Protesting The Israel/Gaza Situation - 11/23/2012

Friday, November 23, 2012

Protesting The Israel/Gaza Situation - 11/23/2012

At the Israeli Consulate in Philadelphia.

Cindy Speaking at Occupy AIPAC in Sacto on Dec 2

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Cindy Speaking at Occupy AIPAC in Sacto on Dec 2

It’s time to expose AIPAC!

It’s time to tell our elected officials to say NO to the Israel lobby: Sunday, December 2, 2012 ◊ 10:00 a.m.-12 noon ◊ Sacramento ◊ Exact location TBA

It’s time to stop $8 million/day of U.S. taxes going to support Israel’s occupation and warmongering.

It’s time for Congress to say NO to the Israel Lobby.

It’s time to expose AIPAC.

The American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC), part of the Israel lobby, has created an atmosphere of coercion and intimidation in our country’s political system that works for an agenda of endless war, Israeli occupation, apartheid, rampant Anti-Arab racism and Islamophobia.
◊ AIPAC is currently drumming up American support for an attack on Iran, which would cause untold suffering in that country at the cost of billions of US dollars with no conceivable benefit for U.S. citizens.
◊ AIPAC consistently lobbies on behalf of Israel’s occupation of Palestinian lands,
facilitating the transfer of more than $3 billion in U.S. taxes a year ($8 million per day) in military aid to Israel and ensuring the diplomatic protection that allows Israel to maintain its illegal settlements and apartheid wall, hold Gaza under siege and engage in numerous
other brutal methods of collective punishment deemed illegal under international law.
◊ The Israel Lobby’s promotion of Islamophobia and anti-Arab racism have created an atmosphere in which billions of American dollars can be used to launch wars in the Middle
East and to enforce a system of apartheid in the occupied Palestinian territories without
Americans realizing the true human cost of American support for war and aggression.
◊ It’s time to defy AIPAC and demand a U.S. policy in the Middle East based on respect for human rights and democracy, not on endless war.

Contact your city, county, state and federal elected officials and ask them to NOT attend AIPAC’s Annual Membership Meeting on December 2, 2012. Let them know:
• While every representative can listen to points of view and meet in their office with anyone, attending the AIPAC meeting is a public display of support for war and occupation and gives AIPAC respectability and credibility it does not deserve.

• U.S. tax dollars should be used for building up our cities here, not supporting the destruction of homes and farms in occupied Palestine. AIPAC's unconditional support for even the very worst of Israel's policies is directly contradictory to the values of peace and fairness that are best for our city, our country and our world.

• Attending an AIPAC event implies support for AIPAC’s lobbying to attack Iran. We should be actively supporting global nuclear disarmament (for all countries, including the United States and Israel), not threatening others with military action.

• Attending AIPAC events helps build support for AIPAC's agenda and does nothing to advance a just foreign policy based on respect for human rights and international law.

For more info: Sacramento Region Coalition for Palestinian Rights SacReg4PalestinianRights@gmail.com
Local events: www.sacpeace.org

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Rex Harrison’s “Night Train To Munich”

Click on the headline to link to a Wikipediaentry for Carol Reed’s Night Train To Munich.

DVD Review

Night Train To Munich, Rex Harrison, Paul Henreid, Dorothy Lockwood, directed by Carol Reed, 20^th Century Fox, 1940

You have to hand it to the British, at least the cinematic British , to be able to both keep a stiff upper lip and to play World War II, European Theater, you know Hitler, Munich, the Third Reich and all hell breaking loose, including the bombing of London, for laughs, or at least in an archly humorous manner. Maybe it was just to keep the home front spirits up but watching this one seventy years later knowing what we know about what happened on all fronts and by most of the parties was a little disconcerting.

Here’s why. The deal had been done in Munich (a place name that stands for sell-out in world politics, rightly or wrongly compared, even today) whereby Czechoslovakia was forthwith handed over to Hitler in order, well, in order to bring “peace in our times.” This little action culminated the veer to war, big time war, after the earlier annexation of Austria and the forming of a German protectorate in Sudetenland section of Czechoslovakia and merely whetted Hitler’s appetite. Serious stuff though, very serious especially for political opponents of the Nazis and those who had some special skills that the Third Reich could make use of in some way, particularly for military purposes. Of course the other players in the war build-up drama, including Great Britain, had that same interest. And that conflicting premise forms the thriller core of this film.

Enter one Czech scientist who is able to escape to London before the Nazis grab him and his clever fetching daughter who wound up left behind, left behind in a concentration camp when the German Army marched into Prague. The Germans were, however, ready to move might and main in order to get the scientist’s services so they sent a loyal Nazi-enflamed officer (played by Paul Henreid last seen in these quarters leading the European resistance, and caught up in a Rick’s Cafe love triangle in Morocco, in the film Casablanca. Go figure.) into the camp to track him down by having him plot an escape for him and the daughter in order to win the daughter’s confidence. He does track the scientist down and brings him and the daughter back to Germany. That in turn triggers British efforts led by an undercover naval officer (played, played archly, very archly by Rex Harrison) who infiltrated the German high command in order to get one important scientist back to the Allied side.

Of course all of this is going on while Germany, in the meantime, has invaded British ally Poland which in the real world might have complicated things a bit. A very big bit. Not to worry though Rex’s plan, and some personal heroics to impress that fetching daughter, to get father and daughter away to neutral Switzerland via various subterfuges (including enlisting a pair of British travelers, arch, very arch, British travelers) in the end gets them away from the grasping clutches of the arch-villain Henreid. So you can see why this one is, well, like I said is disconcerting. This is not director Carol Reed’s best thriller effort, not by a long shot, the classic 1949 thriller The Third Man starring Orson Welles is.

Israel's War on Palestine

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Israel's War on Palestine

Israel's War on Palestine

by Stephen Lendman

Operation Pillar of Cloud reflects the latest chapter in Israel's decades-long, slow-motion, genocidal war on Palestine.

So-called memorandum of understanding terms changed nothing. They're nonbinding, meaningless, and insulting.

