This space is dedicated to the proposition that we need to know the history of the struggles on the left and of earlier progressive movements here and world-wide. If we can learn from the mistakes made in the past (as well as what went right) we can move forward in the future to create a more just and equitable society. We will be reviewing books, CDs, and movies we believe everyone needs to read, hear and look at as well as making commentary from time to time. Greg Green, site manager
War Is A Lie: Second Edition(2016) -- widely praised best-selling classic. "WAR IS A LIE is a thorough refutation of every major argument used to justify wars, drawing on evidence from numerous past wars, with a focus on those wars that have been most widely defended as just and good. This is a handbook of sorts, a manual to be used in debunking future lies before future wars have a chance to begin.
Thursday, April 13, 7:00 PM Friends Meeting at Cambridge 5 Longfellow Park (near Harvard Sq. T Stop) Cambridge, MA 02138
Co-Sponsors: Women's International League for Peace and Freedom-Boston, Veterans For Peace, Smedley D. Butler Brigade and Peace and Social Concerns Committee, Friends Meeting of Cambridge
P.S. RootsAction is an independent online force endorsed by Jim Hightower, Barbara Ehrenreich, Cornel West, Daniel Ellsberg, Glenn Greenwald, Naomi Klein, Bill Fletcher Jr., Laura Flanders, former U.S. Senator James Abourezk, Frances Fox Piven, Lila Garrett, Phil Donahue, Sonali Kolhatkar, and many others.
We March On: Continuing the Legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr
April 4 @ 3:00 pm - 6:00 pm
On April 4th, 1968, civil rights and social justice leader Martin Luther King was assassinated while in Memphis to support black sanitation workers who were on strike. On April 4th, the anniversary of his death, we will march on the Boston Common in his memory. Join us as we call on elected officials to recognize the struggle of people of color in Boston by supporting a progressive minimum wage of $15 for all workers.
In 1965, Dr. Martin Luther King led a march that ended at the Boston Common Parkman Bandstand. We will carry his legacy for social justice forward by hearing from movement leaders and workers demanding a livable wage at 3:00PM at the bandstand. At 4:00 PM, we will march to the State House to call on elected officials to support our movement.
Tomorrow is also the 50th anniversary of Rev. King's courageous and ground breaking "Vietnam Speech" delivered at Riverside Church in New York City where he warned about "the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism and militarism." Veterans For Peace members, if you're going to the rally you can blow up the attached poster to 18 x 24 at Staples (for under $2) and mount it on poster board.(Nate Goldshlag, thanks for this idea.)
In Honor Of The Late Rocker Chuck Berry Who Helped Make It All Possible-*Chuck Berry Is In The House- "Roll Over Beethoven"
CD REVIEWS Chuck Berry Gold, Chuck Berry, Gold Records, 1999 Long ago, in the mists of time, I was listening to my radio when Chuck Berry’s "Johnny B. Goode" came thundering across the airways. I have been a fan ever since and never looked back. As portrayed in the DVD documentary and labor of love by The Rolling Stones’ Keith Richards “Hail, Hail Rock and Roll” and this greatest hits CD compilation neither did Chuck Berry. There may be continuing controversy about the roots of rock and rock-whether it derived from rhythm and blues, rock-a-billy, jazzed-up country or all of them- but as the tribute covers by later performers across the musician and racial spectrum that are dotted throughout later rock history- Chuck Berry was at the center of the storm. That said, not all Chuck Berry CDs are created equal. Partially, as with his live performances, this reflected his constant need for money to pay debts, the government, etc. Many are done haphazardly or are based on less than stellar performances. This Gold CD, as are others in this series ( I would note, for one , Hank Williams), is among the best as it seems that the compilers have gone out of their way to get the best versions available, even of the lesser material that completes this two-disc set. I would say this you need high quality performances on the following if you are to understand why Chuck Berry is a rock legend. “Maybelline”, “Roll over Beethoven”, “Back In The U.S.A.”, “Rock And Roll Music”, “Sweet Little Sixteen”, :Johnny B. Goode”, “Reelin’ and Rockin”, “Little Queenie” and “Memphis”. That is the case here. Take the others as a bonus. Back In The USA Lyrics Oh well, oh well, I feel so good today, We touched ground on an international runway Jet propelled back home, from over seas to the USA New-York, Los Angeles, oh, how I yearned for you Detroit, Chicago, Chattanooga, Baton Rouge Let alone just to be at my home back in ol?St-Lou. Did I miss the skyscrapers, did I miss the long freeway? From the coast of California to the shores of Delaware Bay You can bet your life I did, till?I got back to the USA Looking hard for a drive-in, searching for a corner caf? Where hamburgers sizzle on an open grill night