Friday, September 29, 2017

In Honor Of The Late Rocker Chuck Berry Who Helped Make It All Possible-Once Again-Out In The Be-Bop Night-The School Dance- A CD Review

In Honor Of The Late Rocker Chuck Berry Who Helped Make It All Possible-Once Again-Out In The Be-Bop Night-The School Dance- A CD Review




CD Review
The Rock ‘N’ Roll Era: The ‘50s: Last Dance, Time-Life, 1990


I have spent tons of time and reams of cyberspace “paper” in this space reviewing the teenage culture of the 1950s, especially the inevitable school dance and the also inevitable last dance. That event was the last chance for even shy boys like me to prove that we were not wallflowers, or worst. Below is a an excerpt from a commentary that I did in reviewing the film American Graffiti that captures, I think, what this compilation is also reaching for:

“Part of the charm of the American Graffiti segment on the local high school dance is, as I have noted previously, once you get indoors it could have been anyplace U.S.A. (and I am willing to bet anytime U.S.A., as well. For this baby-boomer, that particular high school dance, could have taken place at my high school when I was a student in the early 1960s). From the throwaway crepe paper decorations that festooned the place to the ever-present gym bleachers to the chaperones to the platform the local band (a band that if it did not hit it big would go on to greater glory at our future weddings, birthday parties, and other important occasion) covering the top hits of the day performed on it was a perfect replica.

Also perfect replica were the classic boys’ attire for a casual dance, plaid or white sports shirt, chinos, stolid shoes, and short-trimmed hair (no beards, beads, bell-bottoms, it's much too early in the decade for that) and for the girls blouses (or maybe sweaters, cashmere, if I recall being in fashion at the time, at least in the colder East), full swirling dresses, and, I think beehive hair-dos. Wow! Of course, perfect replica were the infinite variety of dances (frug, watusi, twist, stroll, etc) that blessed, no, twice blessed, rock and roll let us do in order to not to have to dance too waltz close. Mercy. And I cannot finish up this part without saying perfect replica hes looking at certain shes (if stag, of course, eyes straight forward if dated up, or else bloody hell) and also perfect replica wallflowers, as well.

Not filmed in American Graffiti, although a solo slow one highlighted the tensions between Steve and Laurie) Ron Howard and Cindy Williams) but ever present and certainly the subject of some comment in this space was that end of the night dance. I’ll just repeat what I have repeated elsewhere. This last dance was always one of those slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven, that you didn’t destroy your partner’s shoes and feet. Well, as I have noted before, one learns a few social skills in this world if for no other reason that to “impress” that certain she (or he for shes, or nowadays, just mix and match your sexual preferences) mentioned above. I did, didn’t you?

And after the dance? Well, I am the soul of discretion, and you should be too. Let’s put it this way. Sometimes I got home earlier than the Ma agreed time, but sometimes, not enough now that I think about it, I saw huge red suns rising up over the blue waters. Either way, my friends, worth every blessed minute of anguish, right?”

That said, the sticks outs here include: the legendary Chuck Berry’s Back In The U.S.A. (fast); Tommy Edwards’ It’s All In The Game (slow, ouch); the late Bo Diddley’s Who Do You Love? (fast and sassy); and, The Flamingos I’ll Be Home (slow). How is that for dee-jaying even-handedness?

Out In The Be-Bop 1960s Night- Frankie Out In The Adventure Car Hop Night






Out In The Be-Bop 1960s Night- Frankie Out In The Adventure Car Hop Night

 

 

A YouTube film clip of the Dubs performing the classic Could This Be Magic? to set the mood for this piece.



 

By Josh Breslin

 

Frankie Riley, the old corner boy leader of the crowd, our crowd of the class of 1964 guys who made it and graduated, not all did, a couple wound up serving time in various state pens but that is not the story I want to tell today except that those fallen brothers also imbibed Frankie’s wisdom (else why would they listen to him for they were tougher if not smarter than he was) about what was what in rock and roll music in the days when we had our feet firmly planted in front of Tonio’s Pizza Parlor in North Adamsville, had almost a sixth sense about what songs would and would not make it in the early 1960s night. Knew like the late Billy Bradley, my corner boy when my family lived on the other side of town back then, did in the 1950s elementary school night what would stir the girls enough to get them “going.” And if you don’t understand what “going” meant or what “going and rock and roll together in the same sentence meant then perhaps you should move along. Why else would we listen to Frankie, including those penal tough guys, if it wasn’t to get into some girl’s pants. Otherwise guys like Johnny Blade (and you don’t need much imagination to know what kind of guy and what kind of weapon that moniker meant) and Hacksaw Jackson would have cut of his “fucking head’ (their exact expression and that is a direct quote so don’t censor me or give me the “what for”).

