand-out Por Bradley-First Night, lunes 31 de diciembre de 3:00-5:00 pm
***********
The Private Bradley Manning caso se dirige hacia una tarde - juicio programado para el invierno ahora marzo de 2013. Las recientes noticias sobre su caso se ha centrado en los muchos (desde el pasado mes de abril) mociones previas al juicio audiencias, incluyendo peticiones de la defensa para desestimar por falta de juicio rápido (Private Manning prisión preventiva está ahora a 900 más días), el despido como una cuestión de la libertad de expresión y un efecto mínimo sobre presuntos problemas de seguridad nacionales (cuestiones para nosotros saber qué demonios está haciendo el gobierno, ya sea en frente de nosotros, o detrás de la espalda) y el despido basado en las graves denuncias de comportamiento tortuoso por las autoridades militares se extienden lejos de la cadena de mando mientras soldado Manning fue detenido en Kuwait y en el bergantín Quantico Marine alrededor de un año que terminó en abril de 2011. En diciembre del mismo Manning privado, así como de otras personas, incluyendo altos militares de los trabajadores de salud mental, subió al estrado al detalle esos abusos.

Algunas noticias recientes más importantes de los 11 2012 preventiva de sesiones es el ofrecimiento de la defensa de declararse culpable de cargos menores (uso indebido, no autorizado de Internet, etc) con el fin de limpiar la cubierta y tiene la mayor (con un posibilidad de una sentencia de cadena perpetua) espionaje / ayudar al enemigo cuestión únicamente ante el juez de la corte marcial (un solo juez militar, el que ha estado escuchando las mociones previas al juicio, no un grupo condenado a cadena perpetua en fichas). Otras noticias incluye la mayor atención de los medios por los medios de la corriente principal en torno al caso, así como una declaración importante por tres Premios Nobel de la Paz (incluido el obispo Tutu de Sudáfrica) pidiendo a su laureado compañero, el presidente estadounidense Barack Obama, al soldado Manning libre de sus cárceles.

Desde septiembre de 2011, a fin de dar a conocer el caso Manning privada ', ha habido semanal stand-outs (así como otro anuncio más hoc y eventos esporádicos) en varios lugares en el área metropolitana de Boston a partir de Somerville al otro lado de la Davis Square Redline MBTA detener (rebautizada Perdón Bradley Manning Square durante la duración del stand-out 's) en Somerville viernes por la tarde y más tarde de los miércoles. Últimamente esta posición de salida ha tenido lugar en cada semana los miércoles 5:00-18:00 con el fin de seguir ampliando nuestro alcance en Central Square, Cambridge, MA. (Pequeño parque en la esquina de Massachusetts Avenue y Prospect Street justo fuera de la parada de Redline MBTA, también cambia el nombre de Plaza de Manning para el resto.) Únase a nosotros. Presidente Obama Manning Perdón PRIVADAS ahora mismo!

Saturday, December 22, 2012

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Paradine Case”- A Film Review




Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the 1947 Alfred Hitchcock film, The Paradine Case.
DVD Review

The Paradine Case, starring Gregory Peck, Anne Todd, Alida Valli, Louis Jourdan, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Selznick International Pictures, 1947

Okay, okay I ‘ll back off a little on my remark that on the basis of two recently reviewed Alfred Hitchcock films, The Wrong Man and I Confess, apparently the late thriller director had less that total admiration for the cops, the New York City and Quebec City cops anyway. Yah, the cops, the London cops, got it right, got it right up to the big step off as they collared their man, oops woman, wrapped it up tight, and let the long arm of justice take its course. But see there was dame involved, a femme fatale to boot so you can hardly blame a guy like me (or Hitchcock’s London cops for that matter under other circumstances) for not seeing what was clear as day in front of us. But it was a close thing anyway before the end, and some pretty big time lawyers, oops, barristers got egg on their faces before it was all over.

I better explain (and explain fast before some irate cop gives me, poor me, the third degree for complaining about their police procedures). See this mysterious woman, thisfemme fatale there is no other way to call it discreetly, was married to a mucky-mucky blind (age and infirmity blind) English rich gentleman named Paradine who wound up very, very dead one night having ingested a poisoned drink. Naturally his ever-loving wife, Mrs. Paradine (played by Alida Valli), young, fetching, restless, of indeterminate background, and, oh yah, a femme fatale, if I didn’t mention that before was the easy choice to step off for the caper. Mrs. Paradine though was not without financial resources and could and did hire the best up and coming criminal defense lawyer around town, oops again, barrister, Tony Keane(played by Gregory Peck), a very, very married barrister by the way. Married to an upper crust woman (played by Anne Todd) who was perhaps just a bit too stiff upper lip and earnest when all is said and done.

