Monday, March 25, 2013

e, Boston, March 17, 2013
Joan LivingstonJoan Livingston·20 videos
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Published on Mar 19, 2013
The third annual "alternative people's" parade hosted by chapter 9 (the Smedley D. Butler Brigade) of Veterans for Peace in South Boston: this inclusive event is the alternative to a St. Patrick's Day Parade that has excluded peace groups as well as members of LGBTQ groups since the 1990s. This year's participants also included veterans and others from all over New England, as well as a large range of local-regional labor groups, faith communities, and others working for social, economic, and climate justice, including Occupy. Participants were treated to the music of 6 different bands and performances by members of the Bread and Puppet Theater. Themes ranged from blocking the Keystone XL pipeline to freeing Bradley Manning, and ending all wars of occupation ("support the troops: bring them home!").
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    • Melodeego2003
      so happy we got to be a part of this parade this year. Awesome day, beginning to end. Love that you made sure that every group got a moment in here, too.
      ·
    • Elodie Baloney
      DUDE IN THE FIRST PICTURE IN THE ONE IN THE WHITE COAT BEHIND THE GUY IN THE BLUE PATRIOTS COAT!!!!!
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    Iraq Veterans Against the WarSupport Our Work: Donate Now
    Smedleys & Samanthas,
    Here is a notice from IVAW. Please try and attend if possible.
    Pat

    Join us for two events marking the 10th anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq.

    Yesterday Iraq Veterans Against the War launched an initiative with Iraqi civil society organizations to hold our government accountable for the enduring human rights impacts of their wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
    Representatives from IVAW and the Organization of Women's Freedom in Iraq will be in the Boston area next week to discuss their historic joint initiative at two events:

    Event #1: For Us, The Wars Aren't Over: The Right to Heal Initiative

    Tuesday, March 26
    7:00 - 9:00 PM
    Harvard Law School, Wasserstein Hall, Room 2012
    Speakers:
    Yanar Mohammed, President, Organization of Women's Freedom in Iraq (OWFI)
    Ms. Mohammed is the founder of OWFI, a nongovernmental organization that promotes women's rights and interests in Iraq. She will speak about OWFI's work in an Iraqi town near a U.S. military base that has seen dramatic increases in the incidence of birth defects, cancers, and other severe health ailments.
    Matthew Howard, Communications Coordinator, Iraq Veterans Against the War
    Matt served two tours in Iraq with the Marine Corps as a helicopter mechanic. He will discuss the costs of war for U.S. service members and veterans, particularly the obstacles that prevent too many from receiving proper medical and mental health care. IVAW and its subcommittee, Afghanistan Veterans Against the War, have advocated for the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq and Afghanistan, and for reparations to Iraqis for the costs of war.
    Pamela Spees, Senior Staff Attorney, Center for Constitutional Rights (CCR)
    Ms. Spees will discuss CCR's role as a support player in the Right to Heal's collaborative project to ensure the U.S. takes concrete steps for health care, accountability, and reparations.
    Moderator: Deborah Alejandra Popowski, Lecturer on Law, Harvard Law School
    Dinner will be served.

    Event #2: House Party to benefit Iraq Veterans Against the War and the Organization of Women's Freedom in Iraq

    Wednesday, March 27
    7:00 - 9:00 PM
    Hosted by Nancy Goldner
    111 Perkins Street, Apt. 200
    Jamaicaway Tower, 20th floor
    Jamaica Plain, MA 02130
    Enjoy a chance to talk informally with the Iraq Veterans Against the War national staff,
    Matt Howard, Coomunications Coordinator and Amadee Braxton, Director of Development.
    We will share a message from Yanar Mohammed, President of Organiztion of Women's Freedom in Iraq, as she will not be able to attend this event.
    Refreshments will be served.
    Please bring your checkbook, credit card, or cash. Donations will be split 50/50 between IVAW and OWFI.
    If driving, there is parking at the building, which is the last driveway on the Right before the Intersecton of Jamaicaway and Perkins St. Street parking is also available.
    By public transportation, location is accessible by #39 bus, stops at Perkins St; Green Line E to last stop (a short walk up South Huntington to Perkins, turn right to Buillding).
    We hope you can join us for one or both of these events.
    See you there!
    In Solidarity,
    Matt and Amadee
    The World Can't Wait
    Stop the Crimes of Your Government
    Donate | Local Chapters | Store | Previous Newsletters

    Talk to you tonight!

    On the phone
    TONIGHT March 21
    10pm Eastern / 7pm
    Pacific
    Register for dial-in info

    Cindy
    Join us for a conference call with Cindy Sheehan on the 10th anniversary of the US War on Iraq & her latest project: Tour de Peace.

