Monday, December 10, 2018

From The Living Archives Of Boston Veterans For Peace-They Ain't Your Grandfather's Veterans- A Few Notes For The General Meeting On The Poor Peoples Campaign Of 1968 As Food For Thought As We Prepare From The Second And Hopefully Final Campaign in 2018


From The Living Archives Of Boston Veterans For Peace-They Ain't Your Grandfather's Veterans- A Few Notes For The General Meeting On The Poor Peoples Campaign Of 1968 As Food For Thought As We Prepare From The Second And Hopefully Final Campaign in 2018
    

[Ralph Morris who has lived in Troy, New York most of his life, been raised there and raised his own family there, went to war, the bloody, horrendous Vietnam War which he has made plain many times he will never live down, never get over what he did, what he saw others do, and most importantly for the long haul, what his evil government did with no remorse to people in that benighted country with whom he had no quarrel never was much for organizations, joining organizations when he was young until he came up a group formed in the fire of the Vietnam War protests -Vietnam Veteran Against the War (VVAW) which he joined after watching a contingent of them pass by in silent march protesting the war in downtown Albany one fall afternoon. Somebody in that contingent with a microphone called out to any veterans observing the march who had had enough of war, had felt like that did to “fall in” (an old army term well if bitterly remembered). He did and has never looked back although for the past many years his affiliation has been with a subsequent anti-war veterans’ group Veterans for Peace.  

Sam Eaton, who has lived in Carver, Massachusetts, most of his life, been raised there and raised his own family there, and did not go to war. Did not go for the simple reason that due to a severe childhood accident which left him limping severely thereafter he was declared no fit for military duty, 4-F the term the local draft board used. He too had not been much for organizations, joining organizations when he was young. That is until his best friend from high school, Jeff Mullins, died in hell-hole Vietnam and before he had died asked Sam that if anything happened to him to let the world that he had done things, had seen others do things, and most importantly for the long haul, what his evil government did with no remorse to people in that benighted country with whom he had no quarrel. As part of honoring Jeff’s request after Sam found out about his death he was like a whirling dervish joining one anti-war action after another, joining one ad hoc group, each more radical than the previous one as the war ground away, ground all rational approach vapid, let nothing left but to go left, until the fateful day when he met Ralph down in Washington, D.C.

That was when both in their respective collectives, Ralph in VVAW and Sam in Cambridge Red Front, were collectively attempting one last desperate effort to end the war by closing down the government if it would not shut down the war. All they got for their efforts were tear gas, police batons, and arrest bracelets and a trip to the bastinado which was the floor of Robert F. Kennedy stadium which is where they would meet after Sam noticed Ralph’s VVAW pin and told him about Jeff and his request. That experience would form a lasting friendship including several years ago Sam joining Ralph’s Veterans for Peace as a supporter, an active supporter still trying to honor his long- gone friend’s request and memory.

No one least of all either of them would claim they were organizing geniuses, far from it but over the years they participated, maybe even helped organize many anti-war events. One day their friend, Josh Breslin, who writes a by-line at this publication, and who is also a veteran asked them to send some of events they had participated in here to form a sort of living archives of the few remaining activist groupings in this country, in America who are still waging the struggle for peace.

Periodically, since we are something of a clearing house and historic memory for leftist activities, we will put their archival experiences into our archives. As mentioned above Sam and Ralph “met” each other down in Washington, D.C. during the May Day anti-war demonstrations of 1971 when out of desperation clots of anti-war radicals, veterans and civilians alike, tried unsuccessfully to shut down the government if it would not shut down the war. They “met,” their in forever quotation marks not mine, on the floor of Robert F. Kennedy football stadium after they had been arrested along with members of their respective collectives, Ralph’s VVAW and Sam’s Red Front Brigade after getting nothing but tear gas, police batons and a ride in the paddy wagon for their efforts. What they were doing, what for each of the them, according to Josh Breslin who met them shortly after they got “sprung,” also then a member of VVAW and also arrested by had been held in a D.C. city jail, were their first acts of civil disobedience. The first of a long time of such actions which is the lead in to the archival material presented in this piece.

Josh, who introduced the pair to me several years ago when I first came on board to manage the day to day operations of this publication after Allan Jackson, aging and ready to retire, brought me on board for that purpose so he could work on where the publication was heading. He mentioned the Washington action as their calling card although then, in 1971, I was about a decade too young to have realized what they were doing and how important it was for their future political trajectories, their political commitments to “fight the monster,” their term, on the questions of war and peace and other social issues. Not have realized, not having done any such actions how important civil disobedience, or the threat of such actions was, is to their political perspectives.

[By the way, as Josh was at pains under pressure from Ralph and Sam, to report to me that May Day action was not the first attempt by either man to “get arrested,” to “put their bodies on the line” as Sam articulated it to me one night when we were putting this piece together. May Day was just the first time when the cops, National Guard, Regular Army was willing, with a vengeance, to take them up on the offer. Both men had tried repeatedly to get arrested “sitting down” at their respective local draft boards in Carver and Troy in order to warn off young men on signing up for the draft. Maybe it was the nature of the times but the local police would not arrest them.]

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A Few Notes For The General Meeting On The Poor Peoples Campaign Of 1968 As Food For Thought As We Prepare From The Second And Hopefully Final Campaign in 2018


[As many of you know this is the 50th anniversary of the original Poor Peoples Campaign of 1968. Over the past several months to a year various individuals and organizations have organized around many of those original themes of bringing the poor into some kind of equality in this society. Over the next several weeks there will be weekly actions here locally and a mass rally in Washington around specific grievances. Smedley is knee-deep in the local planning so to give some thoughts about the original campaign is what our May GM discussion period is about. Since we have a big agenda I have written some notes so that we can go to the discussion part directly and save some time. These notes will also be in hard copy at the GM. Allan  Jackson] 
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As a long ago philosopher pointed out those who do not remember history are condemned to relive it. That point is what drives this discussion about what happened to the first Poor Peoples Campaign in 1968. It does not pretend to be all-inclusive nor more than one person’s take on those times and that event.


At the most general level the original PPC was a dramatic defeat for the struggles of the poor and oppressed of this country. To understand some of the reasons behind that defeat beyond the murder of the prime mover of the campaign Doctor King will help us to push forward. In a sense the PPC was poorly timed since 1968 as many of us older activists know was a hell-bent year with the Tet offensive finally showing Americans we could not “win” in Vietnam, the refusal of the sitting president, LBJ, to run again, the two assassinations of iconic progressive figures in King and Bobby Kennedy who were in their respective ways driving forces behind the campaign, the turmoil in the streets here and internationally with the May Days in France and the chaos and horror of the Democratic Convention in the summer of that year. So the PPC had to fight for breathe against those more dramatic events and got pushed to the side rather easily especially after King’s murder and some inner turmoil and in-fighting among the leadership.


The PPC was ill-timed and ill-starred in another way. Frankly the heroic black civil rights struggle down South which brought about massive increases in voting rights and some other positive benefits did not after 1965 put much of a dent in the oppression of black people and other minorities around housing, jobs, education, healthcare and the like. With the Vietnam War sucking the life out of Lyndon Johnson’s modern day version of “forty acres and a mule” the war on poverty at a governmental level fell apart. Liberals, governmental and private citizens, began the long retreat away from governmental attempts to alleviate poverty which continues to this day witness the demise of the social welfare programs started under the Clinton administration. Moreover a reaction set in around the question of race when the cities started burning up as a result of the denial of legitimate grievances by the black community and its allies in other minority communities.