Naturally when a femme is on the prowl every guy within ten miles is fair game and, of course, Tony forgets every law 101 thing that got him to where he was including taking a big fall for Mrs. Paradine once she got her hooks into him. Those hooks included Tony, against all reason and evidence, trying to set up Colonel Paradine’s valet, Andre, as the fall guy (played by Louis Jourdan).That proved to be Tony’s undoing as Mrs. Paradine, turning out to be a good femme, or my idea of a good femme, won’t hear of letting Andre take the fall, especially after Tony has grilled Andre on the stand in court and as a result Andre commits suicide. That knowledge unravels Mrs. Paradine who admits in open court, against all reason since that all male jury was also swayable, that Andre was her lover and that she, and she alone, murdered her husband to run off with him.

Build those gallows high, very high indeed. Naturally the very earnest Mrs. Keane took her Tony back, or wanted to but you can see, see as clear as day, how even big time lawyers, oops once more, barristers could have gotten thrown off course when a femme is in the room. So what do expect of poor amateur like me who was secretly pulling for her just like I do for every femme, good or bad. But that too was a close thing.


Bradley's third birthday in prison. Help raise funds for his upcoming court martial.
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Bradley Manning Support Network
We just received a $10,000 end-of-year matching grant! A very generous anonymous donor has plendged to basically double your donation today.


Dear Friend of Bradley Manning,
This Monday, Bradley Manning turned 25, celebrating his third birthday in prison while awaiting trial for releasing important documents to the public via WikiLeaks. The government has delayed Brad’s court martial for over two years. But now we have big news: his court marital is expected to start in March 2013.
We’re writing today because we need your help to raise enough money for Brad’s trial expenses. We've had a generous donor offer to match the first $10,000 donated in December. Please make a donation so we can ensure Bradley Manning has the best defense possible when he goes to court.
We just finished a major hearing in Maryland. For the first time, Brad’s lawyer, David Coombs, presented evidence that showed the abusive conditions Brad was held in for eleven months.
In court, Coombs showed that Brad was kept on enforced “suicide watch,” against the recommendations of psychiatrists. This included solitary confinement with no access to sunlight, eyeglasses and clothing taken away, and even extreme humiliation such as being forced to stand nude for morning inspection. As Coombs stated:
"Brad's treatment at Quantico will forever be etched, I believe, in our nation's history, as a disgraceful moment in time. Not only was it stupid and counterproductive. It was criminal.”

Thanks to your support - financial and otherwise - we’ve helped fund the legal defense that allowed all of this evidence of torturous treatment to be submitted in pretrial hearings, giving Brad a real chance at seeing justice.
But the court martial will be our toughest battle yet – weeks of cross-examinations, evidence, and testimony will be presented. We are expecting this trial to last far longer than a normal court martial, potentially lasting for three or four months.
For more information about the defense fund click here.
Just to cover the costs of the trial, we need to raise at least $75,000. We’ll need even more to organize protests and public events around the trial. Can you please pitch in? Every bit helps.
It’s been a challenging and inspiring two years, and we couldn’t have done any of it without the dedication and unstinting tenacity of our supporters.
2013 is going to be historic. Let’s make sure we have the resources – financial and otherwise – to ensure Brad has the best defense possible.
Help us defend Bradley Manning – and the right of the public to know the truth – by making a donation today.

Thank you for all that you do,
Loraine Reitman
Co-founder and steering committee member,
Bradley Manning Support Network
PS We’re a 501c3 and all donations are tax deductible.

Help us continue to cover 100%
of Bradley's legal fees! Donate today.




Christmas In The Trenches


2


Boston-area, rip-off pizza joint that abused immigrant labor is divi



Fri Dec 21, 2012 4:57 am (PST) . Posted by:

"Booth, Jeffrey" jeffreactivate


Upper Crust chain divided up at auction
By Jenn Abelson<http://bostonglobe.com/staff/abelson>
| Globe Staff
December 19, 2012
[Shannon Liss-Riordan sued Upper Crust in 2010 on behalf of immigrant workers who claim the company took advantage of employees.]