    David Swanson writes:
    “Between April 4 and July 3, the entire country (and the other 96% of humanity too) is invited to join in a bicycle ride from California to Washington, D.C. You can
    join as a bicycler or as a sponsor.

    Continue reading...
    After we talk to Cindy, a representative of Witness Against Torture (
    witnesstorture.org) will join us to discuss the huge hunger strike happening right now at Guantanamo and our response to it.

    Register for the call.

    DONATE
    Alfred,

    First, from the Guantanamo lawyers, news came last month of the outrage from prisoners over a new regime of searches and confiscation of family photographs and reading material. We've been hearing for weeks now of a mass hunger strike, not only because of the insults and deprivation of the few connections they have with loved ones, but mainly because the prisoners are "buried alive" with no way to leave the illegitmate prison, even if they have been cleared for release years ago.

    Candace Gorman, who gave up much of her practice in Chicago to represent men in GTMO,
    wrote yesterday that flights to GTMO have been suspended and asks whether that is
    “Just to make sure that our clients do not have the benefit of attorneys the new powers to be at Guantanamo have ruled that the planes that most of us take to and from Gitmo can no longer fly to the base. Perhaps it is because they don't want us reporting on the hunger strike as Jim White over at emptywheel suggests here. Perhaps it is part of the year long struggle we have been having with the powers to be in which they tried to rewrite the protective order making it so that many of the attorneys could only visit the base at the discretion of the military....I covered that story here.

    Or maybe it is simply because Obama has given up on closing the base and hopes that if we attorneys (and reporters) have enough trouble getting there maybe the coverage of Guantanamo will disappear. IT WONT. We have not put in this much time to just go quietly into the night.....Carol Rosenberg has more
    here...”
    In a piece in Harper's on another subject, a passing statement to the effect that everyone knows Guantanamo won't close until all the prisoners have died, stopped me cold. Will we allow this?
    Witness Against Torture protest
    Witness Against Torture contacted us yesterday with a plan for mass protest, and a support hunger strike. There are ALL KINDS of ways you can help focus public attention — and thereby force the government to back off on these measures at GTMO. I urge you to join us.

    HUNGER STRIKE AT GUANTANAMO: Emergency Response & Call to Action

    Learn more:


    The Price for Protesting War at U.S. Military Academy

    ProtestersSix anti-war activists and leaders, aged 30 through 75 were sentenced on March 19 to eight hours “community service,” and $125 court costs for a disorderly conduct conviction arising from a protest 300 people made December 1, 2009, when Obama announced, inside the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, a huge expansion of US troops to Afghanistan.
    Elaine Brower, Matthis Chiroux, Tarak Kauff, Alison Beth Levy, and Richie Marini agreed to serve the time, washing Highland Falls, NY, ambulances and police cars, and pay the fee. Beverly Rice asked that she be able to send funds instead to the National Lawyers Guild, and when that was denied, she took jail time, on the basis of conscience. Her sentence was ten days at the Orange County jail, where she was taken immediately. The sheriff says Bev, 75, will be released early.

    The case had gone on for more than 3 years. After one of two disorderly conduct convictions was overturned on a pro se appeal, a new judge delayed sentencing because court records were “lost” in Hurricane Irene. He then forced the defendants to appear two more times with an attorney before sentencing. The courtroom in Highland Falls was packed with mostly young people charged with traffic and other violations, at least one in an Army uniform. Everyone listened quietly as most of the defendants made pre-sentence statements to the judge.

    Elaine Brower said she had been outside the gate at West Point to “petition my government” to stop the war. “My son did ten years in the Marine Corps, two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He has done horrible things” as part of the U.S. war on those countries. She said “I am seeing that injustice in the eyes of my son who is emotionally wounded.”

    Elaine went on to say that “we have no recourse” to get the government’s attention except our legally permitted right to assemble. “They keep sending young men and women to kill. We protested at West Point when Bush was president, and we had to be there when Obama expanded the war on Afghanistan. And we’ll be here when the next president invades a sovereign nation. Humanity and the planet come first. Crimes are crimes, no matter who does them.”

    Richie Marini’s
    statement included:
    The United States has an incredibly violent history as we stand here today on land acquired through Genocidal means and can claim title to the only country to ever use an atomic weapon of mass destruction against another. The United States government continues down this trajectory of violence today with it’s use of torture, extraordinary rendition and drones that murder innocent civilians every day. It commits these violent acts to sustain itself by creating new markets, obtaining resources and enslaving people into it’s system in order to prevent itself from collapsing at the expense of innocent lives abroad…

    Despite the penalties imposed upon me here today I will continue to work effortlessly to organize the citizens of Highland Falls and elsewhere to put stop the crimes of this government. As an Humanitarian, this is the greatest service that I can do for the citizens of Highland Falls, the United States, Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, Yemen and elsewhere…
    Read more
    BevBev Rice said she would not apologize for the protest:
    A total of 2177 American soldiers have been killed during the eleven years we have been fighting in Afghanistan.