 

But that was then and this is now and old, now old genie Frankie had given up the swami business long ago for the allure of the law profession which he is even now as I write starting to turn over to his younger partners who are begging just like he did in his turn to show their stuff, to herald the new breeze that the austere law offices of one Francis Xavier Riley and Associates desperately needs to keep their clients happy. In that long meantime I have been the man who has kept the flame of the classic days of rock and roll burning. Especially over the past few years when I have through the miracles of the Internet been able between Amazon and YouTube to find a ton of the music, classics and one-shot wonders of our collective youths and comment on it from the distance of fifty or so years.

 

I have presented some reviews of that material, mostly the commercially compiled stuff that some astute record companies or their successors have put together to feed the nostalgia frenzy of the cash rich (relatively especially if they are not reduced to throwing their money at doctors and medicines which is cutting into a lot of what I am able to do), on the Rock and Roll Will Never Die blog that a guy named Wolfman Joe had put together trying to reassemble the “youth nation” of the 1960s who lived and died for the music that was then a fresh breeze compared to the deathtrap World War II-drenched music our parents were trying to foist on us.         

 

That work, those short sketch commentaries, became the subject for conversation between Frankie and me when he started to let go of the law practice (now he is “of counsel” whatever that means except he get a nice cut of all the action that goes through the office without the frenzied work for the dollars) and we would meet every few weeks over at Jack’s in Cambridge where he now lives since the divorce from his third wife, Minnie. So below are some thoughts from the resurrection, Frankie’s term, for his putting his spin on “what was what” fifty or so years ago when even Johnny Blade and Hacksaw Jackson had sense enough to listen to his words if they wanted to get into some frill’s pants.

 

“Okay, you know the routine by now, or at least the drift of these classic rock reviews. [This is the sixth in the series that I had originally commented on but which Frankie feels he has to put his imprimatur on just like in the old days- JB] The part that starts out with a “tip of the hat” to the hard fact that each generation, each teenage generation that is makes its own tribal customs, mores and language. Then the part that is befuddled by today’s teenage-hood. And then I go scampering back to my teenage-hood, the teenage coming of age of the generation of ‘68 that came of age in the early 1960s and start on some cultural “nugget” from that seemingly pre-historic period. Well this review is no different, except, today we decipher the drive-in restaurant, although really it is the car hops (waitresses) that drive this one.

 

See, this series of reviews is driven, almost subconsciously driven, by the Edward Hopper Nighthawk-like illustrations on the The Rock ‘n’ Roll Era CDs of this mammoth set of compilations (fifteen, count them, fifteen like there were fifteen times twenty or so songs on each compilation or over three hundred classic worth listening to today. Hell, even Frankie would balk at that possibility).

 

In this case it is the drive-in restaurant of blessed teenage memory. For the younger set, or those oldsters who “forgot” that was a restaurant idea driven by car culture, especially the car culture from the golden era of teenage car-dom, the 1950s. Put together cars, cars all flash-painted and fully-chromed, “boss” cars we called them in my working class neighborhood, young restless males, food, and a little off-hand sex, or rather the promise or mist of a promise of it, and you have the real backdrop to the drive-in restaurant. If you really thought about it why else would somebody, anybody who was assumed to be functioning, sit in their cars eating food, and at best ugly food at that, off a tray while seated in their cherry, “boss" 1959 Chevy.

 

And beside the food, of course, there was the off-hand girl watching (in the other cars with trays hanging off their doors), and the car hop ogling (and propositioning, if you had the nerve, and if your intelligence was good and there was not some 250 pound fullback back-breaker waiting to take her home after work a few cars over with some snarl on his face and daggers in his heart or maybe that poundage pounding you) there was the steady sound of music, rock music, natch, coming from those boomerang speakers in those, need I say it, “boss” automobiles. And that is where all of this gets mixed in.

 

Of course, just like another time when I was reviewing one of the CDs in this series, and discussing teenage soda fountain life, the mere mention, no, the mere thought of the term “car hop” makes me think of a Frankie story. Frankie, Francis Xavier Riley, Frankie from the old hell-fire shipbuilding sunk and gone and it-ain’t-coming-back-again seen better days working class neighborhood where we grew up, or tried to. Frankie who I have already told you I have a thousand stories about, or hope I do. Frankie the most treacherous little bastard that you could ever meet on one day, and the kindest man (better man/child), and not just cheap jack, dime store kindness either, alive the next day. Yeah, that Frankie, my best middle school and high school friend Frankie.