Suzanne Kreiter/Globe staff

Shannon Liss-Riordan sued Upper Crust in 2010 on behalf of immigrant workers who claim the company took advantage of employees.
* The bankrupt Upper Crust pizza chain was sliced up at auction Wednesday, as a private equity firm with ties to ousted founder Jordan Tobins won leases for four restaurants, while an attorney who filed a class-action lawsuit against Tobins and the company for allegedly exploiting workers purchased the Harvard Square location.
Shannon Liss-Riordan, who sued Upper Crust in 2010 on behalf of immigrant employees who claim the business took advantage of workers and seized back wages from them, said she plans to give employees ownership shares in the restaurant. She partnered with another investor, Haluk Ozek, who owns Monella Boutique in Harvard Square, to buy the Cambridge lease and equipment and they are considering naming the restaurant "The Just Crust."
"We are very excited about buying back the Harvard Square location and making it into a model workplace for the benefit of the workers," Liss-Riordan said. "I hope this effort will provide at least one bright spot in this sad and troubling story."
An affiliate of Ditmars Ltd. - the private equity firm working with Tobins - made the top offers of $290,000 for the South End location on Tremont Street; $180,000 for the Lexington restaurant; $110,000 for the Wellesley shop; and $75,000 for the Watertown site. Christopher Panos, who represents Ditmars, said it is pleased it was the highest bidder and is hopeful it can soon begin hiring workers and making pizza.
This fall, the firm provided $250,000 as part of a settlement that was in the works between Tobins and his Upper Crust partners, according to attorneys and court records.
"Upper Crust is really Jordan's life so he's very excited. He's very happy a number of employees will be back having jobs," said Rick Mikels, an attorney for Tobins, who started the chain in Beacon Hill in 2001.
Boston Restaurant Associates, which runs the Regina Pizzeria chain, acquired the lease for the Upper Crust near Fenway Park for $175,000. Sam Sokol, who works for a real estate and hospitality investment firm, paid $100,000 for the Newbury Street site and said he plans to open a pizza shop at the location, but would not disclose which brand.
Al Carvelli, who runs an Upper Crust franchise in Plymouth, submitted the successful bid of $70,000 for the Hingham location. The landlord at State Street bought back its lease for $170,000 and the landlord for the Washington, D.C., shop also took over its site for $63,000.
The offers are for leases and restaurant equipment, not the rights to use the Upper Crust name. Upper Crust filed for bankruptcy protection in October after years of financial and labor troubles. A bankruptcy trustee closed 10 stores in November because the business had almost no cash and few supplies after executives paid themselves a month's salary in advance. Upper Crust said in court records it owes at least $3.4 million, and the US Department of Labor filed a claim that the company owes workers $850,000 in back wages and damages.
As Upper Crust rapidly expanded, the business depended on immigrant laborers from a village in Brazil. At first, workers embraced the opportunity, but over time, the relationship was strained as employees were underpaid for long workweeks while owners indulged in luxuries such as a yacht, according to a 2010 investigation published in the Globe<http://www.boston.com/business/articles/2010/12/05/harmony_gives_way_to_exploitation_charge_against_upper_crust/>.
They took their complaints to federal labor officials, who ordered the pizza chain to pay workers about $350,000 in overtime. Company executives then allegedly came up with a scheme to wrest the money back by slashing wages, resulting in a class-action lawsuit and another labor investigation.
Tobins and his partners, Joshua Huggard and Brendan Higgins, have repeatedly denied these allegations. But tensions between the co-owners emerged earlier this year when Tobins was placed on leave, and then sued by Huggard and Higgins for allegedly misusing about $750,000 in company funds for personal expenses.
Liss-Riordan said she believes there are questions about whether Tobins, through a third-party firm, can buy the Upper Crust locations because of an injunction prohibiting him from transferring assets.
"Although he will claim he is doing it through someone else, the point is that assets under his control should be preserved to pay back the employees, as well as creditors of Upper Crust," Liss-Riordan said.
A hearing to approve the sales, which totaled roughly $1.5 million, is set for Dec. 27. Mark G. DeGiacomo, the trustee overseeing the bankruptcy, said he will review all aspects of the bidders, including statements disclosing where the money was coming from and relationships to the debtors.
DeGiacomo is investigating Upper Crust operations for potential lawsuits against individuals who may have received money prior to the bankruptcy outside the course of business. He said he plans to try to recover more funds for creditors.
Get two weeks of FREE unlimited access to BostonGlobe.com. No credit card required.<https://services.bostonglobe.com/registration/free/Rv.aspx?p1=FCF_Article> Jenn Abelson can be reached at abelson@globe.com<mailto:abelson@globe.com> .
Holiday Greetings to All Friends and Allies

of Dorchester People for Peace!

Best Wishes from DPP to those observing the holidays – or simply enjoying the spirit of the season. . .


And a PEACEFUL NEW YEAR!

We have posted these videos many times before during the Holidays. Watch them for the first time if you haven’t seen them before; watch them again and you won’t be disappointed. . .


CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES -- 1914

In December, 1914, after months of slaughter during the First World War (it was supposed to be “The War to End all Wars”!), British and German soldiers declared an informal and spontaneous truce. The story of their fraternization and holiday celebration is told in detail here and here (the link in last week’s Update is obsolete). Many thanks to our friends in the Veterans for Peace, Smedley Butler Brigade, for reminding us of this!


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Christmas In The Trenches VIDEO: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9coPzDx6tA

The event has been immortalized in a song by folksinger JOHN MCCUTCHEON, which you can hear and watch along with contemporary illustration and a moving introduction by the performer:


The song ends with this stanza:

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.


* * * *

VIDEO: John Lennon – HAPPY CHRISTMAS (The War is Over) – updated for today




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John Lennon

(killed on December 8, 1980)

VIDEO: “All we are saying is give peace a chance.”



***************************

Yusuf Ibrahim (aka Cat Stevens)


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VIDEO: “Peace Train”



* * * *

DORCHESTER PEOPLE FOR PEACE NEEDS YOUR HELP!

Together with so many of you, DPP achieved a huge success November 6, when more than 600,000 voters in 91 cities in Massachusetts, including Boston, passed Referendum Question 4 by a 3 to 1 margin at the polls. The voters gave a resounding YES to Protecting Social Security, Medicare and other benefits; Investing in Jobs; Taxing the 1%; Bringing the War Dollars Home.