    1230 have been killed since we were arrested three years ago? How many more have been wounded? How many more have been sent home suffering emotional and mental illnesses? Consider, 22 veterans commit suicide each day! Consider also the sorrowful loss for the family and friends of our dead and wounded soldiers. I consider these each and every day.
    I am proud to have been involved in the protest, and to have participated in the defense of the West Point Six. We need more people willing to speak the truth, and put themselves on the line to stop the crimes of our government.

    Debra Sweet, Director, The World Can't Wait
    March 21, 2013
    melinda_arrendendo.jpg
    My stepson Alexander Scott Arredondo, a 19 year old private in the Marine Corp, had shipped out of Camp Pendleton in early January of 2003. He had a chance to visit with his Dad, his Mom, his brothers, me and many friends and extended family the Christmas before.
    The drumbeats of war had been sounding over weapons of mass destruction and uranium that Saddam Hussein allegedly had in his possession. The chatter began after the 1 year anniversary of September 11. Alex had been in basic training the summer of 2002, he wrote letters home that he had heard rumors around upcoming deployments. He wanted to know more about the countries that were discussed. Alex asked for us to send information in early August of 2002 on "Afghanistan, Iran, Saudi Arabia and Iraq". Immediately, Alex's Dad Carlos and I looked at each other and wondered why Iraq?
    Several weeks later President Bush began talking about Iraq and WMDs. The ongoing congressional debates during this period filled Carlos and me with such a sense of doom. By the end of October 2002, a joint resolution titled " Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Iraq Resolution of 2002" had passed congress.
    When Alex told us he would be shipped to Iraq early 2003, our stress levels intensified. Carlos requested for me to put the cable back on so he could watch the news reports, which he did on three different televisions. Brian opted to stop attending high school. I felt like I was on pins and needles with my inner fight of whether to watch the news or not. At my workplace, colleagues would come to tell me the latest, which made it so I had to keep my office door closed.
    Ten years ago today, the war in Iraq began. The bombing named Shock and Awe rained down on Baghdad as United States forces unsuccessfully attempted to kill Saddam Hussein. Coalition ground forces seized Baghdad on April 5. Our Alex was among those ground troops whose mission began by crossing from Kuwait into Iraq's desert. Equipment broke down, there were several WMD alerts where troops had to put on their air mask equipment and there was a sandstorm on March 25 th that challenged those troops headed for Baghdad.
    Alex was part of the 1 st Marine Division that entered Baghdad. His vehicle was amphibious and became useful when the bridges in Baghdad were all bombed. The United States declared victory on April 14, and President George W. Bush gave his Mission Accomplished Speech on May 1.
    I remember screaming at the television when I saw that speech "Where is Alex and why isn't he home?" Alex finally did come home from his first deployment to Iraq in late September. I remember when I first hugged him as he had surprised me and his grandmother by suddenly appearing, the room spun around.
    Alex spent the next several months at Camp Pendleton training and on his off time surfing and with his Marine buddies. Alex came back to Boston at Christmas 2003 and then again in May 2004. Afterwards, Alex returned for his second tour of Iraq. He had spoken to me wondering why he was going back when a year earlier the mission had been accomplished. Saddam Hussein had been captured December 13, 2003 in Tikrit. Alex questioned his upcoming deployment and in the end went back to Iraq to support his Marine brothers.
    On August 25 th , 2004, I woke in a new home in Hollywood, Florida and turned on news radio that morning to hear that two Marines had been killed in Iraq. I turned off the radio praying that Alex was okay. I also left a card on Carlos' pillow since it was his birthday. A little after 2:30 pm, I received a call while eating lunch on my cell phone. I never received calls on my cell phone and became anxious.
    I did not recognize the voice on the phone immediately because the person was weeping. It was Carlos. The Marines had arrived. Carlos kept repeating "They killed Alex. Chi-chi (nickname) was dead." The words hit me hard. I wailed. I kept thinking "But, I had a card waiting on my bureau to send Alex at home." Then I remembered that I had heard the report this morning on the radio. Suddenly a second call came in on my cell phone. One of the Marines ordered for me to come home ASAP. I readied myself as best I could and headed home, about a 15 minute drive.
    As I turned onto my street, I saw fire trucks and smoke. As I approached my house, I saw Carlos on the grass in flames. I stopped the car. The Marines ordered me to leave since the Marine van might blow up. As I drove away, it did. I ran back to Carlos. First, I requested for the Marines to let go of Carlos since he was burned. There was one Marine sitting on his back with Carlos t-shirt over his face. Carlos couldn't breathe. The Marine complied. I spoke to Carlos and tried to calm him down. He kept wailing, "No. They are wrong! Not Alex." Then he said, "I'll pay for the van." The ambulance came, and I saw the helicopters overhead. As Carlos was lifted onto the stretcher, he shook uncontrollably and then passed out. After the ambulance left, Luz brought me Carlos' cell phone. It was Brian wanting to wish his father a happy birthday. I explained what happened and asked him to turn on the news. Later Brian told me that he watched in horror and that wanted to die to be with his brother and father.
    Carlos first went to a local hospital but was transferred to Ryder Trauma Center in Miami. Everyone was so confused and concerned. There were many family members who hated Carlos for what he had done; who believed that he had desecrated Alex's ultimate sacrifice.
    There were outpourings of love and support from all over the world: cards, gifts, and letters, to help Carlos recover from the loss of his eldest son Alex.
    Slowly over time, the whole family felt Alex's loss on a daily basis. Carlos and I sought counseling and medication. We both were treated as in-patients two times.
    Brian was resistant to counseling though he was running into legal problems and experimenting with drugs. He was not working. Brian became suicidal in 2006 and was placed on an in-patient psychiatric unit for three days. In 2011, Brian encountered further problems with the legal system that led to him going to a state psychiatric hospital and then to prison. Brian's legal issues were to us and his attorney obviously related to his mental health. It was an ordeal to get assistance on the state level to help him out. Finally, on December 19, 2011, the day after official withdrawal of all troops from Iraq, Brian took his life. His Mother found an account of how Alex had died in Iraq next to where Brian was found dead.
    This family has lived the Iraq war from day one to the last day. This family has sacrificed two sons to the Iraq war. I don't believe that there is any justification or glory for the loss of our two sons. Ten years of sorrow, pain, confusion and bereavement have overwhelmed us.
    President Kennedy stated, "Ask not what the country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." This family has sacrificed plenty as have many who have had their troops die or injured related to the war. The hope is that by speaking openly about our ordeal that it will aid military families from having to experience what we have gone through.
    Mélida Arredondo has been a long time community and peace activist. She has had her opinion pieces published in local community papers, primarily as remembrances of her stepson Alex and also on issues related to military families. She previously has had her poetry published as well. A first generation US-American, her father is Nicaraguan and her late Mother was Costa Rican. She also has a Masters of Public Health and works at community health center in Boston. She lives in Boston with Carlos Arredondo and their two dogs, Buddy and Chica.
    Lettuce Wars: Ten Years of Work and Struggle in the Fields of California by Bruce Neuburger
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    New from MR Press!