Israel disregarded all past agreements. It'll violate this one with impunity and already did. More on that below.

With full US support, it flagrantly ignored dozens of Security Council and General Assembly resolutions. They condemned or censured Israel for its crimes, deplored it for committing them, and/or demanded they end.

Israel does what it pleases with impunity. Palestine's Nakba never ended. It continues now. It's embedded in Palestinian consciousness. It reflects an ongoing journey of pain, suffering, loss, and injustice.

Daily life replicates Palestine's tortured past. Occupation harshness threatens Palestinian culture, heritage, and existence. Draconian military orders alone create oppressive conditions. They include:

• No. 92 giving Israel control of all West Bank and Gaza water;

• No. 158 stipulating that Palestinians can't construct water installations without (nearly impossible to get) permit permission, and those built will be confiscated or demolished;

• No. 1015 requiring Palestinians get permission to plant trees on their own land;

• No. 128 authorizing the IDF to take over any Palestinian business not open during regular business hours;

• No. 107 prohibiting Arabic grammar, Crusades history, and Arab nationalist publications;

• No. 101 banning gatherings of more than 10 people without advance notice with names of participants;

• Nos. 811 and 847 letting Jews buy land from Palestinian owners with or without their consent;

• No. 998 requiring Palestinians get permission to withdraw funds from their bank accounts;

• No. 818 authorizing how Palestinians can plant decorative flowers;

• No. 329 preventing the right of return; and

• Nos. 1649 and 1650 turning all West Bank residents (including native born ones) potentially into "infiltrators;" doing so makes them vulnerable to deportation, fines or imprisonment without IDF-issued permits.

Imagine daily life under these conditions and much more. Brutalizing repression terrorizes Palestinians ruthlessly. Israeli provocations instigate conflicts and full-scale wars.

Fingers point the wrong way every time. Palestinians are blamed for Israeli crimes. Peace, stability, and freedom remain elusive. Operation Pillar of Cloud resolved nothing.

Israel got away with murder and mass destruction. Conflict didn't end. It continues. Washington and Israel assure it. They're partners in crime.

On Thursday, a day after both sides agreed on memorandum of understanding terms, Israeli soldiers shot and wounded four Palestinian youths.

They approached Israel's security fence. They threatened no one. They displayed Palestinian flags. In response, soldiers opened fire.

An IDF spokesman said they "began rioting." He lied.

Friday morning, Israeli soldiers murdered another Palestinian youth in cold blood. Live fire wounded another 19. They gathered near Israel's border peacefully to pray.

Incidents like this and greater provocations happen often. Netanyahu pledged to stop them. He lied. He's been caught red-handed lying many times.

After pledging to pursue peace, he called doing so "a waste of time." He admitted wanting to destroy Palestinian authority and existence.

He knows he'll get Western support for claiming self-defense. Washington collaborates with and endorses all Israeli criminality.

The Israeli Lobby boasts about having US administrations and Congress in its pocket. Israel gets away with murder with impunity. It happens every time.

Israeli policy reflects the worst of criminality and duplicity. Palestinians know what they're up against. Conflict will resume whenever Israel plans it. Under Netanyahu, it's certain.

A scurrilous Haaretz editorial lauded him. "In praise of Netanyahu," it headlined.

It admitted that diplomacy could have avoided conflict. "But once (Netanyahu) decided on a military operation, (he) demonstrated relative restraint."

Imagine calling hundreds of Palestinians murdered or injured "restraint." Imagine how many families lost loved ones. Imagine mass destruction impossible to rebuild easily under siege conditions.

Imagine shocking crimes of war and against humanity. Imagine Israel again getting away with murder. Imagine editors who know better praising what they should condemn.

"Restraint" showed "strength," they said. In other words, they killed, injured, and maimed fewer Palestinians than during Cast Lead.

"It's clear that the Goldstone Report….penetrated deeply into the consciousness of Israeli decision-makers…."

It did no such thing, of course. Internal whitewash followed. So did Ban Ki-moon's handpicked commission. It absolved Israeli crimes. Goldstone himself fell from grace.

Despite irrefutable evidence, he softened his initial criticism. Dark forces got to him. He capitulated. In the process, he sold his soul, honor, character, dignity, and high-mindedness. He failed dismally trying to explain.

Israel remains free to kill and destroy again. It takes full advantage.

Haaretz claims conditions now "could well herald the onset of a new era…" It hopes ceasefire terms will improve living conditions in Gaza.

It ignored blockade lawlessness. Palestinians haven't had a "new era" in over 64 years. Nothing changed now. Instead of condemning Netanyahu and likeminded hardliners, Haaretz editors "expressed (their) appreciation of this government and its leader for the relative restraint they displayed."

It's hard imagining editors who know better would claim what's categorically false. An unnamed Gazan woman put a human face on Palestinian suffering.

On November 20, her letter from Gaza was published. In part it said the following:

"The situation here is really terrible and it’s getting worse day after day…."

"This morning, the Israeli F16 military jets hit our area twice. The first time, they hit the building of the council of ministers with 5 huge missiles just a few homes away from our home."

"Our home was shaking like an earthquake, and our windows broke and shattered everywhere, and I felt the missiles inside our home. It was very scary. Of course serious damages happened to all surrounding buildings in the area."

"The first time, the Israeli F16 military jets hit Palestine stadium, which is located in the neighborhood next to my neighborhood, with 4 huge missiles, and caused some damages to my home as well."

"I heard the huge explosions and saw the flames and it was very terrifying. We see and feel death very close with each bombing. Israel is bombing everywhere in Gaza all the time by air, sea and land."

“Nowhere to hide….Nowhere is safe….We don’t have shelters. We just stay at home so all of us can die at once if a missile would strike our home."

"We are still recovering from the trauma of (Cast Lead). How will we recover from this?"

"This is insane….How much is too much?….I hope this madness will stop as quickly as possible."

On June 14, 1956, Jack Kennedy gave Harvard's commencement address. Politicians don't speak that way today. His entire talk included scholarly references and quotes. It was an impressive example for young graduates.