But we need to let you know that we are facing our own ‘fiscal cliff’!

The Referendum Campaign caused expenses, far beyond our usual very modest budget, for printing Referendum Campaign signs, flyers and polling-place palm cards. We need to raise at least $1600 just to pay our bills.

Please send a donation of whatever you can afford – with checks payable to Dorchester People for Peace -- to our treasurer:

Gerry Bilodeau

26 Midland St.

Dorchester, MA 02125

Friday, December 21, 2012

Poet’s Corner – The Gangster Poet Cometh – Gregory Corso’s “Destiny”




… a man came running down the stairs of some sad sack, no elevator, long gone, brownstone ready for the wrecker’s’ ball, wild-haired, throwing off devil brown hair that wouldn’t stay down, devil brown-eyed, smirks, half-dressed, shirt open, pant fly open like maybe he had just finished up some hurried sex with his best friend’s wife and that best friend is now walking up Canal Street in New Jack City ready to be greeted by that ever loving wife once he walks up the six flights to their honeymoon-like cold water flat, cockroach friendly, the flat, or maybe, same wild-haired, different take, maybe open pant fly open having just come from some boyfriend, or stray pick-up back alley after being drip-dried, he had that wild-eyed look for that hunger too, that boy hunger, hell for all human hungers if you looked closely, he frantic, muttering, yes, muttering a mile a minute words, machine gun gangster muttering those words, ashes in the mouth words like truth, beauty, age, wisdom, the veda, the Buddha truth, the karma sutra, the act of contrition, six hail marys and this, throw them all out and start fresh, start fresh with the new beat down, beat around, beat six ways to Sunday, beatitude truth.

Muttering death of god truth, beat down old man god truth, muttering against false prophets truth, muttering quietly just then some new truth, a truth worth pondering.

…and hence Gregory Corso.

Destiny

They deliver the edicts of God

without delay

And are exempt from apprehension

from detention

And with their God-given

Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria

ferry like bolts of lightning

unhindered between the tribunals

of Space & Time


The Messenger-Spirit

in human flesh

is assigned a dependable,

self-reliant, versatile,

thoroughly poet existence

upon its sojourn in life


It does not knock

or ring the bell

or telephone

When the Messenger-Spirit

comes to your door

though locked

It'll enter like an electric midwife

and deliver the message


There is no tell

throughout the ages

that a Messenger-Spirit

ever stumbled into darkness

On The 50th Anniversary- Honor The Heroic Cuban Defenders At The Bay Of Pigs-Defend The Cuban Revolution!



Click on the headline to link to a Wikipedia entry for the Bay of Pigs Invasion.
Markin comment:
Those of us who came of age in the 1960s, especially those of us who cut our political teeth on defending, under one principle or another (right to national self-determination, socialist solidarity, general anti-imperialist agenda, etc.), the Cuban revolution that we were front row television witnesses to, cherish the memory of the heroic Cuban defenders at the Bay of Pigs. No one cried when the American imperial adventure was foiled and President John Kennedy (whatever else we felt about him then), egg on face, had to take responsibility for the fiasco.

Those of us who continue to adhere to the anti-capitalist, anti-imperialist, pro-socialist agenda, whatever our differences with the Cuban leadership, today can join in honoring those heroic fighters. Today is also a day to face the hard fact that we have had too few victories against the imperialist behemoth. The imperial defeat at the Bay of Pigs was however our victory. As today’s imperialist activity in Libya, painfully, testifies to those forces, however, have not gotten weaker in the past 50 years. So the lesson for today’s (and future) young militants is to honor our fallen forebears and realize that the beast can be defeated, if you are willing to fight it. Forward! Defend the Cuban Revolution!

When Rockabilly Rocked The Be-Bop 1950s Night- “Rock This Town-Volume 2”- A CD Review

 


CD Review

Rock This Town, Volume 2, various artists, Rhino Records, 1991


The bulk of this review was used to review Volume 1 as well:

The last time that I discussed rockabilly music in this space was a couple of years ago when I was featuring the work of artists like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis who got their start at Sam Phillips’ famed Sun Records studio in Memphis. Part of the reason for those reviews was my effort to trace the roots of rock and rock, the music of my coming of age, and that of my generation, the generation of ’68. Clearly rockabilly was, along with country and city blues from the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and Ike Turner and rhythm and blues from the likes of Big Joe Turner, a part of that formative process. The question then, and the question once again today, is which strand dominated the push to rock and rock, if one strand in fact did dominate.

I have gone back and forth on that question over the years. That couple of years ago mentioned above I was clearly under the influence of Big Joe Turner and Howlin’ Wolf and so I took every opportunity to stress the bluesy nature of rock. Recently though I have been listening, and listening very intently, to early Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis and I am hearing more of that be-bop rockabilly rhythm flowing into the rock night. Let me give a comparison. A ton of people have done Big Joe Turner’s classic rhythm and bluish Shake, Rattle, and Roll, including Bill Haley, Elvis, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee. When I listen to that song as performed in the more rockabilly style by them those versions seem closer to what evolved into rock. So for today, and today only, yes Big Joe is the big daddy, max daddy father of rock but Elvis, Jerry Lee, and Carl are the very pushy sons.