    Lettuce Wars

    Ten Years of Work and Struggle in the Fields of California


    by Bruce Neuburger

    “Does an outstanding, exceptional job of providing the reader with an inside, on-the-ground view of the industrial farm labor experience in California and elsewhere. Bruce Neuburger’s story is compelling and often spell-binding. This is surely one of the most important contributions to the social justice literature exposing farmworker injustice at all levels.”
    Dr. Ann López, Executive Director, Center for Farmworker Families; author, The Farmworkers’ Journey

    “In these stirring pages you will find exquisite descriptions of the work, lovely accounts of the people who do it, and a unique view of farm worker politics, all delivered in straight forward, good humored prose. Most of all, Neuburger reminds us of what it felt like to be young and believe in Revolution.”
    —Frank Bardacke, author, Trampling Out the Vintage: Cesar Chavez and the Two Souls of the UFW

    “In the noble tradition of narratives of protest and witness, this historical work is relevant and timely. It forces us to cast a critical eye on our American democracy, where the rights of countless workers are trampled upon by those with political and economic power.”
    —Alba Cruz-Hacker, author of No Honey for Wild Beasts

    “An extraordinary book. On one level, it is a political memoir of a young radical’s decade of immersion in the world of farmworkers—their work, their lives, and their struggles for union representation. On another level, Neuburger offers a history of the successes of the Farm Workers Union and its later degeneration. . . . a fascinating story of a young man successfully adapting to an unfamiliar culture.”
    —Michael Perelman, professor of economics, California State University, Chico; author, The Invisible Handcuffs of Capitalism

    “Adds a new and carefully observed chapter to the farm labor saga in Steinbeck country during the Chavez years. . . . It’s the story of Neuburger’s real life in a notoriously hardscrabble labor market, one that seemed like a vestige a generation ago but now serves as the default model in a new era of global neoliberalism. If you’ve ever felt that we’re all ‘casual labor’ now, this the book for you.”
    —Peter Richardson, author of A Bomb in Every Issue: How the Short, Unruly Life of Ramparts Magazine Changed America