He reminded the audience that political leaders once "traded in the free commerce of ideas." They achieved important results at home and abroad.

The link between US scholars and politicians lasted over a century, he added.

Where freedom is endangered, he said, politicians and intellectuals "should be natural allies, working more closely together for the common cause against the common enemy."

They must decide whether to be "an anvil or a hammer." He concluded saying "if more politicians knew poetry and more poets knew politics, I am convinced the world would be a little better place in which to live on this commencement day of 1956."

He was assassinated perhaps for believing war isn't the answer. He'd deplore what's going on now. He was chastened by the failed Bay of Pigs invasion. He fired CIA director Allen Dulles and his assistant General Charles Cabell.

He once said he wanted to "to splinter the CIA in a thousand pieces and scatter it to the winds." That alone was reason to kill him.

He opposed America's growing Southeast Asian involvement. After initially sending troops and advisors, he changed course. He refused to send more and wanted ones there gradually withdrawn.

He called Pentagon generals "crazy" for wanting to nuke Soviet Russia. He said he "never had the slightest intention of" attacking or invading Cuba during the 1962 missile crisis.

He swung to peace, away from war, wanted nuclear weapons abolished, and the Cold War ended. He favored "general and complete disarmament."

He signed the Limited Test Ban Treaty with the Soviets. In October 1963 (weeks before his assassination), he signed National Security Action Memorandum 263. It called for removing 1,000 US troops from Vietnam by year's end and the remainder by December 1965.

As president, he underwent a spiritual transformation. He changed from cold warrior to peacemaker. He opposed Israeli nuclearization. He wrote Gen-Gurion and told him. He also supported Palestinian liberation.

On June 4, 1963, he challenged Wall Street. He signed Executive Order (EO) 11110. It constitutionally empowered the federal government to create and "issue silver certificates against any silver bullion, silver, or standard silver dollars in the Treasury."

It's believed he ordered the Treasury Secretary to issue nearly $4.3 billion worth of United States notes. Perhaps he had in mind replacing Wall Street controlled Federal Reserve Notes.

Whether or not he wanted the Fed abolished or nationalized isn't clear. Had he lived and served a second term, imagine the possibilities.

Peace instead of war? Government closer to serving everyone? Perhaps more mindful of people needs?

Michael Harrington's "The Other America" expose of US poverty affected him enough to want something done about it. Who can know what might have followed.

America has no Jack Kennedy today. For sure, neither does Israel.

Stephen Lendman lives in Chicago and can be reached at lendmanstephen@sbcglobal.net.

His new book is titled "How Wall Street Fleeces America: Privatized Banking, Government Collusion and Class War"

http://www.claritypress.com/Lendman.html

Visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com and listen to cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on the Progressive Radio News Hour on the Progressive Radio Network Thursdays at 10AM US Central time and Saturdays and Sundays at noon. All programs are archived for easy listening.

http://www.progressiveradionetwork.com/the-progressive-news-hour

Drums of More War

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Drums of More War

Drums of More War

by Stephen Lendman

Cast Lead and Pillar of Cloud represent skirmishes. Syria's one on a higher boil. Expect full-scale war ahead. It could happen any time or perhaps next year.

These conflicts portend more to come. Washington, Israel, and NATO plan them. Regional collaborators go along. One or more of them ahead may become targets.

They'll know, or should, when they're excluded from future plans. As a well-known poker saying goes: If you've been in the game a while and don't know who the sucker is, it's you.

Israel wants to be a regional hegemon. Washington seeks global dominance. Achieving imperial aims requires eliminating rivals and potential ones.

Syria tops America's target list. Hezbollah's on it as well. At issue is isolating Iran, then replacing its government with a pro-Western puppet one.

Next year could be more violent than recent previous ones. Obama's a lame duck. He's got nothing to lose. After all the harm he caused, half the country still supports him.

He conned them into thinking he's doing the right thing. He was picked to stay in office for that reason. Expect four more violent years at home and abroad. The last four were grim. What's ahead looks worse.

Henry Kissinger will be 90 years old next May. Last November, he said:

"If you can't hear the drums of war you must be deaf." He explained further. More on that below.

On November 23, Mossad-connected DEBKAfile (DF) said Obama's pledge to deploy US troops to Sinai convinced Netanyahu to accept a ceasefire deal.

Doing so sounds more like preventing peace than assuring it. Memorandum of understanding terms included:

"Opening the crossings and facilitating the movements of people and transfer of goods and refraining from restricting residents' free movements and targeting residents in border areas and procedures of implementation shall be dealt with after 24 hours from the start of the ceasefire."

"Procedures of implementation," of course, lets Israel manipulate them any way it wishes. Nonetheless, Hamas and 1.7 million Gazans think border and movement restrictions will be eased.

Don't bet on it. Israeli pledges aren't worth the paper they're written on. Neither are America's. Together they assure Palestinian betrayal.

US troops on Gaza's border adds an exclamation point. They're expected to start arriving next week. Siege will continue. Borders will stay closed.

Preventing Hamas from rearming is planned. Also maintaining isolated suffocating conditions. Netanyahu wants maximum pain inflicted.

Despite one-sided scoundrel media support and Israel's military might, he lost the battle of public opinion. David Hamas withstood Goliath Israel.

Fatah looked pathetic. Abbas is a spent force. Hamas leaders Khaled Meshal and Ismail Haniyeh look heroic. Palestinians may have more support now than ever.

Terror bombing innocent civilians aroused enormous worldwide anti-Israeli sentiment. Netanyahu wants revenge.

If bombing and shelling can't defeat Hamas, perhaps he'll enforce harsher than ever conditions by keeping borders closed and destroying Gaza's tunnel economy entirely.

DF said Obama plans "to accelerate the construction of an elaborate US system of electronic security fences along the Suez Canal and northern Sinai." At issue is preventing Hamas from rearming.

If Gaza's tunnel economy is destroyed, vital essentials won't get in. They include Israeli-prohibited construction materials for rebuilding.