And that brings us to this treasure trove of rockabilly music presented in two volumes of which this is the second; including material by those who have revived, or kept the rockabilly genre alive over the past couple of decades. I have already done enough writing in praise of the work of Sam Phillips and Sun Records to bring that good old boy rockabilly sound out of the white southern countryside. There I noted that, for the most part, those who succeeded in rockabilly had to move on to rock to stay current and so the rockabilly sound was somewhat transient except for those who consciously decided to stay with it. Here are the examples that I used for volume one and they apply here as well:

“…the best example of that is Red Hot by Bill Riley and his Little Green Men, an extremely hot example by the way. If you listen to his other later material it stays very much in that rockabilly vein. In contrast, take High School Confidential by Jerry Lee Lewis. Jerry Lee might have started out in rockabilly but this number (and others) is nothing but the heart and soul of rock (and a song, by the way, we all prayed would be played at our middle school dances to get things moving).” Enough said.

Stick outs here on Volume 2 include: C’mon Everybody, Eddie Cochran (probably better known for his more bluesy, steamy, end of school rite of passage Summertime Blues, a very much underrated performer whose career was cut short when he was killed in a car accident; Let’s Have A Party, Wanda Jackson (one of the few famous women rockabilly artists in a very much male-dominated genre); Red Hot ( a cover of the famous one by Bill Riley featured in Volume 1), Robert Gordon and Link Wray; Rock This Town (title track from the group that probably is the best known devotee of the rockabilly revival), The Stray Cats.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

From The Partisan Defense Committee

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-When Rockabilly Rocked The Be-Bop 1950s Night





Hey, blame it on Warren Smith and a freshly heard Rock and Roll Ruby via YouTube  automatic retro magic. Hell, blame it on Sonny Burgess burning up the world with Red-headed Woman, yah, now that I think of it blame it on him, or even on a mad dog middle of the night discussion with kindred Peter Paul Markin rekindled from childhood (or rather budding teen-hood) about who was who in the be-bop rock and roll firmament in the mid-1950s. Damn, blame it on the retro-fuelled Stray Cats but under no circumstances blame it on me for lighting up cyberspace with a bag full of rockabilly gumbo.       

The last time that I discussed rockabilly music in this space was a couple of years ago when I was mulling over the work of artists like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis, when they were young and hungry, from hunger really, and fed into our jailbreak hungry after years of listening to parent Sinatra, Como, Page and the Ink Spots ad infinitum, who got their start at Sam Phillips’ famed Sun Records studio in Memphis. Part of the reason for those thoughts was my effort to trace the roots of rock and roll, the music of my coming of age, and that of my generation, the generation of ’68. Clearly rockabilly was, along with country and city blues from the likes of Robert Johnson, Skip James , Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and pre-Tina Ike Turner (think Rocket 88 among other be-bop stuff) and rhythm and blues from the likes of Big Joe Turner (think, big think and don’t spare anything, Shake, Rattle and Roll) a part of that formative process. The question then, and the question once again today, is which strand dominated the push to rock and roll, if one strand in fact did dominate.

I have gone back and forth on that question over the years. That couple of years ago mentioned above I was clearly under the influence of Big Joe Turner and Howlin’ Wolf and so I took every opportunity to stress the bluesy nature of rock. Recently though I have been listening, and listening very intently, to early Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis and I am hearing more of that be-bop rockabilly rhythm flowing into the rock night. Let me give a comparison. A ton of people have done Big Joe Turner’s classic rhythm and bluish Shake, Rattle, and Roll, including Bill Haley, Elvis, Carl Perkins, and Jerry Lee. When I listen to that song as performed in their more rockabilly style those versions seem closer to what evolved into rock. So for today, and today only, yes Big Joe is the big daddy, max daddy father of rock but Elvis, Jerry Lee, and Carl are the very pushy sons.

And that brings us to the treasure trove of rockabilly music, the stuff the big boys came, all back forty barns dances, high school last chance dances, and country fair jamborees from, the stuff the big boys listened to get an idea or two, and maybe helped to create.  I have already done enough writing in praise of the work of Sam Phillips and Sun Records to bring that good old boy rockabilly sound out of the white southern countryside. I noted that for the most part those who succeeded in rockabilly in say 1954, or 55 had to move on to rock to stay current with the youth wave (the disposable income/allowance post- World War II youth wave, mainly girls, who bought those luscious 45 RPM records and put those nickels, dimes and quarters in the jukeboxes and, and, sometimes, pretty please some times, let the likes of  cash-lite Josh Breslin and P.P. Markin help them make their selections, okay) and so the rockabilly sound was somewhat transient except for those who consciously decided to stay with that sound. The best example of that, other than those mentioned above, is Red Hot by Bill Riley and His Little Green Men, an extremely hot example by the way. If you listen to his other later material it stays very much in that rockabilly vein. In contrast, take High School Confidential by Jerry Lee Lewis. Jerry Lee might have started out in rockabilly down in that Cajun mishmash Louisiana swamp but this number (and others) is nothing but the heart and soul of rock (and a song, by the way, we all prayed would be played at our junior high school dances to get thing, you know what things, going). Case closed.