    In 1971, Bruce Neuburger—young, out of work, and radicalized by the 60s counterculture in Berkeley—took a job as a farmworker on a whim. He could have hardly anticipated that he would spend the next decade laboring up and down the agricultural valleys of California, alongside the anonymous and largely immigrant workforce that feeds the nation. This account of his journey begins at a remarkable moment, after the birth of the United Farm Workers union and the ensuing uptick in worker militancy. As a participant in organizing efforts, strikes, and boycotts, Neuburger saw first-hand the struggles of farmworkers for better wages and working conditions, and the lengths the growers would go to suppress worker unity.
    Part memoir, part informed commentary on farm labor, the U.S. labor movement, and the political economy of agriculture, Lettuce Wars is a lively account written from the perspective of the fields. Neuburger portrays the people he encountered—immigrant workers, fellow radicals, company bosses, cops and goons—vividly and indelibly, lending a human aspect to the conflict between capital and labor as it played out in the fields of California.
    Bruce Neuburger is a former farmworker, longtime radical political activist, GI organizer, movement newspaper writer and editor, cab driver, and, for the past twenty-five years, adult school and community college teacher. This is his first book.
    lettuce wars
    415 pages | $22.95 paper
    order online


    Read the introduction to Lettuce Wars, "A Cab Ride for a Lawyer," in Monthly Review


    visit the Lettuce Wars website



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      I'm going to attend the Boston rally for Aaron Swartz

      We're holding a big rally calling for Justice for Aaron Swartz and accountability for his prosecutors in Boston on Saturday, April 13th -- which is when his trial would've been coming to a close.
      More details will follow in coming days.
      Just add your name at right to RSVP, and please help spread this far and wide:
      [fb]If you're already on Facebook, click here to share with your friends.
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      At U/Mass-Boston- DO SOMETHING EASY FOR A FAIRER PARKING SYSTEM!

      Dear CSU Colleague,


      DO SOMETHING EASY FOR A FAIRER PARKING SYSTEM!


      Our coalition negotiating committee has been working to convince management that the current parking system at UMB isn't fair, and that we need a sliding scale for parking fees, reduced shuttle bus costs, and positive incentives to encourage employees and students to use public transportation. But we need your help to make it clear to the UMB administration that we all want them to do the right thing.


      As we’ve been arguing for a fairer parking and transportation system, we have just learned about more lot closures coming soon; in particular, Lot A, the South Lot, and the short-term lot will be closing permanently and the Campus Center garage will be closing temporarily, driving even more of us to Bayside, where management wants to charge us $8 a day for the extra inconvenience.


      At 10:45 am on Wednesday, March 27, please show your support for a more equitable and accessible parking and transportation system by joining in a brief stand-out in the catwalk outside Healey Library. Let’s make sure management understands that we are all watching these negotiations.


      Please make the commitment to being there by RSVPing to this email.


      If you want to make sure your point is communicated, come help us make signs! We're gathering in the union office (Quinn 2 at the end of the catwalk) on Tuesday at 4 pm. We'll have all the materials -- you just need to bring your ideas.



      Contact Shauna Manning if you have any questions: 617-287-6776 on campus or shauna.manning@umb.edu



      Thank you!!!



      The InterUnion Parking Coalition
      ***Out In The 1950s Film Noir Night-With Vince Edwards’ Murder By Contract In Mind


      From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
      Some guys had all the angels figured, not figured too closely and then have no room for some big thing to come smack and you down, but figured, figured enough. Figured out that sticking with nine to five dullsville might pay the rent, barely, but would leave you feeling about one hundred years old by the time you were thirty. Figured out though that if you changed up your life, took some chances, you had to play the percentages, maybe not carefully but you had to think about them. Figured out that if you were going to break out, jailhouse breakout from that old world you had better do it alone, better stick to the lonely rooms, the one man walks, the sit at the bar and have a couple and look straight at the mirror, take in a show alone once in a while (and watch out for those creeps, guys, guys in raincoats no matter what the weather, who wanted to, wanted to sit next you and do what for god’s sake). Figured out that if you played your card rights, some of them anyway, you would be on easy street by, say thirty-five or forty and not look like one hundred either. Yah, juts stay cool, cool in the 1950s night and things would work out okay, maybe better than okay.