The elephant in the room though and fifty years of myth creation around the hallowed name of Doctor King cannot cover the fact up that he as a leader of the black community had lost some authority by pre-Vietnam speech 1967, has been upended by more militant blacks from various vocal anti-integrationist black nationalists to the upfront romantic if doomed Black Panthers. Think about the evolution of the previously integrated SNCC once black power became a widespread slogan, especially among the young non-churched types. King was the number one symbol of black integration when the moods in the black community was heading elsewhere. Those of us in the military in those days got a taste of that in off-hours when there was very little interaction between the races. King through his belated and now famous anti-Vietnam War speech and his support of the sanitation workers in Memphis was making something of a “comeback” and the PPC was to be at least the symbolic way to get his agenda back on the front pages.


This political, social and personal backdrop does not take away from what was attempted, and what was necessary given the other factors particularly the retreat by the liberals from advocacy of many social programs and the hostility of others to even dealing with the poverty problem any longer. A look at the PPC program tells us that much. It also highlights not only the social reality of the times but that like the heroic struggle for formal civils rights the poor and oppressed were going to have to fight for the better housing, healthcare, education and the like since few others were committed to their cause. The need for the poor and oppressed to lead and fight for what they need which never really happened in 1968 and is the wave of the future of the current campaigns really is the only long-term way forward in order to break the cycle of poverty and the pathologies that gut-level struggle for survival engenders. Something which grouping up in the projects I was personally painfully aware of as a kid.


A few nuts and bolts facts about the 1968 PPC will show that many of the same issues still need addressing, some of the same organizing tactics are in play as well from multiracial, multicultural meetings of poor people and their advocates which the ruling class in its constant strategy of “divide and conquer” hates to see to some programmatic demands. In March of 1968 many poverty-centered organizations like the National Welfare Rights Organization and the Southern Regional Council joined with Doctor King’s organization, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, in Atlantic to forge a common program to fight on. To list the three major demands today seems utopian (and way underestimating the money that would be needed today) but still necessary to fight around:


  • $30 billion annual appropriation for a real war on poverty
  • Congressional passage of full employment and guaranteed income legislation [a guaranteed annual wage]
  • Construction of 500,000 low-cost housing units per year until slums were eliminated
To highlight these demands the campaign would be divided into three phases, the first to create a permitted shanty town of several thousand people which came to be called Resurrection City on the National Mall, the second to begin protest demonstrations and mass non-violent civil disobedience actions and third to take actions to generate mass arrests like those which brought national attention to the plight of blacks in the South around voting rights. The latter two phases are the touchstone of the 2018 campaign as well.


To bring people to Washington several “caravans” were organized from all regions of the country to meet in June of 1968 with a big solidarity rally which brought some 50, 000 people to D.C. to join the estimated 3000 that were “residing” on the Mall.  


Bayard Rustin put forth a proposal for an “Economic Bill of Rights” for Solidarity Day that called for the federal government to most of which still are the wave of the future:


Recommit to the Full Employment Act of 1946 and legislate the immediate creation of at least one million socially useful career jobs in public service, adopt the pending housing and urban development act of 1968, repeal the 90th Congress’s punitive welfare restrictions in the 1967 Social Security Act, extend to all farm workers the right–guaranteed under the National Labor Relations Act–to organize agricultural labor unions, and restore budget cuts for bilingual education, Head Start, summer jobs, Economic Opportunity Act, Elementary and Secondary Education Acts


I have addressed some of the problems and social conditions which helped undermine that first campaign and others can add more from their recollections of the times including the question of post-King murder leadership and in-fighting. Hopefully the latter will not be an issue in the new movement.      


There are some differences in the current campaign from that of 1968 that I think are worth noting as we gear up the campaign. First, if we are to be successful this time, real poor people and members of oppressed communities will have to take leadership roles, make their mistakes and learn from them. Just like we did, do. Our role is one of support to see that such leadership emerges which I believe was a real short-coming of the “professional” organizer from Doctor King on down model in 1968. Second we are “demanding” similar programs to those of 1968 but not “begging” the government to implement as some criticized the 1968 campaign for doing. Lastly, and unfortunately, there are several more issues that the 1968 campaign did not have to address as forcefully like an end to mass black and Latino incarceration and the war on drugs which has decimated communities of color and sapped it of a young, mostly male, leadership component.       






POOR PEOPLES CAMPAIGN-2018
Our State leader is Sara Marr, a black woman Veteran.  She has asked Dan Lane and the Smedleys to support her and this movement. The Poor Peoples Campaign is a continuation of MLK’s 1967 1968 Poor people Campaign 50 years later. The same issues that were being demanded to change in 1968 are still oppressing the majority of the people of this country. If you missed participating in the first one, here is your second chance. The Campaign will involve at least 41 states doing an action each week, at each state’s “State House.” This will happen each Monday in all 41 states, for 6 weeks and culminate in week 6, when each state is going to load up the busses and go to Washington DC mall.
Week One: May 14: Disabled, Homeless, Children, Women, and Youth. Somebody is hurting our people.
Week Two: May 21: Immigration Rights and Voting Rights. Connecting Systemic racism
Week Three: May 28: Veterans, War and Militarism “War Economy”, Military Industrial Complex, Homeless Veterans, Stop Privatization of the VA
Week Four: June 4: Right to Health Care and Climate Change
Week Five: June 11: Right to Live: Fight for $15; Housing; PCAs (Personal Care Assistants)
Week Six: June 18: Challenging the Narrative: Moral Fusion Movement in DC (load up the busses we are coming!)
Saturday, June 23: Major Actions in DC
Week Three: May 28: Veterans, War and Militarism “War Economy”, Military Industrial Complex, Homeless Veterans, Stop Privatization of the VA
This is us!  This our chance to get our mission statement out about the War Economy and the MIC!  Dan Lane has been appointed State Steering Committee Chair for Week 3 “The War Economy” and asks VFP Boston “The Smedleys” to take the lead on this with him.  Allan Jackson and Jeff Bryer have volunteered to be part of the War Economy Committee leadership. We will be working with some of our old allies, Mass Peace Action and Cole, to name one and many new allies forming a coalition to support us in getting our “War Economy” message out on a large and hopefully state-wide platform, as part of a national platform. Can we support and put our efforts into this, Sara says she has connections to many other Veterans Service Organizations.  This may be a chance to reach out to other vets in groups like VFW, American Legion, etc. that may have individuals who support the Poor People’s Campaign.
What do you say……….We missed the first Poor Peoples Campaign in 68 are we going to be a big part of this one? If you want to help with putting this together, please sign up on the Working Committee sheet and be ready to hit the ground running at the end of April!