Egypt's Morsi apparently agreed to US and Israeli demands. Clearly it shows what side he's on. Permitting Gaza's siege to continue and preventing effective Hamas deterrence strength portends ill for isolated Gazans.

Expect Netanyahu to take full advantage. Expect Washington to partner in his crimes. Expect continued suffering for 1.7 million trapped Gazans.

US/NATO/Israeli planned wars inflict enormous harm on others in the region. Kissinger weighed in on what he sees coming. The fullness of time will tell if he's right or wrong. His comments in part said:

"The United States is baiting China and Russia, and the final nail in the coffin will be Iran, which is, of course, the main target of Israel."

"We have allowed China to increase their military strength and Russia to recover from Sovietization, to give them a false sense of bravado, this will create an all together faster demise for them."

"The coming war will will be so severe that only one superpower can win, and that's us folks."

"This is why the EU is in such a hurry to form a complete superstate because they know what is coming, and to survive, Europe will have to be one whole cohesive state."

"Their urgency tells me that they know full well that the big showdown is upon us. O how I have dreamed of this delightful moment."

Kissinger repeated what he said before about "control(ling) oil and you control nations. Control food and you control the people."

He omitted controlling money that controls everything. Perhaps he knows but didn't say.

"We told the military that we would have to take over seven Middle Eastern countries for their resources, and they have nearly completed their job."

The "last stepping stone (is) Iran which will really tip the balance. How long can China and Russia stand by and watch America clean up?"

"The great Russian bear and Chinese sickle will be roused from their slumber and this is when Israel will have to fight with all its might and weapons to kill as many Arabs as it can."

"Hopefully if all goes well, half the Middle East will be Israeli."

"Out of the ashes we shall build a new society, a new world order; there will only be one superpower left, and that one will be the global government that wins."

"Don't forget, the United States, has the best weapons, we have stuff that no other nation has, and we will introduce those weapons to the world when the time is right."

Kissinger's worldview was always Dr. Strangelovian. His resume includes global wars, genocidal slaughter, mass destruction, replacing democrats with despots, and advocating involuntary eugenics as well as other ways of eliminating useless eaters.

How he's "dreamed" of a final solution "showdown." What he has in mind almost makes Hitler look saintly.

He was born Heinz Alfred Kissinger in Bavaria in 1923.

It was months before Hitler's failed Munich beer hall putch. Weimer Germany then existed. Hitler's January 1933 rise to power ended it.

Kissinger's family was Jewish. In 1938, they fled Nazi persecution. They got out just in time. They lived briefly in London before arriving in New York. As they say, the rest is history.

Hopefully Kissinger's vision proves false. His world isn't fit to live in. If conflict plays out as he believes, it may be destroyed in the process.

Stephen Lendman lives in Chicago and can be reached at lendmanstephen@sbcglobal.net.

His new book is titled "How Wall Street Fleeces America: Privatized Banking, Government Collusion and Class War"

http://www.claritypress.com/Lendman.html

Visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com and listen to cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on the Progressive Radio News Hour on the Progressive Radio Network Thursdays at 10AM US Central time and Saturdays and Sundays at noon. All programs are archived for easy listening.

http://www.progressiveradionetwork.com/the-progressive-news-hour

BOOKS / Jonah Raskin : Daniel Coshnear's 'Occupy' Stories Are as Contemporary as the Latest Tweet

Daniel Coshnear's
'Occupy and Other Love Stories'

As contemporary as the latest tweet, Coshnear’s men, women, and children cry out for the lost soul of America itself.

By Jonah Raskin / The Rag Blog / November 23, 2012

[Occupy and Other Love Stories by Daniel Coshnear; art by Squeak Carnwath (October 2012: Kelly’s Cove Press); Paperback; 135 pp; $20.]

The characters in Daniel Coshnear’s political short stories read Stephen King and Raymond Carver. They smoke Camels and marijuana, drive Sentras, work at Safeways, and as school janitors. Preoccupied and in denial, they’ve survived trauma and now they’re suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and a host of social and psychological ills.

As contemporary as the latest tweet, Coshnear’s men, women, and children cry out for the lost soul of America itself.

The 12 stories in Occupy and Other Love Stories take place in Santa Rosa, California, and along the Russian River in Sonoma County, though one is set in New York, and the very last conjures up Berkeley during the Occupy Wall Street Movement last spring. It’s an overtly polemical tale and might well be called revolutionary romanticism.

Coshnear’s heart is with the rebels and the in-your-face citizens who refuse to be silenced or sit still. For the most part, however, his characters don’t give speeches or march in the streets. They’re part of the 99% and too busy dealing with death, divorce, depression, and suicide to be distracted by leaflets, posters, and slogans.

Years from now a Ph.D. student writing about the culture of the Occupy Movement will surely point to Occupy and Other Love Stories as an example of the fiction that emerged from the protests against Wall Street immorality and criminality. It’s also fiction that stands on its own merits without ties to Occupy or any social movement.

Coshnear’s stories are compact with vivid descriptions of people and places and crisp dialogue that’s practically audible. Reading them is like watching a series of video clips that depict domestic life with images of Iraq on TV, and real cops lurking on the sidewalk outside the front door.

Parents and children inhabit “Early Onset” and “Custodian” in which a father and his son disconnect and then reconnect. Love, sex, and relationships animate “Avulsion,” “Borscht on the Ceiling,” which takes place in New York, and “Occupy” -- the title story -- in which a professor finds romance with a student.

The characters play their own roles, and speak their minds independently of the author, though sometimes he analyzes them and even describes the medications they take, as in “You Can Put Your Name on It, If You Want to.”

Pills help the characters, though they long for more than legal and illegal drugs. They want to know the answers to all the big questions, such as “if bad things happen to bad people,” and if their own children might one day inhabit “a better world.”

[Jonah Raskin, professor emeritus at Sonoma State University, is an author and a frequent contributor to The Rag Blog. Read more articles by Jonah Raskin on The Rag Blog.]