      Take our man Vince, Vince Edwards stuck, deeply stuck in nine to five nowhere, just scratching along, but dissatisfied, really unhappy. Not unhappy in love, he didn’t care usually whether he had a girl or not, he was just as happy to pick some dame in a bar or on the street for the night, and they were, seeing that our boy was very good looking, happy to take the ride (although many complained he was a poor lover, or worse, just threw them out after he had been depleted) and let it go at that. He was not homo, nothing like that, if that is what people thought as he made it clear when he talked to guys about women and their wanting habits. He was just not that into them. Nor was he unhappy about the cold war red scare world pulling everybody around. That was too big for him, outside his percentages, and besides other guys had that racket wrapped up. No, what had our boy in a knot was how to make dough fast and get out, go to some island somewhere and just, just exist, that’s it, that’s it exactly.
      And being a smart guy, a guy who had graduated from high school and all, Vince figured it out, figured out that the best way, well maybe not the best way since there was some element of risk involved, to bring his dreams home was to hire himself out as a contract killer, a “hit man.” Although he had no experience he felt, felt strongly that he had the ability to do this work impersonally and therefore successfully. No police record, no mob connections, nothing kinky in his past , See he figured that in this wicked old world some guys needed killing, or some guys, some guys with dough, figured some other guys needed killing and he was at their service. And the beauty of it was (he had checked it out of course) that with most gangland killings or jobs that had been done by hit men (carrying that impersonal sense not found in say household killings) you either got away with it or you got blown away. Simple.

      Vince, being smart, being street smart had a pretty good run, made good money and guys, guys with big dough and big wants, started calling him for big jobs, jobs that took brains as well as firepower. So he worked his way up the food chain without too much effort. See what he knew was that he had it all over the old-time sluggers, the old mobster hit men from about some ancient Al Capone time, who shot everything in sight to get one guy. Made too much noise, way too much noise. So the dons or capos or just harried businessmen who needed quiet jobs done put out the word. And he knocked off a bunch of those guys who needed to be knocked off and became, well, famous in the select hit man community.
      But like all percentage things after a while Vince hit a snag, a situation where he couldn’t make the thing go right. And wouldn’t you know it involved a woman, a woman to be hit for god sakes. A woman in Los Angeles of all places, an irate ex-mistress or something he never did get all the exact details, who was ready to sing, sing loud and some Mister Big wanted no part of that song It should have been a piece of cake but as it turned out as much as Vince didn’t care about women (and maybe, as he got caught in the web of this hit, hated them, and had hated them all along since mother time if you looked to Freud to learn about such things) he couldn’t kill the woman target. Just couldn’t make it go right from the minute he learned the target was a she. And for his reticence he took the tumble, took it hard, and took it very face down in a ditch like some rag doll in the end. Yes, Vince finally cashed his check, finally lost his percentage advantage …

      Sunday, March 24, 2013

      ***Those Oldies But Goodies…Out In The Be-Bop ‘50s Song Night- With The Dubs Could This Be Magic In Mind- Jenny Dolan Speaks Her Mind, Circa 1962



      THE DUBS

      "Could This Be Magic"


      Could this be magic

      My dear

      My heart's all aglow

      Could this be magic

      Loving you so



      Could this be magic

      My dear

      Having your love

      My prayers were answered

      So far from above



      I thought it would be

      Just a memory

      To linger my heart in pain

      But too much pride

      I opened up my eyes

      And I'm with you dear once again



      Could this be magic

      My dear

      Having your love

      If this is magic

      Then magic is mine

      Could this be magic

      Then magic is mine


      Jenny Dolan speaks from out of the 1960s night:

      I suppose everybody in America knows, knows by heart now, that John O’Connor and I, Jenny Dolan, are an “item.” The poster boy and girl sweethearts of North Adamsville High according to one piece of gossip that I heard, or overheard, Joanne Doyle saying sarcastically in the girls’ lav at school one Monday morning when she was giving her weekend round-up report to all who would listen. What I couldn’t spread around about her and her lover boy, Frankie, but that was old Jenny, old miserable Jennie, before I got my John, and got him good. Of course Joanne only retells what the pizza pie in your eye corner boy king, so-called, Frankie, Frankie Riley if your one of the about three people in the Class of 1964 who doesn’t know him, has already started spreading around. The gist of tale is that he has lost his ace-in-the-hole (really just his bodyguard for when he makes the wrong move, Joanne Doyle not around wrong move, on some real tough guy's girl), Jumping John O’Connor (although I am putting a stop to calling him that name, and fast) to a frill (that’s me, or that’s me when Frankie does his 28 flavors of disrespect to girls thing, except to no-nonsense mistress Joanne, by calling them frills, molls, frails and everything else that he has picked up from watching too many 1930s gangster films, and reading too many Raymond Chandler crime novels). See John and Frankie go back to first grade together over at North Adamsville Elementary and somehow Frankie thought that was enough to keep the “twists” (girls again) at a distance so John could be his full-time“body-guard.”