From The Marxist Archives- On the Need for a Workers Party

From The Marxist Archives- On the Need for a Workers Party


Workers Vanguard No. 1126
26 January 2018

TROTSKY

LENIN
On the Need for a Workers Party
(Quote of the Week)
This January marks the anniversary of the 1938 founding conference of the Socialist Workers Party (SWP), which was the U.S. section of Leon Trotsky’s Fourth International. We reprint below excerpts from the SWP’s Declaration of Principles on the need for a Leninist vanguard party to lead the proletariat in the fight for socialist revolution. In the early 1960s, the founding cadres of the Spartacist League fought within the SWP to uphold this understanding. They were bureaucratically expelled for opposing the SWP’s deepening capitulation to non-working-class political forces—from Fidel Castro’s petty-bourgeois guerrilla fighters in Cuba to the misleaders of the black struggle in the U.S., particularly black nationalists. Today, the program of the International Communist League, including the fight to reforge the Fourth International, represents the Marxist continuity of the revolutionary SWP.
The working class, under capitalism and in the initial stages of the socialist revolution, is neither economically nor socially nor ideologically homogeneous. It is united in terms of fundamental historical class interest, and by the urgent needs of the daily class struggle. However, it still remains divided by different income levels and working conditions, by religion, nationality, culture, sex, age. Through the perverting influence of capitalist oppression and propaganda, it is further divided by conflicting ideologies, and weakened by the low cultural and educational level of many of its members. There are, moreover, the divisions between various sections of the working class and its potential allies in the revolutionary struggle. For these reasons, the working class cannot, as a whole or spontaneously, directly plan and guide its own struggle for power. For this, a directing staff, a conscious vanguard, arising out of the ranks of the proletariat and based upon it, participating actively in the day-by-day struggles of the workers and in all progressive struggles, and planning clear-sightedly the broader strategy of the longer-term struggle for state power and socialism, is indispensable. This staff and vanguard constitutes the revolutionary party....
The program of the revolutionary party rests upon the great principles of revolutionary Marxism expounded by Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Trotsky, and representing the summation of experience of the working class in its struggle for power. These principles have been verified in particular in the experiences of the last world war and by the victory of the Russian proletarian revolution. They have been concretized in the basic documents of the first four congresses of the Communist International and the fundamental programmatic documents put forward by the movement for the Fourth International in the past fourteen years. The SWP stands upon the main line of principle developed in these documents.
— Declaration of Principles,” printed in The Founding of the Socialist Workers Party (Monad Press, 1982)

The Resurrection And The Light-The 50th Anniversary Revival Of Doctor King’s Poor People’s Campaign-Join Us, Join The Struggle Against Poverty-Join The Resistance

The Resurrection And The Light-The 50th Anniversary Revival Of Doctor King’s Poor People’s Campaign-Join Us, Join The Struggle Against Poverty-Join The Resistance  


By Leslie Dumont

Doctor Martin Luther King was personally a brave man. Brave in that understated way that young women like myself could admire and follow if it came down to that as it had down in hell-hole Alabama, Mississippi, North Carolina, all those places where the anguished cries for justice could be heard. Bravely withstood jails, beatings and blood.   

I was a young girl actually since I was only twelve when the whirlwind of 1968 hit my home in Cambridge, North Cambridge like a storm (although social and cultural movement like the folk and poetry music period of the early 1960s, the bulk of the black civil rights struggle as it headed north, the draft resistance and anti-Vietnam War protests which were a daily occurrence happening right down the street in Harvard Square). The Tet offensive in Vietnam by the North Vietnamese which meant that the war there was far from over and that I had a sneaking suspicion filtered down by my father that America was on the short end of the stick as far was winning went. Doctor King’s death which left his last great project The Poor People’s Campaign the revival of which I am introducing here. Ruthless, idealistic beautiful Robert Kennedy dead as well so that the hopes for a “newer world” he kept touting would be stalled, continue to be stalled. The disaster of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, a bloodbath that I wept tears for a long time. All too much for a twelve year old girl to understand, to take in. Still hard fifty years later when 2018 places all those events before the still-divided, cold civil war divided, country again.             

The war, the Vietnam War, Sam Lowell keeps telling me we have to reference which war for the younger crowd to distinguish that war from the myriad others the American government has pursued or purchased proxies for since then, took the stuffing out of a lot of other social movements, other points on the national social agency. That stuffing being pulled including the War on Poverty that then President thought might be his legacy but which went to ground in the rice fields and highlands of Vietnam. Like I say I was too young to appreciate all of that, of the lost. But I still kept thinking and reading about it, about how to reduce the poverty around that was not doing anybody any good. My father, my late father, was deeply concerned about the poverty issue especially the white Appalachian Mountains poverty from whence he came. He had this book, this The Other America by Michael Harrington which dealt with just that neglected (and still neglected) rural poverty, in his library which I asked him about after I read it.  He told me some stories about his growing up dirt poor with nothing to hang onto but some bastardized dream of getting the hell out of there one way or another.

So I was very disappointed, very concerned when the first Poor People’s Campaign, the Resurrection City campaign down in Washington produced nothing, or not enough to banish poverty from this great over abundant country. And now in some truly ironic twist of silly fate there is a movement, a recent movement, afloat to go back to the ideas presented in Doctor King’s dream of eradicating poverty. The damnation is that in the 2018 as in 1968 the poor are still with us and still need champions working like seven dervishes to get the story back on the public agenda. Good luck to you, good luck to me too since unlike that twelve and too young to fathom the whole thing I am ready to roll now.

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Once Again On The Cultural Front of The 1960s Uprising-The 50th Anniversary Of The Musical “Hair” On Broadway-A Few Thoughts

Once Again On The Cultural Front of The 1960s Uprising-The 50th Anniversary Of The Musical “Hair” On Broadway-A Few Thoughts 



A link to an National Public Radio On Point program featuring the 50th anniversary of the musical and it meaning then, and now:

http://www.wbur.org/onpoint/2018/05/04/fifty-years-of-hair 



By Si Lannon


The first time I heard that Seth Garth was going to preempt political aficionado Frank Jackman and do the 200th anniversary of the birth of Communist Manifesto writer Karl Marx was upon publication under the former’s name. Which pisses me off since I have been squeezed out apparently of getting any assignments around the incredible number of 1968 events which are having their 50th anniversary commemorations. (The Marx 200th birthday anniversary thing intersects 1968 via a then growing interest in his theories among students and young radicals once the old tactics and strategy around Democratic Party takeover politics went asunder.) Upon privately complaining to site manager Greg Green he gave me this assignment to make a few comments of the 50th anniversary of the musical Hair, on Broadway at least although it had been off-Broadway the year before, one of the few musicals that could have possibly captured some of the pathos, bathos and essence of what was going on in all its messy splendor in that year.

Hair represented that trend away from goodie two shoes formula entertainment like song and dance musicals and thinly pitched family dramatic productions. That represented what the audiences of the 1950s were interested in and still had, have a place in the Great White Way scheme of things. But the unacknowledged (at the time not so now once the cultural critics took their long look at the subject) effect of the vanguard work that was being done in little theaters for little money for little audiences finally took root. Artaud’s Theater of the Absurd, Brecht’s didactic efforts and the like finally found a more receptive general audience. So Hair in 1967-68 did not raise as many hairs (no pun intended among the theater going public as it might have earlier in the decade when it would have been treated as an end of run “beat” saga. That is no to say the subject of intense profanity, vivid sexual reference, an interracial cast and endless paeans to drugs of all sorts didn’t raise hackles, didn’t have members of the audience walking out shaking their heads but as word got out that this was a generational sage for the agents of the Age of Aquarius the thing couldn’t be stopped. And as one voice in the above-mentioned link noted she was still playing in, albeit in Vermont one of the last real refuses of the survivors of the Generation of ’68 along with the Oregon woods and maybe Seattle now that nobody with any left-over hippie aspiration could afford to live in any part of San Francisco except maybe the streets, is still being produced someplace in this wild wicked old land.         