The Rag Blog

In The Time Of The 1950s Be-Bop Baby Boom Jail Break-Out- On The Beach

A while back I was on a tear in reviewing individual CDs in an extensive 1950s Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll retrospective series. A lot of those reviews had been driven by the artwork which graced the covers of each CD, both as catalyst to stir ancient memories and as a reflection on that precise moment in time, the youth time of the now very, very mature (nice sliding over the age issue, right?) baby-boomer generation who lived and died by the music. And who fit in, or did not fit in as the case may have been, to the themes of those artwork scenes. One such 1959 cover showed a case of the latter, not fitting into such a scene by me. On this particular cover, a summer scene (always a nice touch since that was the time, school’s out for the summer, when we had at least the feel of our generational jail breakout before autumn prisons), two sun-bleached, muscular, blondish perfect wave surfer guys, brightly colored surf boards in tow, perfect wave-waiting checking out the scene. The scene, the checking out part, at the beach naturally, and the only scene that mattered whether like them you fit in, or like me, not, involved seeing who was who among the hot bikini-clad girls (also on jail-break time) who to name my beach scene, eternally, sat on their collective blankets between the Olde Saco Yacht Club and the Seal Rock Boat Club waiting, well, waiting to be checked out by those guys, ah, those guy who fit in (all others, all beatniks, nerds, geeks, dweebs, shys, acne-encrusted, call your not fit in shot name, go up to lame Olde Saco Pier or over to Perkins Cove and fish, play skee ball at the amusement park, watch the waves go in and out, or, hey, just disappear).

That scene, that hot bikini-clad girls scene collectively blanketed, although not pictured (except a little background fluff to inform you that you are at the beach, the summer youth beach and no other, certainly not the tortuous family beach scene with its lotions, luggage, lawn chairs, lunches, and longings, longings to be elsewhere in early teen brains at those Olde Saco Pier and Perkins Cove locales of my youth), could, frankly, only mean checking out the babes, girls, chicks, or whatever you called them in that primitive time before we called them sister, and woman. No question too that this whole scene was nothing but a California come hinter scene, as against my hardened eastern seaboard hale winds and hearty fellows scene except about six week in July-August . No way that it had the look of Eastern pale-face beaches, family or youth-driven. This scene was nothing but early days California dreamin’ cool hot days and cooler hot nights with those dreamed bikini girls.

Wait up. These perfect wave –waiting guys, all cool and collected, and maybe already dated up for the next week and just, well, just being perfect-wave-waiting guys staying in practice ,were, however, no question just flat-out “beach bums.” No way that they were serious surfer guys, certainly not Tom Wolfe’s LaJolla Pump House gang where those corn-fed sons and grandsons of Okie/Arkie migrations then with disposable teen incomes and time on their hands surfers lived for the perfect wave, and nothing else better get in the way. For such all day (and all night too if the tides flows dictated) activity one needed rubberized surf suits complete with all necessary gear. And the girls? Well, yah, girls fit in, sitting on that same beach waiting for their surfer guys to find that perfect wave and scream out all oohs, and ahhhs. But also “civilians” don’t even think off talking (although looking was okay, even surfer-sworn girls needed to practice their teaser arts) down at Lookout Point section reserved, strictly reserved, So, in short, these cover guys are “faux” surfers. Whether that was enough, whether the times were desperate enough for the “faux” to have their day, to draw the attention of those bikini-shes not pictured that they are unquestionable checking out I will leave to the reader’s imagination.

As for the music, the 1959 music, that backed up this summer scene we were clearly in a trough, the golden age of rock, with the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis kissing his cousin, with Elvis in the tank, and with Chuck Berry messing with the Mister’s women too much was fading, fading fast into what I can only describe as the age of “bubble gum” music (and the age of “faux” surfers as well, so maybe those guys were onto something). Sure I listened to it, listened to it hard against my ear on my old transistor radio, mainly because that was all that was presented to us. It was to be a while until the folk (folk minute, anyway), folk rock (later and longer), British invasion (read: Beatles and Stones as leaders), and free expression rock (read: drug-induced acid rock, flaming night strobe beam dreams and crashes too) engulfed us. This was the time of our marking time , as the music attested to (and those golden boys made their mickey mouse moves while beautiful black chino pant-flannel shirt-work boot-beret 24/7/365 midnight sunglass clad “beats” were shunted off to not fit in Olde Saco Pier skee ball shoot-out hells).

There were, however, some stick-outs that have withstood the test of time. They included: La Bamba, Ritchie Valens; Dance With Me, The Drifters; You’re So Fine (great harmony),The Falcons; Tallahassee Lassie (a favorite then at the local school dances by an eastern seaboard beach boy who made good), Freddy Cannon; Mr. Blue (another great harmony song and the one, or one of the ones, anyway that you hoped, hoped to distraction, that they would play for the school dance last dance), The Fleetwoods; and, Lonely Teardrops, Jackie Wilson (a much underrated singer, then and now, including by this writer after not hearing that voice for a while).

Note: After a recent trip to the Southern California coast I can inform you that those two cover boy surfer guys are still out there and are still checking out the scene, or the ghost of that scene with those same bikini blankets. Although, reality check, that scene for them now is solely the eternal search for the perfect wave complete with full rubberized suit and gear. No artist would now, or at least I hope no artist would, care to rush up and draw them. For now these brothers have lost a step, or seven, lost a fair amount of that beautiful bongo hair, and have added, added believe me, very definite paunches to bulge those rubberized surfer suits all out of shape. Ah, such are the travails of the baby-boomer generation. Good luck though, brothers.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Rock And Roll Is Here To Stay,Circa 1958

CD Review

The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll: The Follow-Up Hits, Ace Records, 2008

Peter Paul Markin and Frankie Riley had known each other from the days in the old North Adamsville neighborhood where they had met while hugging the walls at the old Sacred Heart (Roman Catholic) Church at the weekly (except Lent of course) “sock hop” held by the parish priest, Monsignor Lally to, well, “keep an eye on the younger portion of his flock,” as he expressed it each Sunday when making the announcement. The real reason, of course, was to keep said young sheep, away from too much heathen (read: Protestant) devils’ music; that rock and roll music that was just then epitomized by that hip-swaying Elvis Presley. And by all means to keep them, those with access to automobiles, from dark seawalls down at Adamsville Beach listening to fogged-up car radios and digging the beat while, well, just while or at the Strand Theater, the exclusive upstairs balcony section for the really young, the car-less young interested in s-x just in case the old bastard is still around.