      And if Frankie hasn’t spread the news around about John and me then Peter Paul Markin, clueless Peter Paul when it comes to knowing anything about girls (and girls and guys who get together for more fun, Saturday night fun, than just some silly reading books at the library, or going to a debate about whether Red China should, or shouldn’t be admitted to the United Nations, or stuff like that) will, once Frankie unleashes him to spread it around. Now everybody respects Peter Paul for his knowledge, for his devotion to learning more about stuff, and for sticking up for the, as he calls them, the “fellow down-trodden” of the earth but he has been strictly blind-sided by Frankie ever since he came to North Adamsville. When I was lonely (lonely for my John, if you want to know) I went out with Peter Paul, once, but no thanks. So between Joanne (really Frankie), Frankie (really Joanne) and Peter Paul (really Frankie, and maybe Joanne) you’ve probably got the story all wrong. Like the why behind why John and I did not get together until just now, although we were made for each other and that’s the truth, and has been the truth for a long time.

      Let me tell the story, my side, and see if it is anything like you heard from Frankie, or Peter Paul. Although now that I think about it if you got it from Peter Paul then you haven’t finished reading the treatise on the subject of John O’Connor and Jennifer Dolan yet and I can save you some time, and save your eyes too. See back in sixth grade when I was just starting to get a little shape but was still really just a stick I went to Chrissie McNamara’s twelfth birthday party. Now Chrissie and I had been friends for ages so I expected to be at the party but what really got my girl temperature up was that John was going to be there.

      Now John was good-looking even then, kind of quiet, a good all-around athlete (a great football player-in-the-making even then, even then in little Pop Warner League), and, I think, shy around girls but I had eyes for him. Big eyes, and not just twelve- year old big eyes, but going way back to first communion at Sacred Heart where we were boy white suit and girl white dress paired together to walk down to the communion rail and I had to calm him down because he was scared of the idea of eating the wafer, the body and blood of Christ. No, I was not every day in every way crushed up on him, but crushed up somewhere deep inside since then. In sixth grade time though when I started getting my shape a little, you know, I couldn’t keep from thinking of him. So at Chrissie’s party I was flying high in expectation. I had my best dress on, had taken a long soapy bath, and worn some of my mother’s perfume (don’t tell her, okay). And I wasn’t disappointed because he asked me to dance, dance close, dance airless close. I almost kissed him then but I waited until the lights went out that signaled the time for some “petting”games to start and then ran over to the sofa and planted the biggest, hardest kiss I could on him. Boy, did I have my signals crossed because he pushed me aside (not hard but definitely aside) and ran out of the house. That’s how he got the name Jumping John O’Connor once Frankie got the story out. He hated the name, and I did too.

      After that I didn’t run into him enough to get nervous because at school we were in different classes and, obviously, I wasn’t hanging around shabby, two-bit, greasy pizza parlors wasting my good time and energy listening to Frankie (and his lap dog, Peter Paul) play his lordship and chamberlain. Besides Joanne, Joanne Doyle, Frankie’s plain jane, so-called girlfriend, and I never got along ever since I told her that Frankie was calling me up on the telephone any time they had a “misunderstanding.” She flat-out didn’t believe me but ask Peter Paul, he knows, he knows everything about Frankie Riley and his “love” life.

      This year though, sophomore year, John and I have our daily last period study class together and a couple weeks into the class I noticed that he kept looking (for a second anyway) in my direction. More than once. And I started looking in his direction (for a second anyway, and more than once). As we found out later everybody in the class, including the study class monitor, Miss Wilmot, the old dyke, knew we were “making eyes” at each other. Except, of course, maybe Peter Paul who was also in the study hall down front and reading. Still, naturally, that will not stop him from claiming in his treatise that he was the key to introducing John and me.

      Believe me I didn’t know what to do at first. I was “gun-shy” from that sixth grade fiasco party so I was afraid to think that he might be interested in me. But, and I admit it, I was miserable, and had been pretty miserable since John’s rebuff that Chrissie’s party night, even though I went out with lots of boys. Then one day I figured out (and talked to Chrissie about it, and she agreed) that John, shy, quiet John wasn’t going to do anything about me unless I started the ball rolling. And here is what I figured out to do (on my own, no Chrissie help). I was going to go into the lion’s den, the holy of holies, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor where Frankie and his boys, including John, hung out a lot and just flop myself in John’s lap and dare him, no double- dare him, to throw me off in a public place. And I was going to do it too, once I got my courage up, or was miserable enough to try anything.

      Well, one Friday night, one October Friday night, a few weeks ago I got so miserable at home that I decided to go for broke. I walked up the Downs and entered Salducci’s, fearful, very fearful, but then I saw John sitting on the outside of the booth with the boys (Frankie, Peter Paul, Fingers Kelly, John and a couple of other denizens) and saw my chance. I quickly walked over and flopped myself on John lap. And you know what he said. “I’m sorry” as he gently, very gently, broke my fall with his strong arms. My heart went crazy with fear. I thought that I had once again misinterpreted his looks at me in study class just like at the party and started to get up. But as I started to get up John held me close, held me close like maybe it was going to take the whole football team, both offense and defense, and scrubs and water boys thrown in, to get me off his lap before he finished his red-faced say.