In a funny sort of way the saga of Hair almost accidently traced the line of the 1960s explosion but more importantly in one place stamped “youth nation” as a tribal village like it had never been before, although you could have seen around the edges of it all the way back to the wild boys of the West Coast in their souped up jalopies and hot rods with a “don’t give fuck” about the golden age of American prosperity aborning, the bad boys offspring of the Okie migration that said the more menacing “fuck you up” of the outlaw bikers with their big “hogs” and larcenous hearts, the alienated teen angst misunderstood “please don’t fuck with my head” rebel without a cause types who cooled on James Dean, and the “fuck, fuck, fuck” beat boys talking a blue streak about junkies, negro streets and jailbreaks. And you wonder why youth nation jumped right in the middle of all this when the social situation ran up against racial segregation, sexual uptightness, the fucking war in Vietnam which formed on the corners that Hair hung its hat on since every single guy, and it was all guys then, from the most gung ho Green Beret film watcher to the most ardent draft resister had to deal with the draft and the generational question-go or resist-and the weird queer drag queen fag baiting and women’s liberation.

That draft issue, that each and every guy and by extension their lovers, caught between a rock and a hard place was no joke. Was centrally why Hair spoke to a generation struggling with that very issue-to go or resist- a question that the parents’ generation had almost no conception of since they had fought, or waited anxiously at the door, in their “good war” and could not understand their kids and their idea that maybe going off to kill people, poor people, who they had no quarrel had to be thought about. Claude, a lead character had plenty to think about doped up to the gills or not. The other stuff about race, sex, dope, the signs of the Zodiac, karma, mediation, oneness with the world flow from that central concern.

It wasn’t all beautiful by any means and the threads that hung “youth nation” together came asunder readily enough once the counter-offensive by the night-takers began in earnest (and as Seth Garth and Frank Jackman have said we have been fighting a forty plus year cultural rearguard action against the bastards ever since with no letup in sight). Even in the halcyon days of the Summer of Love in 1967 which is the framework a lot of us had from my town under the guidance of the one and only Scribe, the late Peter Paul Markin who in the end fell under the bus himself, there was plenty of bad stuff going with people ripping people off for drugs, food, anything that was not nailed down. But that was a side issue like many things when something new is trying to breakout and not everybody is as pure as the driven snow and who knows who will show up.

The Captain Crunch-led converted yellow brick road bus we ran up and down the Pacific Coast Highway on picking up vagrant travelers and the wanderers of the youth nation world mostly were seekers, ranters, good people to have on your side when you are trying create a newer world out of what late capitalism and its social norms had left us to pick up the pieces with.

Like I said not everybody, not the Scribe in the end, could go the distance and once that critical mass which sustained the youth nation lost it love of plainsong, of seeking for the mysteries of the universe in a million different ways from tarot cards to LSD and everything in between, and the sense that we could win the drift went against us as people headed back to the confines of late capitalist bourgeois society. Headed back from that youthful detour, except of course those small enclaves mentioned earlier still existing in places like Vermont and Oregon if you ever get up that way. Everybody has some timeline for when the whole thing ebbed, after the hellish 1968 year of events being the prime candidate but that was/is for academics to ferret out. As Frank Jackman has said repeating what the Scribe said before he fell off the world-Wasn’t that a time, yeah, wasn’t that a time.



What's In A Name, Woody Allen?

DVD REVIEW

Zelig, Woody Allen, 1983

Trying to figure out a header for this review epitomizes the problems that I have with this very middling Woody Allen film. Readers of this space know that I have done many reviews of Allen’s films, as actor, director or both but this one annoys me no end. In short, not all Woody Allen movies are created equal. The premise behind this one is potentially interesting, perhaps more so today than when the film was originally produced- a send up of our celebrity-crazed society. With Allen as a human chameleon in the Jazz Age there certainly were possibilities for a funny look at how the geeks looked at a fellow geek but it falls flat. Why? I believe that here Allen just went back and found every sign gag and cliché that he had already used in many previous films- the obligatory nod (or is it finger?) to Freud, Marx, the New York intelligentsia (here Irving Howe of Dystenary fame and Susan Sontag), Jewish childhoods, fascination with gentile women (here Mia Farrow, as an chain smoking experimental psychiatrist) and so forth. If this list sounds familiar to Allen fans then you have the sense of my feelings on this film. Woody flat ran out of steam on this one. Fortunately, there is plenty of other better work by Allen to pick from. Do so.

Sunday, December 09, 2018

From The Archives Of “American Left History”-An Analysis And A Summing Up After His First Year By Site Manager Greg Green


From The Archives Of “American Left History”-An Analysis And A Summing Up After His First Year By Site Manager Greg Green-Armistice Day 2018 


November 14, 2018 marked the first anniversary of my officially becoming site manager at this publication and in acknowledgement of that tight touch first year I started going back to the archives here from the time this publication went to totally on-line existence due to financial considerations in 2006. (Previously from its inception in 1974 it had been hard copy for many years and then in the early 2000s was both hard copy and on-line before turning solely to on-line publication.) This first year has been hard starting with the residue of the “water-cooler fist fight” started by some of the younger writers who balked at the incessant coverage of the 1960s, highlighted in 2017 by the 50th anniversary commemorations of the Summer of Love, 1967 ordered by previous site manager Allan Jackson. They had not even been born, had had to consult in many cases parents and the older writers here when Allan assigned them say a review of the Jefferson Airplane rock band which dominated the San Francisco scene at the height of the 1960s. That balking led to a decisive vote of “no confidence” requested by the “youth cabal” in the Jackson regime and replacement by me. You can read all about the various “takes” on the situation in these very archives from the fall of 2017 on if you can stand it. If you want to know if Allan was “purged,” “sent into exile,” variously ran a whorehouse in San Francisco with old flame Madame LaRue or shacked up with a drag queen named Miss Judy Garland or sold out to the Mormons to get a press agent job with the Mitt Romney for Senate campaign after he left here it is all there. I, having been brought in by Allan from American Film Gazette to run the day to day operations as he concentrated on “the big picture” stayed on the sidelines, didn’t have a vote in any case since I was only on “probation.”        

A lot of the rocky road I faced was of my own making early on since to make my mark, and to look toward the future I came up with what even I now see as a silly idea of trying to reach a younger demographic (than the 1960s devotees who have sustained this publication since its founding). I went on a crash program of having writers, young and old, do reviews of Marvel/DC cinematic comic book characters, graphic novels, hip-hop, techno music and such. The blow-back came fast and furious by young and old writers alike and so the Editorial Board that had been put in place in the wake of Allan’s departure called a halt to that direction. A lot of the reasons why I am presenting the archival material along with this piece is both to see where we can go from here that makes sense to the Ed Board and through that body the cohort of writers who grace this publication and which deals with the reality of a fading demographic as the “Generation of ’68” passes on. Additionally, like every publication hard copy or on-line, we receive much material we can’t or won’t use although that too falls into the archives so here is a chance to give that material a “second life.”    