Other stick-outs included Ooby Dooby, Roy Orbison (although he has a ton of better songs); Blue Suede Shoes (the teeth-cutting, max daddy of rockabilly songs), Carl Perkins; Susie-Q (right at that place where rockabilly and blues meet to form rock and a classic come hither song), Dale Hawkins; Party Doll (another great junior high school dance song), Buddy Knox;  Come On, Let’s Go (bringing just a touch of Tex-Mex into the rockabilly mix), Ritchie Valens, and the national anthem, Summertime Blues by the great and underrated Eddie Cochran.    


Poet’s Corner – The Gangster Poet Cometh – Gregory Corso’s “The Whole Mess…Almost”

Poet’s Corner – The Gangster Poet Cometh – Gregory Corso’s “The Whole Mess…Almost”


… a man came running down the stairs of some sad sack, no elevator, long gone, brownstone ready for the wrecker’s ball, wild-haired, throwing off devil brown hair that wouldn’t stay down, devil brown-eyed, smirks, half-dressed, shirt open, pant fly open like maybe he had just finished up some hurried sex with his best friend’s wife and that best friend is now walking up Canal Street in New Jack City ready to be greeted by that ever loving wife once he walks up the six flights to their honeymoon-like cold water flat, cockroach friendly, the flat, or maybe, wild-haired maybe open pant fly open having just come from some boyfriend back alley after being drip-dried, he had that wild-eyed look for that hunger too, that boy hunger, hell for all human hungers if you looked closely, he frantic, muttering, yes, muttering a mile a minute words, machine gun gangster muttering those words, words like truth, beauty, age, wisdom, the veda, the Buddha truth, the karma sutra, the act of contrition, six hail marys and this, throw them all out and start fresh, start fresh with the new beat down, beat around, beat six ways to Sunday, beatitude truth. …and hence Gregory Corso.

The Whole Mess... Almost

I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life

First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
'Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!'
'Oh yeah! Well, I've nothing to hide… OUT!'
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:
'It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!' 'OUT!'
Then Love, cooing bribes: 'You'll never know impotency!
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!'
I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:
'You always end up a bummer!'
I picked up Faith Hope Charity
all three clinging together:
'Without us you'll surely die!'
'With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!'

The Beauty… ah, Beauty--
As I led her to the window
I told her: 'You I loved the best in life
…but you're a killer; Beauty kills!'
Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her
'You saved me!' she cried
I put her down and told her: 'Move on.'

Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.
The only thing left in the room was Death
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
'I'm not real!' It cried
'I'm just a rumor spread by life…'
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left--
All I could do with Humor was to say:
'Out the window with the window!'

Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- When Beat Was Neat-A Film Clip From The B-Film Classic “High School Confidential”-Phillipa Fallon’s “High School Drag”




High School Drag: Phillipa Fallon [1958]


My old man was a bread stasher all his life.
He never got fat. He wound up with a used car,
a 17 inch screen and arthritis.

Tomorrow is a drag, man.
Tomorrow is a king sized bust.

They cried ‘put down pot,’ ‘don’t think a lot,’ for what?
Time, how much? And what to do with it.

Sleep, man, and you might wake up digging the whole
human race giving itself three days to get out.

Tomorrow is a drag, pops, the future is a flake.

I had a canary who couldn’t sing.
I had a cat who let me share my pad with her.
I bought a dog that killed the cat who ate the canary.
What is truth?

I had an uncle with an ivy league card.
He had a life with a belt in the back.
He had a button-down brain.
Wind up a belt in the mouth with a button-down lip.

We cough blood on this earth.
Now there’s a race for space.
We can cough blood on the moon soon.

Tomorrow’s dragsville, cats.
Tomorrow is a king size drag.

Tool a fast shore, swing with a gassy chick.
Turn on to a thousand joys.
Smile on what happened, or check what’s going to happen,
You’ll miss what’s happening.
Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum.

Tomorrow, DRAG.

Phillipa Fallon [1958]
High School Drag
(Welles / Glasser)
MGM 12661

Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- When Beat Was Neat-A Film Clip From The B-Film Classic “High School Confidential”-Phillipa Fallon’s “High School Drag”




From The Search For The Blue-Pink Great American West Night:

“And then... .
the great Western shore, surf’s up, white, white wave-flecked, lapis-lazuli blue-flecked ocean, rust golden-gated, no return, no boat out, land’s end, this is it coast highway, heading down or up now, heading up or down gas stationed, named and unnamed, side road diners, still caboose’d, ravine-edged sleep and beach sleeped, blue-pink American West night.