Although they had known each other for some fifty years now, and were duly standing against the wall at Lucy’s at their fiftieth anniversary high school class reunion not far from the old high school they still remembered the first song that had heard upon meeting at that fateful junior high school sock hop, Danny and the Juniors’ At The Hop. And the reason they remembered that song so vividly was one Clara Murphy. See they both had rushed over to ask her to dance when that number was being played at that fateful dance. And Clara in her Solomonic wisdom turned them both down. Or maybe not so solomonic. Clara Murphy couldn’t, just that moment decide whether she liked Peter Paul or Frankie better and so gave in to her budding feminine wiles and turned them both down.

Naturally that denial enflamed the boyos. So for the next several weeks they
made every mad attempt attempt to win her favors. To no avail because, also exhibiting another aspect of her wiles, she took up with Bill Larkin, their friend and fellow classmate Kenny’s older brother (one year older). Reason: stated Clara reason. Bill had a head on his shoulders and, quote, was not so hung up on silly rock and roll that was just a passing thing, unquote. Both men laughed at the recollection, the bittersweet recollection, since later Clara married Bill, they had drifted west to the coast, formed and unformed a couple of rock and roll bands in the strobe light dreams 1960s, and a few years after that Bill had been killed, face-down killed, down in some dusty town in Mexico, Sonora, they thought, when a major drug deal went south on him. Clara was never heard from again.

Just then some oldies but goodies aficionado, or someone who had seriously misspent his or her youth, putRoll and Rock Is Here To Stay on, and for the life of the two boyos they couldn’t remember until later that Danny and the Juniors had recorded that song as well. They then raised a drink to Clara Murphy, Clara of the sparkling eyes and flaming red hair, and of their youth.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Watching The Submarine Races, Circa 1960

Chains-Carol King

Chains, my baby's got me locked up in chains
And they ain't the kind that you can see
Woh these chains of love got a hold on me yeah

Chains, well I can't break away from these chains
Can't run around 'cause I'm not free
Woh these chains of love won't let me be

Now believe me when I tell you
I think you're fine, I'd like to hold you
But I can't break away from all of these chains

My baby's got me locked up in chains
And they ain't the kind that you can see
Woh these chains of love got a hold on me yeah

I wanna tell you pretty baby
Your lips look sweet, I'd like to kiss them
But I can't break away from all these chains

My baby's got me locked up in chains
And they ain't the kind that you can see
Woh these chains of love got a hold on me yeah

My baby's got me locked up in chains
And they ain't the kind that you can see
Woh these chains of love got a hold on me yeah

Chains
Chains of love
Chains of love
Oh these chains of love gotta hold on me

“No Jimmy, no I can’t go out with you tonight, I have to study for tomorrow’s biology exam ,“ protested Lorraine, Lorraine Dubois, Jimmy LaCroix’s , one and only, his ball and chain, his, well, sweetie, the one that he gave his ever-loving’ class ring to. His gave that valued, girl-valued if not pawnbroker- valued, class ring the night that Lorraine and he had first gone down to watch the “submarine races” off of Olde Saco Beach (Maine), or rather down at the Seal Rock lovers’ lane end. Seal Rock where rumor, long-time rumor had it going back a couple of generations, that that locale was where many knots were tied (sex, for the clueless, the 1960 clueless, the 1960 non-Olde Saco clueless) and sealed their love, or at least did the deed, get it, by placing the assignation parties’ initials on that rock on their, ah, first assignation. Of course , only after having watched those mythical nighttime submarine races deep in the back seat of some father-borrowed (meaning some tail-fin Plymouth, strictly for universal square parents, and, and serviceable for the “races,”) or better, some father- bought, reflecting good times, souped-up two-toned ’57 Chevy and thus chisel-worthy. (Jimmy had borrowed his older brother Jeanbon’s, called Jack except at mother/grandmother home, Dodge in exchange for a full wax job on the car. Cheap at any price after the fact Jimmy thought, Jimmy Lorraine fulfilled thought.

Jimmy this night though protested to her that he had not seen his sweet Lorraine for five whole days since he had been ill and therefore indisposed. Jimmy tried every trick in the book, including the old dodge of studying together at her house (more specifically in the basement family room) but nothing worked, nothing that night. Or for that matter the next several nights. Jimmy was beside himself. And one did not have to be a high-priced psychiatrist or a sociology professor at some elite university to know that Jimmy had the “itch,” the submarine races itch. But beyond that his, if you could believe Jimmy’s corner boy talk, or more importantly, his Olde Saco High Monday morning before school boys’ “lav” weekend lie-fest confession of love for one Lorraine Dubois (to clearly stake out his“territory” for anyone within earshot who might have Lorraine, fetching Lorraine Dubois thoughts, on their mind).

See before Lorraine Jimmy was strictly what his corner boys called a “love ‘em and leave 'em kind of guy.” (Said corner boys holding forth over at Mama’s Pizza Parlor, the one on Main Street with the jukebox and kind of reserved after school and on weekends for Olde Saco teen-agers. Others could go there at their peril during those hours and were kindly advised to go to Mama’s on Atlantic Avenue that was kind of set aside for families and others in no particular need of jukeboxes, lively girl and boy watching, or stuff that might other cause too much excitement contrary to doctor’s orders.)

Such guys, such callow youth, existed even in the very attached by sixteen (and therefore theoretically for life), married by eighteen, two bratty kids by twenty world of the old French–Canadian quarters in Olde Saco (the local F-Cs called it the Acre, as in God’s Little Acre, the actual residents, at least some, called it Hell’s Acre). Jimmy, having seen that unchanging cycle in his downhill parents, his older brother Jean, his older sister Lara, and about twelve hundred other Acre families wanted none of that. No way. Not for him.