 

From The 2017 Archives- French Rocker Johnny Halliday Passes At 74-Hail, Hail Rock and Roll-“The Greatest Rocker You Have Never Heard Of”

From The 2017 Archives- French Rocker Johnny Halliday Passes At 74-Hail, Hail Rock and Roll-“The Greatest Rocker You Have Never Heard Of”    






By Josh Breslin

[As of December 1, 2017 under the new regime of Greg Green, formerly of the on-line American Film Gazette website, brought in to shake things up a bit after a vote of no confidence in the previous site administrator Peter Markin was taken among all the writers at the request of some of the younger writers abetted by one key older writer, Sam Lowell, the habit of assigning writers to specific topics like film, books, political commentary, and culture is over. Also over is the designation of writers in this space, young or old, by job title like senior or associate. After a short-lived experiment designating everybody as “writer” seemingly in emulation of the French Revolution’s “citizen” or the Bolshevik Revolution’s “comrade” all posts will be “signed” with given names only. The Editorial Board]

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If you have read the above note you know that there has been great internal turmoil on this site of late with the “exile” to as of today an unknown place Allan Jackson (who used the moniker Peter Paul Markin on this site, a man he knew from high school and I knew from meeting out in the Summer of Love, 1967 San Francisco) the former site administrator, really managing editor and publisher combined. A commentary on a passing public figure, in this case legendary rocker, Johnny Halliday, the French “Elvis” of cancer at 74 would not normally be the place to bring up those squabbles however enlightening in other contexts. But as noted in the headline of this piece Johnny was according to more than one source “the greatest rocker that you have never heard of.”  At least in the English-speaking world that he was never able to break into.       

As I write this short tribute/commentary I have just noticed on the news feed that in Paris something like a million people have lined the streets of Paris, including every high-ranking dignitary and political of the past generation, to bid farewell to Johnny as the casket goes by. And every self-respecting French “Motorcycle Bill” as well so you can see that in France he was without any doubt he was beloved. The place where Johnny virtually unknown in America and the recently concluded internal strife at American Left History meet is what I want to mention since it was at least partially Allan’s stubbornness which if you check the archives makes not a single mention of Johnny despite the overwhelming space given to his, our growing up rock and roll music which has been given more than amble space. More than amble space for Anglo-American rock and roll but has given, had consciously given, short shrift to other rock and roll traditions, I guess you would call it “world music” traditions due entirely to the whims of Allan Jackman. (I would note here that I whole-heartedly supported Allan in the struggle against the “Young Turks” but he certainly was, is a man who had his short-comings including a certain narrowing of subject matter vision with age.)

As I have mentioned I have known Allan for a long time and up until a few years ago he acted much as he had when I first met him out in San Francisco those many years ago when we were all trying to turn the world upside down but then something changed, maybe like Zack James, one of the “Young Turks” noted, he just grew old (he is over seventy)-and cranky. He just wanted to withdraw back to that 1960s personal experience stuff and the hell with the rest of it. Part of the problem I think is that Allan finally realized that he would not outshine the long gone and still lamented despite his tragic and unnecessary fate Scribe’s star (the “real” Markin moniker). Even back in the day he was always in the shadow of Scribe, always a bit off-putting when around him. That is why the direct causes of his downfall, the eternal Dylan syndrome and the over-the-top stuff around the Summer of Love, loomed so large since he had somehow staked his whole reputation to finally best Scribe on those twice pillars. Twin pillars of sand.

Lest you think that I am getting off point here, not doing real justice to the late Johnny Halliday far from it. This fatal flaw stubbornness, obtuseness in Allan was always somewhere in the background. Where it came up in relationship to Johnny (and the whole emergence of “world music” in Johnny’s wake, or a strand of it anyway) was that narrow definition in his mind of rock and roll being in a time warp from about 1955 to 1965 and anything after or different did not exist. And in America with a slight tolerance for England. It might have been worse since he hated the Beatles (as in truth we all did mocking them as a modern day vaudeville act, what they call in England a music hall act except when they covered American rock and roll songs from the 1950s from guys like Chuck Berry) but loved the Stones to perdition since they cherished the blues root of rock as much as he did (under Scribe’s guidance I might add). Beyond that if you asked him to assign you say African drum music, or Latin America rhumbas, he would frown that imperial frown that said no dice, forget it, get out of town.       


But you see I, maybe alone in America, in critic circles anyway, knew Johnny Halliday as part of my growing up rock and roll immersion back in the 1960s during my high school days (Class of 1967). I grew up in Olde Saco in Maine, in French-Canadian come down form the farms in Quebec to the Maine and New Hampshire mill towns to find that pot of American streets gold through my mother (nee LeBlanc) so I spoke the patois growing up as much as English. Knew from cousins in Quebec this big Johnny Elvis-like sound coming from France-rock and roll in French forget the Maurice Chevalier chanson noise my mother loved. Belt out rock for bikers, babes and be-boppers to go crazy over. I tried more than a few times to get Allan interested in my doing stuff on Johnny over the years so that he could get a hearing in the English-speaking world. A little beachhead as Elvis, as the Stones found out would go a long way. So this site, Allan, must take their small part as millions of French people bid their Johnny adieu is why he is the greatest rocker you have never heard of. Meanwhile, RIP, Johnny, RIP.    

Support The Class-War Prisoners During The Holidays-Support The Partisan Defense Committee’s Holiday Appeal- Help Build The Resistance

Support The Class-War Prisoners During The Holidays-Support The Partisan Defense Committee’s Holiday Appeal- Help Build The Resistance 




By Josh Breslin 

My yearly comment on behalf of the Holiday Appeal

I like to think of myself as a long-time fervent supporter of the Partisan Defense Committee, an organization committed to social and political defense cases and causes in the interests of the international working class. Cases from early on in the 1970s when the organization was founded and the committee defended the Black Panthers who were being targeted by every police agency that had an say in the matter, the almost abandoned by the left Weather Underground (in its various incantations) and Chilean miners in the wake of the Pinochet coup there in 1973 up to more recent times with the Mumia death penalty case, defense of the Occupy movement and the NATO three, and defense of the heroic Wiki-leaks whistle-blower Chelsea Manning (formerly Bradley) and more recently the courageous anti-fascist fighters who have been rounded up for protesting the alt-right, Nazi, KKK, white supremacist bastards.      

Moreover the PDC is an organization committed, at this time of the year, to raising funds to support the class-war prisoners’ stipend program through the annual Holiday Appeal drive. Unfortunately having to raise these funds in support of political prisoners for many years now, too many years, as the American and international capitalist class and their hangers-on have declared relentless war, recently a very one-sided war, against those who would cry out against the monster. Attempting to silence voices from zealous lawyers like the late Lynne Stewart, articulate death-row prisoners like Mumia and the late Tookie Williams, the Anti-fa anti-fascist street fighters to black liberation fighters like the Assata Shakur, the Omaha Three and the Angola Three and who ended up on the wrong side of a cop and state vendetta and anti-imperialist fighters like the working-class based Ohio Seven and student-based Weather Underground who took Che Guevara’s admonition to wage battle inside the “belly of the beast” seriously. Of course a couple of years ago  we lost Hugo Pinell, George Jackson’s comrade-in-arms from the San Quentin Six to a murderous vendetta. Others, other militant labor and social liberation fighters as well, too numerous to mention here but remembered.