and day Yeah, and a jukebox jumping the records like in the USA Well, I'm so glad I'm livin?in the USA. Yes. I'm so glad I'm livin?in the USA. Anything you want, we got it right here in the USA It Hurts Me Too Lyrics (by elmore james) You said you was hurting, almost lost your mind, And the man you love, he hurts you all the time. When things go wrong, go wrong with you, it hurts me, too. You love him more when you should love him less. I pick up behind him and take his mess. When things go wrong, go wrong with you, it hurts me, too. He love another woman and I love you, But you love him and stick to him like glue. When things go wrong, go wrong with you, it hurts me, too. Now you better leave him; he better put you down. Oh, I won’t stand to see you pushed around. When things go wrong, go wrong with you, it hurts me, too. Johnny B. Goode Lyrics Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans Way back up in the woods among the evergreens, There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode, Who never ever learned to read or write so well But he could play a guitar just like a ringin' a bell. (Chorus) Go Go Go Johnny Go Go (x4) Johnny B. Goode He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack, Oh sit beneath a tree by the railroad track Oh the engineers would see him sittin in the shade, Strummin with the rhythm that the drivers made, Oh n' people passin' by they would stop and say 'Oh my but that little country boy could play' (Chorus) His mother told him 'some day you will be a man, And you will be the leader of a big ol' band Many people comin' from miles around, To hear you play your music when the sun go down, Maybe some day your name will be in lights sayin 'Johnny B. Goode' tonight (Chorus) Little Queenie Lyrics I got lumps in my throat When I saw her comin' down the aisle I got the wiggles in my knees When she looked at me and sweetly smiled There she is again Standin' over by the record machine Lookin' like a model On the cover of a magazine She's too cute To be a minute over seventeen Meanwhile I was thinkin' She's in the mood No need to break it I got a chance, I oughta take it If she抣l dance we can make it C'mon queenie let's shake it Go, go, go, little queenie Go, go, go, little queenie Go, go, go, little queenie Tell me who's the queen standin?over by the record machine Lookin?like a model On the cover of a magazine She's too cute To be a minute over seventeen Meanwhile, I was still thinkin?br> If it's a slow song We'll omit it If it's a rocker, then we'll get it If it's good, she'll admit it C'mon queenie, let's get with it Go, go, go, little queenie Go go, go, go, little queenie Go go, go, go, little queenie? Maybellene Lyrics Maybelline, why can't you be true Oh Maybelline , why can't you be true You done started doin' the things you used to do As I was motorvaton over the hill I saw Maybelline in a Coup de Ville A Cadillac arollin' on the open road Nothin' will outrun my V8 Ford The Cadillac doin' about ninetyfive She's bumper to bumper, rollin' side to side Maybelline, why can't you be true Oh Maybelline , why can't you be true You done started back doin' the things you used to do The Cadillac pulled up to a hundred and four The Ford got hot and wouldn't do no more It done got cloudy and started to rain I tooted my horn for the passin' lane The rainwater blowin' all under my hood I know that I was doin' my motor good Maybelline, why can't you be true Oh Maybelline, why can't you be true You done started back doin' the things you used to do Oh Maybelline, why can't you be true Oh Maybelline, why can't you be true You done started back doin' the things you used to do The motor cooled down the heat went down And that's when I heard that highway sound The Cadillac sittin' like a ton of lead A hundred and ten a half a mile ahead The Cadillac lookin' like it's sittin' still And I caught Maybelline at the top of the hill Maybelline, why can't you be true Oh Maybelline, why can't you be true You done started back doin' the things you used to do Rock'n'Roll Music Lyrics Just let me hear some of that rock'n'roll music Any old way you choose it It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it Any old time you use it It's gotta be rock - roll music If you wanna dance with me If you wanna dance with me I have no kick against modern jazz Unless they try to play it too darn fast And change the beauty of the melody Until it sounds just like a symphony That's why I go for that rock'n'roll music Any old way you choose it It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it Any old time you use it It's gotta be rock - roll music If you wanna dance with me If you wanna dance with me I took my loved one over 'cross the tracks So she could her my man a - whalin' sax I must admit they have a rockin' band Man they were goin' like a hurricane That's why I go for that rock'n'roll music Any old way you choose it It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it Any old time you use it It's gotta be rock - roll music If you wanna dance with me If you wanna dance with me Way down South they gave a jubilee Them country folks they had a