Until Lorraine. Until not so sweet Lorraine that is. She threw Jimmy for a loop and had him running through hoops from the first time he eyed her in tenth grade homeroom over at Olde Saco High. And after almost two years he finally got her to the races. (Little did Jimmy know, know then anyway, that he could have successfully made his move much earlier if he hadn’t been so single-minded in trying to get her to the Seal Rock traditional mating ground. At least according to his corner boy, Ray Bleu, or rather Ray’s sister who heard that pronouncement from Lorraine at one Monday morning before school girls’ “lav” weekend doings lie-fest.)

So Jimmy surrendered, surrendered that night without a fight, because after all what is a guy going to do when a frill (local Acre guy talk for a girl, woman in those days) has a guy all balled- up and calling her every night just to hear the sound of her voice. So every one of those nights after Lorraine gave Jimmy her nightly excuse for the day Jimmy went to his room, threw his younger brother, Raymond out, closed and locked the door and played Chainsby The Cookies a few times and fell asleep. Raymond knew enough not to knock and so he spent more than one night sleeping on the downstairs sofa.

P.S. Jimmy and Lorraine were married, married over at Saint Brigitte’s (just like their parents and grandparents) at eighteen (just graduated and she three months pregnant for the curious, from Seal Rock submarine race initialed-love adventures or elsewhere was not entirely clear. Entirely clear is that Jimmy got his “itch” problem with Lorraine worked out ), had two so-so bratty kids by twenty and the last I heard were still “chained” together forty years later. Go figure.

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Rock And Roll Is …, Take Three

Rock and roll was (is) big, sweaty cities, hot time summertime and the living is easy cities, New York-sized outlandish skyscrapers to the stars (if you could see them out on those lonesome canyon walls) cities, Chicago big windy, sloppy hog butcher to the world (reeking of stinks, animal stinks, vegetable stinks, two in the morning whiskey stinks) cities, seven hills rolling to the golden pacific wash and Japan seas great American west night San Francisco (visions of endless North Beach- City Lights Bookstore-Hungry Eye –black bereted, black stockings, black chinos, black, hell, black everything down to those midnight sunglasses worn 24/7/365 beat, beat down, beat around, beat six- ways-to- Sunday beat, but beatitude beat too, Kerouac on the road beatitude beat although undiscovered, Howl, beat)cities, sprawling sun-sweated, be-fogged, brown hills and all swish and swirl coreless arroyo Los Angeles ( searching for perfect Malibu waves, for Venice Beach muscle boys, for bikini-ed tanned golden girls, and, and Hollywood angst , Rebel Without A Cause angst, Blackboard Jungle angst, max daddy Asphalt Jungle angst, hell again, just cruising Saturday night Hollywood Boulevard (and Vine, okay) looking for a walking daddy cities.

Be-bop cities okay, kids be-bopping, doo-wopping, do-langing, sha-sha –sha-ing (if such a sound is possible) acting like king hell king long gone walking daddies and mamas (okay, okay chicks, twists, frails) sitting around Washington Square , Central Park, Union Square, Lincoln Park, Grant Park, Russian Hill, Telegraph Hill, Golden Gate Park, Venice Beach, Santa Monica Pier, Malibu surf run, name your square, park, hill, beach, run, what the hell is a surf run (perfect wave, huh), or be square, be-bopping away, waiting, waiting impatiently, waiting out of their shoes, blue suede Carl Perkins stolen like a thief by Elvis shoes or not, maybe fearful Pat Boone, Pat Boone!!! white bucks, whatever, waiting impatiently for the big freeze red scare (hell, no far away, big freeze red scare right down in big city New York Foley Square and dead commie Rosenburgs, stalinite jews for god’s sakes, why did they do it, Hollywood Ten cinematic villains writing up some Malibu nightmare scenes to scare young children, future golden boy perfect wave surfers, to death, Chi town Wobblies turned red never getting over Haymarket 1886 and doing hard time in Joliet, Longshoremen Harry Bridges and golden gate breach) cold war night to turn warm and provide some fresh air to breath, to breath a not parentcoppriestteacherauthority, not air raid shelter, head down, ass up breathe.

Clapping hands by twos and threes as some bopping horn, or better sexed-up sax (not some old time, teen old time, tenor or alto Johnny Hodges/ Lester Young/ Charlie Parker/Dizzy be-bopping thing but chained, chained hard and fast to that riffing guitar), parent wary too sexed-up sax that made junior toss in his bed at night and sis, well, made her, cool and collected, toss a few sweaty wet nights too, make of that what you will, always sax wails, whales, wales, away with that big beat, beat down, beat around, beat six- ways-to- Sunday (the day exactly), some guitar riff out of Les Paul or some jazz Charlie Christian saint, maybe some Ike Turner Rocket 88 turbo-blast, trying to make sense of that off-beat Bill Haley and the Comets Rock Around The Clock beat that framed, hell, beat to hell that silly Asphalt Jungle j. d. (juvenile delinquent for the clueless squares, jack-rollers, corner boys, whip chain-slashers for those in the know also looking for that freeze to thaw in their own coping way) movie seen down at the Majestic on that cool off Saturday popcorn afternoon.

Stag (stag, meaning no girl, not solo, but with full corner boy regiment, white shirted, maybe white tee-shirted, black chinos, some Thom McAn mother- bought shoes, ugh, slick-backed hair, and wisp of Elvis king sideburns, (wisp, just like wisp beards, later, damn, and corner boy laughs and fag-baits) in tow, the crowd from 42^nd Street hangs, Division Street hangs, Post Street hangs, and yah, again Hollywood Boulevard hangs), later, intermission later, seeing she, Public School 63 (or name your school la, la, la, do I have to do all the work?) sweet Madonna and then to Eddie Cochran Sitting in the Balcony, Zooey (maybe jewish and no madonna, no frozen irish Catherine Madonna, Muffy wasp Madonna , Rita italian Madonna , Greta german Madonna thing, thank god but not caring not caring a fig just following that Zooey ivory bath soap, could it be perfume smell, that has hooked guys, smart guys too, guys who know up from down, since, well Adam), and off to private upstairs balcony screenings.