Normally I do not need any prompting in the matter. One year though, and it now bears repeating each year, after I read the 25th Anniversary Appeal article in Workers Vanguard No. 969 I was startled to note how many of the names, organizations, and political philosophies mentioned there hark back to my own radical coming of age, and the need for class-struggle defense of all our political prisoners in the late 1960s (although I may not have used that exact term at the time).

That recognition included names like black liberation fighter George Jackson’s present class-war prisoner the late Hugo Pinell’s San Quentin Six comrade; the Black Panthers in their better days, the days when the American state really was out to kill or detain every last supporter, and in the days when we needed, desperately needed, to fight for their defense in places from Oakland to New Haven,  as represented by two of the Omaha Three (Poindexter and the late wa Langa), in their younger days; the struggle, the fierce struggle, against the death penalty as represented in Mumia’s case today (also Black Panther-connected); the Ohio 7 and the Weather Underground who, rightly or wrongly, were committed to building a second front against American imperialism, and who most of the left, the respectable left, abandoned; and, of course, Leonard Peltier and the Native American struggles from Pine Ridge to the Southwest. It has been a long time and victories few. I could go on but you get the point.

That point also includes the hard fact that we have paid a high price, a very high price, for not winning back in the late 1960s and early 1970s when we last had this capitalist imperialist society on the ropes. Maybe it was political immaturity, maybe it was cranky theory, maybe it was elitism, hell, maybe it was just old-fashioned hubris but we let them off the hook. And have had to fight forty years of rear-guard “culture wars” since just to keep from falling further behind.

And the class-war prisoners, our class-war prisoners, have had to face their “justice” and their prisons. And this, as well, as a quick glance at the news these days should make every liberation fighter realize; the difference between being on one side of that prison wall and the other is a very close thing when the bourgeois decides to pull the hammer down. The support of class-war prisoners is thus not charity, as International Labor Defense founder James P. Cannon noted back in the 1920s, but a duty of those fighters outside the walls. Today I do my duty, and gladly. I urge others to do the same now at the holidays and throughout the year. 

The class-war prisoners must not stand alone. 
                                                                                                
PDC    
Box 99 Canal Street Station                        
New York, N.Y. 10013

Google Partisan Defense Committee for more information and updates 



When The King Of Rock And Roll Held Forth In The Acre Section Of North Adamsville -In Honor Of The Generation Of ’68-Or Those Who Graced Wild Child Part Of It -The Moment Bobby Blue “Blues Hour” Blew The Lip Off The Po’ White Corner Boy Night-Damn Right


When The King Of Rock And Roll Held Forth In The Acre Section Of North Adamsville -In Honor Of The Generation Of ’68-Or Those Who Graced Wild Child Part Of It -The Moment Bobby Blue “Blues Hour” Blew The Lip Off The Po’ White Corner Boy Night-Damn Right   








By Zack James

[Zack James has been on an assignment covering the various 50th anniversary commemorations of the year 1968 (and a few in 1967 and for the future 1969 which is to his mind something of a watershed year rather than his brother Alex and friends “generation of ‘68” designation they have wrapped themselves around) and therefore has not graced these pages for a while. Going through his paces on those assignments Zack realized that he was out of joint with his own generation, having been born in 1958 and therefore too young to have been present at the creation of what is now called, at least in the demographical-etched commercials, the classic age of rock and roll. Too young too for any sense of what a jailbreak that time was and a shortly later period which Seth Garth who was deep into the genre has called the ‘folk minute breeze” that ran rampart through the land say in the early 1960s. Too young as well to have been “washed clean,” not my term but Si Lannon’s since I am also too young to have been aware of the import by the second wave of rock, the acid rock period. Hell, this is enough of an introduction to re-introducing the legendary writer here. Lets’ leave it as Zack is back and let him go through his paces. Greg Green, site manager]    

Alex James was the king of rock and roll. Of course he was not really the king, the king being Elvis and no last name needed at least for the bulk of those who will read what I call a “think piece,” a piece about what all the commemorations of events a million years ago, or it like a million years ago even mentioning 50 or 60 year anniversaries, mean. What Alex was though was the conduit for my own musical experiences which have left me as a stepchild to five  important musical moments, the birth of rock and roll in the 1950s, the quick prairie fire called the “folk minute of the early 1960s and the resurgence with a vengeance of rock in the mid-1960s which for brevity’s sake call “acid” rock, along the way and intersecting that big three came a closeted “country outlaw moment” initiated by father time Hank Williams and carried through with vengeance by singers like Willie Nelson, Townes Van Zandt, and Waylon Jennings, and Muddy Waters and friends blues as the glue that bound what others who write here, Sam Lowell, in particular calls the Generation of ’68- a seminal year in many ways which I have been exploring for this and other publications. I am well placed to do since I was over a decade too young to have been washed over by the movements. But that step-child still sticks and one Alex James is the reason why.

This needs a short explanation. As should be apparent Alex James is my brother, my oldest brother, born in 1946 which means a lot in the chronology of what follows. My oldest brother as well in a family with seven children, five boys and two twin girls, me being the youngest of all born in 1958. As importantly this clan grew up in the dirt- poor working- class Acre, as in local lore Hell’s Acre, section of North Adamsville where my mother, under better circumstances, grew up and remained after marrying her World War II Marine my father from dirt poor Appalachia which will also become somewhat important later. To say we lacked for many of the things that others in that now seen “golden age” of American prosperity would be an understatement and forms the backdrop of how Alex kept himself somewhat sane with music although we didn’t even have a record player (the now ancient although retro revival way to hear music then) and he was forced when at home to “fight” for the family radio to get in touch with what was going on, what the late Pete Markin his best friend back then called “the great jailbreak.”     

A little about Alex’s trajectory is important too. He was a charter member along with the late Markin, Si Lannon, Sam Lowell, Seth Garth and Allan Jackson, the later four connected with this publication in various ways since its hard copy start in the 1970s, of the Tonio Pizza Parlor corner boys. These guys, and maybe it reflected their time and milieu, hung out at Tonio’s for the simple reason they never had money, or not enough, and while they were not above various acts of larceny and burglary mostly they hung around there to listen to the music coming out of Tonio’s to die for jukebox. That jukebox came alive in maybe 1955, 1956 when they first heard Elvis (and maybe others as well but Alex always insisted that he was the first to “discover” Elvis in his crowd.) Quickly that formed the backdrop of what Alex listened to for a few years until the genre spent a few years sagging with vanilla songs and beats. That same Markin, who the guys here have written about and I won’t, was the guy who turned Alex on to folk music via his desperate trips to Harvard Square up in Cambridge when he needed to get out of the hellish family household he dwelled in. The third prong of the musical triad was also initiated by Markin who made what everybody claims was a fatal mistake dropping out of Boston University in his sophomore year in 1967 to follow his dream, to “find” himself, to go west to San Francisco for what would be called the Summer of Love where he learned about the emerging acid rock scene (drugs, sex and rock and roll being one mantra). He dragged everybody, including Alex if you can believe this since he would subsequently come back and go to law school and become the staid successful lawyer he is today, out there with him for varying periods of time. (The fateful mistake on the part of Markin stemming from him dropping out at the wrong time, the escalation of the war in Vietnam subjecting him later to the draft and hell-hole Vietnam service while more than the others unhinged him and his dream.) The blues part came as mentioned as a component of the folk minute, part of the new wave rock revival and on its own. The country outlaw connections bears separate mention these days.  
       