Yes, but there is more. No child vision but now of full blossom American West night, the San Francisco great American West night, of the be-bop, bop-bop, narrow-stepped, downstairs overflowed music cellar, shared in my time, the time of my time, by “beat” jazz, “hippie’d folk”, and howled poem, but at this minute jazz, high white note-blown, sexed sax-playing godman, unnamed, but like Lester Young’s own child jazz. Smoke-filled, blended meshed smokes of ganja and tobacco (and, maybe, of meshed pipe smokes of hashish and tobacco), ordered whisky-straight up, soon be-sotted, cheap, face-reddened wines, clanking coffee cups that speak of not tonight promise. High sexual intensity under wraps, tightly under wraps, swirls inside its own mad desire, black-dressed she (black dress, black sweater, black stockings, black shoes, black bag, black beret, black sunglasses, ah, sweet color scheme against white Madonna, white, secular Madonna alabaster skin. What do you want to bet black undergarments too, ah, but I am the soul of discretion, your imagination will have to do), promising shades of heat-glanced night. And later, later than night just before the darkest hour dawn, of poems poet’d, of freedom songs free-verse’d, of that sax-charged high white note following out the door, out into the street, out into the eternity lights of the great golden-gated night. I say, can you blame me?”

Leading to this …
High School Drag: Phillipa Fallon [1958]


My old man was a bread stasher all his life.
He never got fat. He wound up with a used car,
a 17 inch screen and arthritis.

Tomorrow is a drag, man.
Tomorrow is a king sized bust.

They cried ‘put down pot,’ ‘don’t think a lot,’ for what?
Time, how much? And what to do with it.

Sleep, man, and you might wake up digging the whole
human race giving itself three days to get out.

Tomorrow is a drag, pops, the future is a flake.

I had a canary who couldn’t sing.
I had a cat who let me share my pad with her.
I bought a dog that killed the cat who ate the canary.
What is truth?

I had an uncle with an ivy league card.
He had a life with a belt in the back.
He had a button-down brain.
Wind up a belt in the mouth with a button-down lip.

We cough blood on this earth.
Now there’s a race for space.
We can cough blood on the moon soon.

Tomorrow’s dragsville, cats.
Tomorrow is a king size drag.

Tool a fast shore, swing with a gassy chick.
Turn on to a thousand joys.
Smile on what happened, or check what’s going to happen,
You’ll miss what’s happening.
Turn your eyes inside and dig the vacuum.

Tomorrow, DRAG.

Phillipa Fallon [1958]
High School Drag
(Welles / Glasser)
MGM 12661

*******
I ain’t saying that High School Confidential and this low budget be-bop B-film’s (although with a solid A on the rock and roll intro with Jerry Lee Lewis sitting at the piano in back of a flat-bed truck flailing, yes, flailing away on his classic rock and roll song, teen angst-busting , teen alienation-busting song, High School Confidential, heralding the hint, just the hint, of a possibility that we of the generation of ’68 might be getting ready for that big jail break we were sitting under some atomic bomb air raid school desk looking for a sign of) “beat” poetess will make you throw away your personally autographed first edition City Lights copy of mad monk om om man Allen Ginsberg’s Howl or even some torn-up paperback copy of Jeanbon (Jack) Kerouac’s Mexico City Blues or even some shotgun version of street gunsel mad poet Gregory Corso’s machine gun sonnets but she was a sister, a sister in the struggle to break out of squaresville, to break out of the void, to break from nine to five, to break from soda fountain giggle girl dreams, to break from seventy-six, count ‘em, forms of teen angst and sixty-six, count ‘em again, forms of teen alienation, to break from same old, same old, to, ah hell, just to break as portrayed by know nothing Hollywood with its angst-less dreams and its alienation-less non-sorrows. So be-bop, be-bop sister, be-bop.

I ain’t, furthermore, saying that everything the sultry sister (1950s sultry don’t touch me just listen tea-head, but what were we to know of that kind of sultry out in Podunk teen land, cashmere sweater, black skirt, maybe devil black stockings not shown, teen boy dreams sultry whatever her message, or even no message but bop) had to say had its head on straight. Or that if we, we meaning those fledgling angst-filled, alienation sorrowed‘68ers mentioned above, had heard her in some forbidden teenage night club (no liquor allowed, no petting allowed, no, no allowed enforced by burly guys with direct access to parents/priests/teachers/cops/authorities and hence to some mischievous god),a club filled with smoke, cigarette smoke and djinn smoke and weed smoke and maybe hash pipe smoke too although that might have been for more private moments, and maybe too train smoke and dreams, road dreams to see mystic vistas,sitting with some cashmere sweater frill, not quite old enough to do the apparel justice, blonde maybe, red-headed for sure, in ancient landlocked celtic strongholds where some fierce blue-eyed boys stood waiting, holding forth against the squares, against the cubes, against the pentagonals,against the angry young men, against the not angry young men, and ditto women, against the death-dealing old men, against the country club uncertain certainties, against that cold war hot war red scare night, against the break-out blockers as fierce as any New York Giants monster linebacker, that we would have understood half, hell, a quarter of what she said but like some mad dash shaman, oops, shaman-ess, it would have stuck, stuck to be mulled over, stuck for later times and so…be-bop, be-bop sister, be-bop.