Later, maybe four o’clock later, strolling (got to learn how to get the hang of that damn thing, the stroll, no not the dance, jesus not the dance, the walking in such a way that it takes half an hour to get Zooey homeward rather than the ten real minutes it takes, if you want to hang on to Zooey, boy) off to Schrafft’s corner lunchroom ( Harry’s Variety, Doc’s Drugstore, Hayes-Bickford, Friendly’s, Brigham’s, Howard Johnson, okay) and quarters for jukebox, endless cadges; play this and that six, twelve, infinite times. And our father, Elvis, Elvis, all shakes, shiver, making girls, making Zooey (he heard, heard from the corner boy grapevine, really the corner boy Be-Bop Kid’s sister who overheard that blessed news at one Monday morning before school girls’ “lav” talkfest when they were discussing, ah, discussing what made them “wet”) sweat (and Zooey, cool fragrance bath soap smell Zooey does not sweat even in sweaty New York/Chi Town/Frisco/LA LA land cities) and do things up in cloistered rooms (so he heard, a separate corner boy sister’s wisdom as source) while they (boys “they” in case you didn’t figure that out) ran the clerks at Mr. Sam’s clothing store ragged looking for just the right look, and old Mr. Mack at Doc’s Drugstore too benefited selling combs, gels, and six other things, except correctives for two left feet.

Rock was (is) small Podunk towns, every boy knows every girl (and maybe desires each and every one and the reverse too although that would cause a scandal in monogamous protestant-driven podunk), small , sweaty towns and villages, hell, one street main street crossroads down in dusty Texas, pass throughs for Greyhound buses and oil tankers, summertime and the living is easy crossroads, Podunk outlandishly named towns, Boise (big, two-hearted rivers and endless forests between jukebox locales, jesus, and those bad ass city corner boy thought they had it tough), Helena (and old time whiskey dreams filled with unfulfilled gold dust dreams), Ponticello (big-hearted in its own way), Big Sur (sleepy town before the invasion), Olde Saco filled with raven-haired, smooth-cheeked French-Canadian boys calling out the songs in patois French (no Arcadia here), be-bop (okay, half be-bop towns, dusty old towns soon, how soon, to be de-populated by every boy and girl and off to the big sweaty rock and roll cities). Kids sitting around the village green, the fourth of july bandstand, the monument to the civil war, maybe on ocean edge towns down some salty beach fighting off King Neptune for some sea wall space or some hidden Seal Rock lovers’ lane fighting off some enterprising corner boy (senior set) in his father’s passed- on car, be-bopping away, waiting, waiting just like big sweaty city waiting ,for the big freeze red scare (hell, no far away, they ran those pink, red NAACP guys, white guys, students making strange noises about black was right if white was right, right out of town, right onto those Trailways buses, one way, pronto) cold war night to turn warm and provide some fresh air to breath to breath a not parentcoppriestteacherauthority, not air raid shelter (or under old time mahogany inkwell desks for real Podunk towns), head down, ass up breathe.

Clapping hands by twos and threes as some bopping horn, or better sexed-up sax (not some old time, teen old time, tenor or alto Johnny Hodges/ Lester Young/ Charlie Parker/Dizzy be-bopping thing but chained, chained hard and fast to that riffing guitar), parent wary too sexed-up sax that made junior toss in his bed at night and sis, well, made her, cool and collected, toss a few sweaty wet nights too, make of that what you will, always sax wails, whales, wales, away with that big beat, beat down, beat around, beat six- ways-to- Sunday (the day exactly), some guitar riff out of Les Paul or some jazz Charlie Christian saint, maybe some Ike Turner Rocket 88 turbo-blast, trying to make sense of that off-beat Bill Haley and the Comets Rock Around The Clock beat that framed, hell, beat to hell that silly Asphalt Jungle j. d. (juvenile delinquent for the clueless squares, jack-rollers, corner boys, whip chain-slashers for those in the know also looking for that freeze to thaw in their own coping way) movie seen down at the Bijou (imitation big city Majestic, really doubling for Sunday morning pancake all you can eat, bring the family socials too, doors open at eight, eight in the morning, jesus), on that cool off Saturday popcorn (popcorn addicted same as in sweaty cities) afternoon. Stag (ditto, cities, maybe corner boys, maybe from some innocent when you dream Mama’s Pizza Parlor corner, closing when main street closes at 9:00 PM , maybe no), but later, intermission later, seeing she, Olde Saco South Junior High School, for example, she (no blank big city Public School X number here) sweet Madonna (same as big city on that) and then to Eddie Cochran Sitting in the Balcony, Betty (or Jane, Mary, nothing as exotic as big city, maybe jew, big city Zooey) and off to private upstairs balcony screenings.

Later, maybe four o’clock later, strolling (got to learn how to get the hang of that damn thing, the stroll, if you want to hang on to Betty/Jane/ Mary, boy) off to Doc’s corner drugstore and quarters for jukebox, endless cadges, play this and that six, twelve, infinite times. And our father, Elvis, Elvis, all shakes, shiver, making girls, making Betty (he heard) sweat (and Betty, Zooey-like, cool Betty does not sweat even in sweaty summer midday corn-picking fields) and do things, universal do things, private girl things, up in cloistered rooms (so he heard, though that same universal Monday morning before school “lav” talkfest- and lie-fest) while they (boys “they” in case you didn’t figure that out) ran the Sears catalogue (and Ma) ragged looking for just the right look, and old Doc (Doc Andrews and no doctor but just a guy who crushed pills and sold liquor as medicine for what ailed people to get by) and his fuddy-duddy drugstore with odd medicines for sick people what-a- drag- to-be-old-and- it- ain’t- never- going- to- come- to- that- for- me benefited selling combs, gels, and six other things, except correctives for two left feet.

Rock was (is)…