jamboree They're drinkin' home - brew from a wooden cup The folks dancin' got all shook up And started playin' that rock'n'roll music Any old way you choose it It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it Any old time you use it It's gotta be rock - roll music If you wanna dance with me If you wanna dance with me Don't care to hear 'em play the tango I'm in no mood to dig a mambo It's way too early for the congo So keep a - rockin' that piano So I can hear some of that rock'n'roll music any old way you choose it It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it Any old time you use it It's gotta be rock - roll music If you wanna dance with me If you wanna dance with me Sweet Little Rock'n'Roller Lyrics Yeah, nine years old and sweet as she can be All dressed up like a downtown Christmas tree Dancin?and hummin?a rock&roll melody She抯 the daughter of a well-respected man Who taught her to judge and understand Since she became a rock& roll music fan Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Her daddy don抰 have to scold her Her partner can抰 hardly hold her Her partner can抰 hardly hold her She never gets any older Sweet little rock抧抮oller Should have seen her eyes when the band began to play And the famous singer sang and bowed away When the star performed she screamed and yelled "Hooray!" Ten thousand eyes were watchin?him leave the floor Five thousand tongues were screamin?揗ore and More!?br> And about fifteen hundred people waitin?outside the door Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Sweet little rock'n'roller Roll Over Beethoven Lyrics Well, I'm-a write a little letter, I'm gonna mail it to my local DJ Yeah, It's a jumpin little record I want my jockey to play Roll Over Beethoven, I gotta hear it again today You know, my temperature's risin' and the jukebox blowin a fuse My heart's beatin' rhythm and my soul keeps on singin' the blues Roll Over Beethoven, tell Tschaikowsky the news I got the rockin' pneumonia, I need a shot of rhythm and blues I caught the rollin' arthiritis sittin' down at a rhythm review Roll Over Beethoven rockin' in two by two Well, if you feel it 'n like it go get your lover, then reel and rock it Roll it over then move on up just a trifle further then reel and rock with one another. Roll Over Beethoven dig these rhythm and blues Well, early in the mornin' I'm a givin' you a warnin' don't you step on my blue suede shoes Hey diddle diddle, I am playin' my fiddle, ain't got nothin' to lose Roll Over Beethoven and tell Tschaikowsky the news You know she wiggles like a glow worm, dance like a spinnin' top She got a crazy partner, you oughta see 'em reel and rock Long as she got a dime the music won't never stop Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven and dig these rhythm and blues
An Encore -Out In The Be-Bop 1950s Night- The Time Of Motorcycle Bill-Take Two
From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin
[My old friend, Sam Lowell, whom I have known since the summer of love days out in Frisco days in the late 1960s when we though all the world could be turned upside down and we were the hail fellows, well met who were going to help do it and all we got for our troubles was tear gas, cops' nightsticks and the bastinado for our efforts, oh yeah, and forty year blow-back from the night-takers, and who hails from Carver down in Massachusetts asked me to fill in a few more details about this relationship between Motorcycle Bill and Lily. He thought I was originally kind of skimpy on why a nice Catholic girl would go all to pieces over a motorcycle guy, would get on his bike like she was some low-rent tart from the wrong side of town the usual type that went for motorcycle guys in his book. Sam didn’t get the idea that when that cycle surge came along just like us with the heroic antics of the summer of love lots of ordinary teens went with the flow. So here is a little extra, a take two for Sam, and maybe for others who missed that big motorcycle moment.]
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There was a scourge in the land, in the 1950s American land. No, not the one you are thinking of from your youth or from your history book, not the dreaded but fatalistically expected BIG ONE, the mega-bomb that would send old mother earth back to square one, or worst, maybe only the amoebas would survive to start the long train of civilization up the hill once again. Everybody expected that blow to come if it did come and we in America were not vigilant, did not keep our shoulders to the wheel and not ask questions from the nefarious Russkies (of course we that were just coming to age in the rock and roll night would not have had a clue as to what questions to ask if asking questions was acceptable then and it was not and we as young as were knew that it was not from parents to teachers to Grandpa Ike and his cabinet). We, if not vigilant, would take it in the back from a guy named Joe Stalin which one of our teachers said meant “steel” in Russian but it could have been from any Russian guy as we learned later after Stalin died and other atomic bomb-wielding guys took over in Red Square.