And I definitely ain’t saying that even ifall she said did have its head on straight that we, we meaning those fledgling ‘68ers mentioned above, had heard her in some forbidden teenage night club,a club filled with smoke, cigarette smoke and djinn smoke and weed smoke and maybe hash pipe smoke too although that might have been for more private moments, and maybe too train smoke and dreams, road dreams to see mystic vistas,sitting with some cashmere sweater frill, not quite old enough to do the apparel justice, blonde maybe, red-headed for sure, in ancient landlocked celtic strongholds where some fierce blue-eyed boys stood waiting, holding forth against the squares, against the cubes, against the pentagonals,against the angry young men, against the not angry young men, and ditto women, against the death-dealing old men, against the country club uncertain certainties, against that cold war hot war red scare night, against the break-out blockers as fierce as any New York Giants monster linebacker, would have dug, yes, dug, in dig beat language dug, exactly what she had to say any more than when our time did come (when we shed teen know nothing-ness, Hollywood know nothing-ness,parent know nothing-ness, cop know nothing-ness, priest know nothing-ness, authorities know nothing-ness), the time when we got our bloody jail break time signal, that we more than echo-listened to om om-antic New Jersey mad monk Allen Ginsberg (tea head, acid head, Buddha head) howl against that evil night, or to Jeanbon (Jack) Kerouac, sweet Lowell mill boy gone sour, sitting in some hell-hole mere florida trailer park (or bungalow, maybe) sweating whiskey and hubris against his children, or to New Jack City Gregory Corso playing the lone ranger against the death night, but it would have stuck, stuck to be mulled over, stuck for later times and so…be-bop, be-bop sister, be-bop.


IN THE TIME OF THE GREAT FRENCH REVOLUTION-A Film Review



DVD REVIEW

REMEMEBER THE BASTILLE, BUT HONOR ROBESPIERRE AND SAINT JUST.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, HISTORY CHANNEL PRODUCTION, 2004

This year marks the 223rdanniversary of the beginning of the Great French Revolution with storming of the Bastille on July 14th 1789. An old Chinese Communist leader, the late Zhou Enlai, was once asked by a reporter to sum up the important lessons of the French Revolution. In reply he answered that it was too early to tell what those lessons might be. Whether that particular story is true or not it does contain one important truth. Militants today at the beginning of the 21st century can still profit from an understanding of the history of the French Revolution.

There are many books that outline the history of that revolution. I have reviewed some of them in this space. Probably the most succinct overview, although it was written over one half century ago, is Professor Georges Lefebvre’s study. For those who want a quick visual overview of the main events and political disputes the History Channel production under review has a lot to recommend it. The production covers all the main points from the pre-revolutionary problems confronting France at the time including, its terrible debt problems caused in the main by its support of the American Revolution to the political, social and, yes, sexual inadequacies of Louis XVI. As has been noted by many commentators on revolution, including myself, one of the prerequisites for revolution is that the old regime can no longer govern in the same way. The personage of Louis XVI seemingly fits that proposition to a tee.

The production goes on to highlight the key events. Obviously, and most visibly the storming of the Bastille that opened up the cracks in the old monarchial regime. It details the struggle to create a constitutional monarchy through the various legislative assemblies that sought to carry out the reforms necessary to bring France into the modern age short of declaring a republic. And also the attempts, including by Louis himself, by forces of the old regime to return the old monarchy or stop the revolution in its tracks. When those efforts failed and the revolution began in earnest the production details the internal struggle by the revolutionaries, most notably the great fight between the Girondins and Jacobins for power, and the formation of the republic. After the defeat of the Girondins this led to the further fights to ‘purify’ the revolution among the Jacobin forces and the reign of the Robespierre-led Committee of Public Safety that consolidated the gains of the revolution through the ‘Reign of Terror’. Finally, the downfall and execution of Robespierre in 1794 represented the reaction that most revolutions exhibit when the political possibilities for further leftward revolutionary moves are no longer tenable.

There are many great scenes portrayed here as well. The murder of Marat by Corday. The Festival of the Supreme Being. The oratory of Danton and many more scenes that give one a pretty good general feel for the dynamics of the revolution. Included are‘talking head’ comments by noted historians of the revolution giving their take on the meaning of various events. This is a plus. The major negative is in the axis of presentation. Almost fatalistically the emergence of Robespierre is intertwined throughout all of the earlier events giving the impression that he was inevitably bound to take power. And, also inevitably, due to the excesses of the ‘Reign of Terror’ to lose it. This may be good documentary presentation form but it is bad history. Revolutions, particularly great revolutions, are few and far between. They are messy affairs at the time and as seen through the historical lens. Nevertheless if the social tensions in society could always, or should always, be resolved in a nice non- violent parliamentary way there would be no revolutions. Damn, where would that leave us as the inheritors of the sans-culottes tradition?