That’s Alex’s story-line. My intersection with Alex’s musical trip was that one day after he had come back from a hard night at law school (he lived at home, worked during the day at some law firm  as some  kind of lacky, and went to law school nights studying the rest of the time) he went to his room and began playing a whole bunch of music starting I think with Bill Haley and the Comet’s Rock Around The Clock and kept playing stuff for a long time. Loudly. Too loudly for me to get to sleep and I went and knocked on his door to get him quiet down. When he opened the door he had on his record player   Jerry Lee Lewis’s High School Confidential. I flipped out. I know I must have heard Alex playing this stuff earlier, but it was kind of a blank before. Background music just like Mother’s listening to 1940s stuff on her precious ancient RCA radio in the kitchen. What happened then, what got me mesmerized as a twelve- year old was that this music “spoke” to me, spoke to my own unformed and unarticulated alienation. I had not been particularly interested in music, music mostly heard and sung in the obligatory junior high school music class, but this was different, this got my hormonal horrors in gear. I stayed in Alex’s room listening half the night as he told me above when he had first heard such and such a song.

Although the age gap between Alex and I was formidable, he was out the door originally even before I knew him since at that point we were the only two in the house all the others in college or on their own he became something of a mentor to me on the ins and out of rock and roll once I showed an interest. From that night on it was not just a question of say, why Jailhouse Rock should be in the big American Songbook but would tell me about who or what had influenced rock and roll. He was the first to tell me about what had happened in Memphis with a guy named Sam Phillips and his Sun Record label which minted an extraordinary number of hits by guys like Elvis, Warren Smith, Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee. When I became curious about how the sound got going, why my hands got clammy when I heard the music and I would start tapping my toes he went chapter and verse on me. Like some god-awful preacher quoting how Ike Turner, under a different name, may really have been the granddaddy of rock with his Rocket 88 and how obscure guys like Louis Jordan, Big Joe Turner and Willie Lomax and their big bop rhythm and blues was one key element. Another stuff from guys like Hack Devine, Warren Smith and Lenny Larson who took the country flavor and melted it down to its essence. Got rid of the shlock. Alex though did surprise me with the thing he thought got our toes tapping-these guys, Elvis, Chuck, Jerry Lee, Buddy Holly and a whole slew of what I would later call good old boys took their country roots not the Grand Ole Opry stuff but the stuff they played at the red barn dances down in the hills and hollows come Saturday night and mixed it with some good old fashion religion stuff learned through bare-foot Baptists or from the black churches and created their “jailbreak” music.

I have already mentioned that night Alex startled me while we were listening to an old Louvain Brothers song, I forget which one maybe Every Times You Leave, when he said “daddy’s music” meaning that our father who had come from down in deep down in the mud Appalachia had put the hillbilly mountain music stuff in our genes. It took me a long time, too long to do our father any good but I finally  figured out a few years ago that DNA stuff, why of late I see, really see where the hillbilly  good old boy hills and hollows Saturday night local hooch courage red barn dance fit in on the long arch of classic rock and roll as it passed through the likes of Elvis, Carl Perkins, Lenny Ladd, Jerry Lee, Old Slim Fanon, Texas Mac Devlin, Warren Smith and a whole list of guys and a couple of gals like Belinda Wales and Sara Webb. What the hell did I know then when stuff like that hillbilly mountain had plenty to do with estrangements from distance father, righteous hillbilly from down in the muds or not.

Alex,  okay King Alex, then completed the third leg of my classic roots of rock and roll on another night when he had I guess if I recall correctly had had another tough day grinding up some legal sweat somebody up the food chain in that sullen law office he worked in while doing that hard-ass (I will give him that) law school nights got credit for from some judge whose law clerk actually read the thing and wrote the decision based on Alex’s work (I am telling no tales out of school everybody these days knows that the higher up the food chain you are including SCOTUS the less writing of legal decisions you do which makes that law school education pretty damn expensive way up on the top for some poor benighted parents who thought they were doing the right thing). That night he asked me if I ever remember hearing some music on the radio, the family radio to boot, when our parents were on one of their rather infrequent nights out meaning when Dad had steady work and Ma was not afraid going out would break the family bank, that came booming out Chicago, always at night, usually Saturday or Sunday DJed by Brother Blues out of WAJB.   

I had to plead that I hadn’t until he mentioned a song called Little Red Rooster which I remember from his Stones collection but which he said had actually been written by a guy named Willie Dixon who was associated with a couple of brothers at Chess Records in Chicago who recorded had Howlin’ Wolf doing it and making a smash hit of it of the R&B charts (fuck it even the music was segregated by race on those record popularity charts). That is when Alex told me that he had first heard the song on that Chicago station on a program called Brother Blues’ Blues Hour (which was actually two hours each Saturday and Sunday night on nights when it came in clear enough to hear). Of course the ghost of Peter Paul Markin has to enter into the lists on this one (that ghost as new site manager Greg Green has found out during his short tenure and has commented on hovers over everything including its share of former site manager Allan Jackson’s demise giving Greg his job). Alex didn’t discover Brother Blues and his show Markin had one night up in his room on his transistor radio which is the way the young of Markin’s and Alex’s generation got to listen to the music of their lives without nosey parents interfering just as today one way kids do is listen to their MP3s or iPods.

Somehow on Markin’s radio the winds were just right one Sunday night when he was really trying to get WMEX the local max daddy rock and roll station and Brother Blues popped up. Markin went crazy listening to Muddy Waters, Howlin’s Wolf, Jimmy Smith, Mamma Smith, Memphis Minnie, Big Mama Thornton and a whole raft of other blues singers whose beat seemed so much like lets’ say where Chuck Berry or Randy Rhodes was coming from, that R&B-etched back beat that formed over half of all classic rock. So Alex and Markin would listen whenever the winds were right (more in winter than summer) and got an education about this branch root of the blues. Alex made this point blank to me (again via Markin who gave it to him point  blank) when he mentioned the famous smash hit Elvis made of Hound Dog (a strange song for a guy who girls, women too, married women, sweated over in between bouts of swooning but that understanding by me would only come later) and then played Big Mama Thornton’s version from the early 1950s where she made a three dollars on her version but ripped the thing apart, had every Tom, Dick and Harry jumping the jump.  

Of course ignorant as I was at the time Alex had to clue me to the difference between the root roots of the blues in the country, down in the sweat swamp Delta plantation Saturday night white lightening brave juke joint no electricity dance (probably no different except color, the eternal race issue always just below or on the surface at all times in America) guy with some beat up Sear& Roebuck-ordered guitar  making the joint jump. He gave me a whole slew of names like Robert Johnson, Charly Patton, Son House, Ben Jamison, Mississippi John Hurt, a few Big Bills, a couple of Slims Memphis and Kansas City and a lifetime’s interest in that sound. That interest though as important as it was as the root of the roots of the blues really only hooks up to classic rock when the blues move north, move up what did Alex call it, oh yeah, moved up the Mississippi out of the sweated South and had an electric cord to put on that guitar and blow the place away (the liquor and  hooch fight over dames would stay the same). Names like Muddy Waters, that same Howlin’ Wolf, Ben Attuck, Little Jimmy (and a ton of other Littles), Junior Wells and the like. Yes Alex, you went by the numbers and I am going to pass on point blank to the good people reading this to give the real skinny on the music of your generation, on what caused that big wave coming down upon the land in your time.         