Sure that red scare Cold War was in the air and every school boy and girl had their giggling tales of having to hide, hide ass up, under some desk or other useless defense in air raid drill preparations for that eventually. I wasn’t any revolutionary or radical or “red” although one teacher looked at me kind of funny when I mentioned it but I couldn’t get behind the purpose of hiding under some old-timey elementary school wooden desk when every film I ever saw of what an atomic blast looked like said you might as well not have your ass sticking up in the air when Armageddon came. Like I said one teacher looked at me very funny. So sure the air stunk of red scare, military build-up cold war “your mommy is a commie turn her in" (and there were foolish kids who did try to use that ploy when dear mother said no to some perfectly reasonable request and junior thought to get even he would rat her out).
But the red scare, the Cold War ice tamp down on society to go along to get along was not the day to day scare for every self-respecting parent from Portsmouth to the Pacific. That fear was reserved for the deadly dreaded motorcycle scare that had every father telling his son to beware of falling under the Marlon Brando sway once they had seen the man complete with leather jacket, rakish cap and surly snarl playing Johnny Bad in The Wild One at the Strand Theater on Saturday afternoon and deciding contrary to the cautionary tale of the film that these Johnnies were losers spiraling down to a life, a low life of crime and debauchery (of course said son not knowing of the word, the meaning of debauchery, until much later) just shrugged his innocent shoulders.
More importantly, more in need of a five alarm warning, every mother, every blessed mother, self-respecting or not, secretly thinking maybe a toss in the hay with Marlon would bring some spice to her otherwise staid ranch house with breezeway existence warned off their daughters against this madness and perversity in leather. Warned those gleaming-eyed daughters also fresh from the Saturday afternoon matinee Stand Theater to not even think about hanging with such rascals contrary to the lesson that cute waitress in the film gave about blowing Johnny off as so much bad air. (Of course forgetting, as dad had with junior, to bring up the question of sex which is what Sissy had on her mind after one look at that cool attire of Johnny and her dream about how she could get that surly smirk off of his face.)
Of course that did not stop the wayward sons of millworkers slated for work in the mills when their times came from mooning over every Harley cat that rode his ride down Main Street, Olde Saco (really U.S. Route One but everybody called it Main Street and it was) or the daughters slated for early motherhood under proper marriage or maybe sales clerks in the Monmouth Store from mooning (and maybe more) over the low- riders churning the metal on those bad ass machines when they went with their girlfriends over to Old Orchard Beach on sultry sweaty weekend nights in summer.
This is how bad things were, how the cool cats on the bikes sucked the air out of any other guys who were looking for, well, looking whatever they could get from the bevies of girls watching their every move like hawks. Even prime and proper Lily Dumont, the queen of Saint Brigitte’s Catholic Church rectitude on Sunday and wanna-be “mama” every other waking minute of late. Now this Lily was “hot” no question so hot that my best friend in high school Rene Dubois, the best looking guy around the Acre where we all lived and who already had two girlfriends (and later in life would have four, count them, four wives before he gave the marriage game up and just shacked up with whatever romantic interest he had at the moment), would go to eight o’clock Mass every Sunday and sit a couple of rows in back of her and just watch her ass. (I know because I was sitting beside him watching that same ass). He never got anywhere with her, she knew about the two girlfriends since they were friends of hers, and neither did I. Lily was a classic French-Canadian beauty long thin legs, petite shape but with nice curves, long black hair and pop-out blue eyes. Nice but like I said but strictly the ice queen as far as we could tell. Especially when she would constantly talk about her friendship with Jesus and the need to say plenty of rosaries and attend many novenas to keep in touch with him.
In this time of the motorcycle craze though something awoken in her, maybe just the realization that Jesus was okay but guys who thought she was hot maybe needed some tending too. In any case, and I didn’t find this out until several years later after Lily had left town, my sister who was one of Lily’s close friends then and Lily could confide girl talk to her during this motorcycle dust up Lily would find herself restless at night, late at night and contrary to all good Catholic teachings would put her hand in a place where she shouldn’t (this is the way my sister put it you know Lily was just playingwith herself a perfectly natural feeling for teenagers, and older people too) and she was embarrassed about it, didn’t know if she could go to confession and say what sin she committed to old Father Pierre. I don’t know if she ever did confess or things got resolved a different way and that idea was out of play but there you have it.