      And this is what he said, and said in a way that he had been thinking about it for a while. “I’m sorry, real sorry, that I pushed you away at Chrissie’s birthday party and ran out and never apologized. I just didn’t know what to do then.” And he added, “Will you forgive me?” Frankie and the boys were flabbergasted but John, red-faced and all, maybe more so after saying his piece, held his ground. I wanted to say all kinds of witty, smart things but all I could blurt out was, “yes.” I started to get up but he would not let me up (and truthfully I wasn’t trying very hard anyway) until he asked to walk me home. You know the answer so I will not be coy. As we walked and talked it seemed like an instant until we got to my house. The lights were out but John said he wanted to talk a little, and we did, boy and girl things that you don’t need to know about. And while we were talking he reached out and held my hand. And I got all red-faced, especially when every once in a while he would loosen up his grip and then gently squeeze my hand again like he was afraid to let go. And I was afraid to let him let it go. I will tell you that night, I swear, John could have done anything he wanted with me, anything, but we just held hands, tight hands. Okay, you have the story straight now.

      From The Pen Of Leon Trotsky - PORTRAITS-POLITCAL AND PERSONAL



      PORTRAITS-POLITCAL AND PERSONAL, LEON TROTSKY, PATHFINDER PRESS, NEW YORK, 1977
      BOOK REVIEW
      Is this an indispensable work of Leon Trotsky that no militant leftist can afford not to read? No. Is it nevertheless a supreme example of the kind of political and psychological insight that Trotsky was able to call forth concerning the political actors, great and small, of his day in the tradition of his monumental History of the Russian Revolution? Most definitely, yes. This why we can benefit from reading such personal and political sketches today.

      The range of articles presented here is impressive from the martyred Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg through various political associates of his revolutionary career- Lenin and his wife Krupskaya, Zinoviev, Kamenev, his own wife Natalia Sedova, his son Leon Sedov through to Stalin. And additionally, various European writers and politicians of his time. The quality of the insights and the purpose for the writing of the sketch is a little uneven as is inevitable when dealing with this many personalities, however, two sketches stick out in this reviewer’s estimation. The two- one a political obituary for a fellow Left Oppositionist, Kote Tsintsadze (hereafter, Kote) and the other, also a political obituary, for a wavering Stalinist functionary, Abel Yenukidze (hereafter, Abel) give personal expression to what the great internal struggle in the Soviet Communist Party (and, by extension, to the Communist International) in the 1920’s and 30’s was all about.

      Whatever else one can say about the fight for the Russian October Revolution the most striking aspect is how consciously planned it was both theoretically and in practice. Thus, one has to seriously look to how the cadre of the revolution developed. Trotsky, himself, presents a clear example of such development. But a few leaders do not a revolution make. Otherwise they would occur much more often than they do. What Trotsky and Lenin epitomized was the development of whole layers of like-minded cadre in turn of the 20th century Eastern Europe. Not at their level but more than adequate to carry out the revolution. Kote, as Trotsky notes in his obituary represents just such a cadre, particularly those who did not emigrate before the October revolution. Kote fought through three revolutions, underground when necessary, above ground when possible. He fought to defend the revolution throughout the civil war. When the revolution showed signs of degeneration he joined the opposition. In short, the consummate revolutionary. Such men are dangerous. Particularly to those who want to rein in the revolutionary struggle. Trotsky posed this question concerning the life and death of Kote-Where are the revolutionaries in the West who could measure up to the tasks of the revolution like Kote? That question says all that needs to be said about the plight of the Western socialist movement. We must do better.

      Trotsky wrote reams of material about the effects of Stalinization on the Soviet political system. He spent the last part of his life politically fighting that process. Yet this writer believes that Trotsky never got a full handle on Stalin’s personality. For that matter this writer is still befuddled by that personality. Why? After analyzing all the social forces that contributed to the victory of Stalinism one is still left with the problem of how Stalin, given his personal style, was able to organize his victory. The case of Abel Yenukidze provides a window in that process. If Kote represented the vanguard of the internationalist fighters, the historically-motivated then Abel represented the ex-revolutionary turned bureaucrat- with this caveat. He truly believed Stalin represented the best course for Russian socialism even though he had some sympathies for the Left Opposition. And he paid with his life for that belief in Stalin. One cannot understand the 1930’s culminating in the Great Purges without understanding this. The greatest numbers of victims were Stalinists of an earlier period- the true believers or at least those who went along. All that survived later were those who knew how to survive under any political regime- toadies. Sometimes in history there is no middle ground. This was one of those times. Read this book and draw your own conclusions on this political question.