The selection posted here culled from the merciful YouTube network thus represents one of the key pieces of music that drove the denizens of the Generation of ’68 and their stepchildren. And maybe now their grandchildren.   

[Alex and I had our ups and downs over the years and as befits a lawyer and journalist our paths seldom passed except for occasional political things where we were on the same wavelength like with the defense of Army whistle-blower Chelsea Manning (formerly Bradley). Indicative though of our closeness despite distance in 2017 when Alex had a full head of steam up about putting together a collective corner boy memoir in honor of the late Markin after a business trip to San Francisco where he went to a museum exhibition featuring the seminal Summer of Love, 1967 he contacted me for the writing, editing and making sure of the production values.]    




From The Living Archives Of Boston Veterans For Peace-They Ain't Your Grandfather's Veterans-The Threat Posed By The Alt-Right Trying To Bust Up May Day 2017 In Boston-This Is Our Day-Learn The Lessons Of History


From The Living Archives Of Boston Veterans For Peace-They Ain't Your Grandfather's Veterans-The Threat Posed By The Alt-Right Trying To Bust Up May Day 2017 In Boston-This Is Our Day-Learn The Lessons Of History     

[Ralph Morris who has lived in Troy, New York most of his life, been raised there and raised his own family there, went to war, the bloody, horrendous Vietnam War which he has made plain many times he will never live down, never get over what he did, what he saw others do, and most importantly for the long haul, what his evil government did with no remorse to people in that benighted country with whom he had no quarrel never was much for organizations, joining organizations when he was young until he came up a group formed in the fire of the Vietnam War protests -Vietnam Veteran Against the War (VVAW) which he joined after watching a contingent of them pass by in silent march protesting the war in downtown Albany one fall afternoon. Somebody in that contingent with a microphone called out to any veterans observing the march who had had enough of war, had felt like that did to “fall in” (an old army term well if bitterly remembered). He did and has never looked back although for the past many years his affiliation has been with a subsequent anti-war veterans’ group Veterans for Peace.  

Sam Eaton, who has lived in Carver, Massachusetts, most of his life, been raised there and raised his own family there, and did not go to war. Did not go for the simple reason that due to a severe childhood accident which left him limping severely thereafter he was declared no fit for military duty, 4-F the term the local draft board used. He too had not been much for organizations, joining organizations when he was young. That is until his best friend from high school, Jeff Mullins, died in hell-hole Vietnam and before he had died asked Sam that if anything happened to him to let the world that he had done things, had seen others do things, and most importantly for the long haul, what his evil government did with no remorse to people in that benighted country with whom he had no quarrel. As part of honoring Jeff’s request after Sam found out about his death he was like a whirling dervish joining one anti-war action after another, joining one ad hoc group, each more radical than the previous one as the war ground away, ground all rational approach vapid, let nothing left but to go left, until the fateful day when he met Ralph down in Washington, D.C.

That was when both in their respective collectives, Ralph in VVAW and Sam in Cambridge Red Front, were collectively attempting one last desperate effort to end the war by closing down the government if it would not shut down the war. All they got for their efforts were tear gas, police batons, and arrest bracelets and a trip to the bastinado which was the floor of Robert F. Kennedy stadium which is where they would meet after Sam noticed Ralph’s VVAW pin and told him about Jeff and his request. That experience would form a lasting friendship including several years ago Sam joining Ralph’s Veterans for Peace as a supporter, an active supporter still trying to honor his long- gone friend’s request and memory.

No one least of all either of them would claim they were organizing geniuses, far from it but over the years they participated, maybe even helped organize many anti-war events. One day their friend, Josh Breslin, who writes a by-line at this publication, and who is also a veteran asked them to send some of events they had participated in here to form a sort of living archives of the few remaining activist groupings in this country, in America who are still waging the struggle for peace.

Periodically, since we are something of a clearing house and historic memory for leftist activities, we will put their archival experiences into our archives. As mentioned above Sam and Ralph “met” each other down in Washington, D.C. during the May Day anti-war demonstrations of 1971 when out of desperation clots of anti-war radicals, veterans and civilians alike, tried unsuccessfully to shut down the government if it would not shut down the war. They “met,” their in forever quotation marks not mine, on the floor of Robert F. Kennedy football stadium after they had been arrested along with members of their respective collectives, Ralph’s VVAW and Sam’s Red Front Brigade after getting nothing but tear gas, police batons and a ride in the paddy wagon for their efforts. What they were doing, what for each of the them, according to Josh Breslin who met them shortly after they got “sprung,” also then a member of VVAW and also arrested by had been held in a D.C. city jail, were their first acts of civil disobedience. The first of a long time of such actions which is the lead in to the archival material presented in this piece.

Josh, who introduced the pair to me several years ago when I first came on board to manage the day to day operations of this publication after Allan Jackson, aging and ready to retire, brought me on board for that purpose so he could work on where the publication was heading. He mentioned the Washington action as their calling card although then, in 1971, I was about a decade too young to have realized what they were doing and how important it was for their future political trajectories, their political commitments to “fight the monster,” their term, on the questions of war and peace and other social issues. Not have realized, not having done any such actions how important civil disobedience, or the threat of such actions was, is to their political perspectives.

[By the way, as Josh was at pains under pressure from Ralph and Sam, to report to me that May Day action was not the first attempt by either man to “get arrested,” to “put their bodies on the line” as Sam articulated it to me one night when we were putting this piece together. May Day was just the first time when the cops, National Guard, Regular Army was willing, with a vengeance, to take them up on the offer. Both men had tried repeatedly to get arrested “sitting down” at their respective local draft boards in Carver and Troy in order to warn off young men on signing up for the draft. Maybe it was the nature of the times but the local police would not arrest them.]





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Hello John Hollis and all-I read the BMDC evaluation minutes of the event on May Day and note the alt-right problem. We in VFP have some experience with what we call peacekeeping so we should be in contact any time we have events these days. If the alt-right thinks it can disrupt us on our day May Day (taking a page from the Nazis in the late 1920s when all hell was breaking loose in Germany and street fighting was the norm on May Day) then we had better assume they will show in whatever force at any public events. Dan Lane and I were in attendance but had prior commitments so would could not stay but it sounds like the alt-right kept up their harassment and disruption after we left until the Copley Square rally . We need to be better prepared no question.
    
VFP and others are doing the Safety team for the Poor Peoples Campaign next Monday May 14th and will hold a training session at noon at the Church on the Hill if anybody is available or interested. Contact VFP coordinator Dan Lane at danlane@yahoo.com if interested. I note that there was some question about the keynote speaker and whatever connection the PPC has with Unilever but that should not extend to defending our own, the PPC supporters when the alt-right shows up.   

If not the 14th then we should keep in contact around this issue since the alt-right with the wind in its sails is not going away and we have to right now not give them a “victory” by letting their provocations ruin our events with an unwanted confrontation. At some point that might be the case but for now we have to contain them and not let them have a recruiting tool. Later Allan Jackson