And the object of her desire? One “Motorcycle Bill,” the baddest low- rider in all of Olde Saco. Now baddest in Olde Saco (that’s up in ocean edge Maine for the heathens and others not in the know) was not exactly baddest in the whole wide world, nowhere as near as bad as say Sonny Barger and his henchmen outlaws-for- real bikers out in Hell’s Angels Oakland as chronicled by Doctor Gonzo (before he was Gonzo), Hunter S. Thompson in his saga of murder and mayhem sociological- literary study Hell’s Angels. But as much is true in life one must accept the context. And the context here is that in sleepy dying mill town Olde Saco mere ownership, hell maybe mere desire for ownership, of a bike was prima facie evidence of badness. So every precious daughter was specifically warned away from Motorcycle Bill and his Vincent Black Lightning 1952 (although no mother, and maybe no daughter either, could probably tell the difference between that sleek English bike and a big pig Harley). But Madame Dumont felt no need to do so with her sweet sixteen Lily who, maybe, pretty please maybe was going to be one of god’s women, maybe enter the convent over in Cedars Of Lebanon Springs in a couple of years after she graduated from Olde Saco High along with her Class of 1960.
But that was before Motorcycle Bill appeared on the horizon. One afternoon after school walking home to Olde Saco’s French- Canadian (F-C) quarter, the Acre like I said where we all lived, all French-Canadians (on my mother’s side, nee LeBlanc for me) on Atlantic Avenue with classmate and best friend Clara Dubois (my sister was close to Lily but not as close as Clara since they had gone to elementary school together), Lily heard the thunder of Bill’s bike coming up behind them, stopping, Bill giving Lily a bow, and them revving the machine up and doing a couple of circle cuts within a hair’s breathe of the girls. Then just a suddenly he was off, and Lily, well, Lily was hooked, hooked on Motorcycle Bill, although she did not know it, know it for certain until that night in her room when she tossed and turned all night and did not ask god, or any of his associates, to guide her in the matter (the matter of that wayward hand for those who might have forgotten).
One thing about living in a sleepy old town, a sleepy old dying mill town, is that everybody knows everybody’s business at least as far as any person wants that information out on the public square. Two things are important before we go on. One is that everybody in town that counted which meant every junior and senior class high schooler in Olde Saco knew that Bill had made a “play” for Lily. And the buzz got its start from none other than Clara Dubois who had her own hankerings after the motorcycle man (her source of wonder though was more, well lets’ call it crass than Lily’s, Clara wanted to know if Bill was build, build with some sexual power, power like his motorcycle. She had innocently, perhaps, understood the Marlon mystique). The second was that Bill, other than his bike, was not a low life low- rider but just a guy who liked to ride the roads free and easy. See Bill was a freshman over at Bowdoin and he used the bike as much to get back and forth to school from his home in Scarborough as to do wheelies in front of impressionable teenage girls from the Acre.
One day, one afternoon, a few days after their Motorcycle Bill “introduction,” when Lily and Clara were over at Seal Rock at the far end of Olde Saco Beach Bill came up behind them sans his bike. (Not its real name but had been given the name Seal Rock because the place was the local lovers’ lane at night and many things had been sealed there including a fair share of “doing the do,” you know hard and serious sex. During the day it was just a good place to catch a sea breeze and look for interesting clam shells which washed up in the swirling surf there.) Now not on his bike, without a helmet, and carrying books, books of all things, he looked like any student except maybe a little bolder and a little less reserved.
He started talking to Lily and something in his demeanor attracted her to him. (Clara swore, swore on seven bibles, that Lily was kind of stand-offish at first but Lily said no, said she was just blushing a lot.) They talked for a while and then Bill asked Lily if she wanted a ride home. She hemmed and hawed but there was just something about him that spoke of mystery (who knows what Clara thought about what Lily thought about that idea). She agreed and they walked a couple of blocks to where he was parked. And there Lily saw that Vincent Black Lightning 1952 of her dreams. Without a word, without anything done by her except to tie her hair back and unbutton a couple of buttons from her starched white shirt she climbed on the back of the bike at Bill’s beckon. And that is how one Lily Dumont became William Kelly’s motorcycle “mama” when the high tide of the motorcycle as sex symbol hit our town.