 

Did I tell you about Joanne, Frankie’s “divine” (his term, without quotation marks) Joanne because she enters, she always in the end enters into these things? Yes, I see that I did back when I was telling you about her little Roy “The Boy” Orbison trick. The one where she kept playing Running Scared endlessly to get Frankie’s dander up. But see while Frankie has really no serious other eyes for the dames except his “divine” Joanne (I insist on putting that divine in quotation marks when telling of Joanne, at least for the first few times I mention her name, even now. Needless to say I questioned, and questioned hard, that designation on more than one occasion to no avail) he is nothing but a high blood-pressured, high-strung shirt-chaser, first class. And the girls liked him, although not for his looks although they were kind of Steve McQueen okay. What they went for him for was his line of patter, first class. Patter, arcane, obscure patter that made me, most of the time, think of fingernails scratching on a blackboard (except when I was hot on his trail trying to imitate him) and his faux “beat” pose (midnight sunglasses, flannel shirt, black chinos, and funky work boots (ditto on the imitation here as well). And not just “beat’ girls liked him, either as you will find out. Certainly Joanne the rose of Tralee was not beat sister (although she was his first wife). 

 

Well, the long and short of it was that Frankie, late 1963 Frankie, and the...(oh, forget it) Joanne had had their 207th (really that number, or close, since 8th grade) break-up and Frankie was a "free” man. To celebrate this freedom Frankie, Frankie, who was almost as poor as I was but who has a father with a car that he was not too cheap or crazy about to not let Frankie use on occasion, had wheels. Okay, Studebaker wheels but wheels anyway. And he was going to treat me to a drive-in meal as we went cruising the night, the Saturday night, the Saturday be-bop night looking for some frails (read: girls, Frankie had about seven thousand names for them)

 

Tired (or bored) from cruising the Saturday be-bop night away (meaning girl-less) we hit the local drive-in hot spot, Arnie’s Adventure Car Hop for one last, desperate attempt at happiness (yeah, things were put, Frank and me put anyway, just that melodramatically for every little thing). What I didn’t know was that Frankie, king hell skirt-chaser had his off-hand eye on one of the car hops, Sandy, and as it turned out she was one of those girls who was enamored of his patter (or so I heard later). So he pulled into her station and started to chat her up as we ordered the haute cuisine, And here was the funny thing, now that I saw her up close I could see that she was nothing but a fox (read: “hot” girl).

 

The not so funny thing was that she was so enamored of Frankie’s patter that he was going to take her home after work. No problem you say. No way, big problem. I was to be left there to catch a ride home while they set sail into that good night. Thanks, Frankie.

Well, I was pretty burned up about it for a while but as always with “charma” Frankie we hooked up again a few days later. And here is where I get a little sweet revenge (although don’t tell him that).

Frankie sat me down at the old town pizza parlor [Tonio’s Pizza Parlor of blessed memory-JB] and told me the whole story and even now, as I recount it, I can’t believe it.

 

Sandy was a fox, no question, but a married fox, a very married fox, who said she when he first met her that she was about twenty-two and had a kid. Her husband was in the service and she was “lonely” and succumbed to Frankie’s charms. Fair enough, it is a lonely world at times. But wait a minute, I bet you thought that Frankie’s getting mixed up with a married honey with a probably killer husband was the big deal. No way, no way at all. You know, or you can figure out, old Frankie spent the night with Sandy. Again, it's a lonely world sometimes.

 

The real problem, the real Frankie problem, was once they started to compare biographies and who they knew around town, and didn’t know, it turned out that Sandy, old fox, old married fox with brute husband, old Arnie’s car hop Sandy was some kind of cousin to Joanne, second cousin maybe. And she was no cradle-robber twenty-two (as if you could rob the cradle according to Frankie) but nineteen, almost twenty and was just embarrassed about having a baby in high school and having to go to her "aunt's" to have the child. Moreover, somewhere along the line she and cousin Joanne had had a parting of the ways, a nasty parting of the ways. So sweet as a honey bun Arnie's car hop Sandy, sweet teen-age mother Sandy, was looking for a way to take revenge and Frankie, old king of the night Frankie, was the meat. She had him sized up pretty well, as he admitted to me. And he was sweating this one out like crazy, and swearing everyone within a hundred miles to secrecy. So I’m telling you this is strictest confidence even now fifty years later and long after his divorce from her. Just don’t tell Joanne. Ever.


As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs-Iris Dement's "There Is A Wall In Washington"

As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs-Iris Dement's "There Is A Wall In Washington" 



Frank Jackman comment: Sometimes, and this is one of those times, a song can say as much about a war as a ten-part eighteen hour series in just a few minutes. Not the only poignant song about the effects of the Vietnam War down at the base, down where people who fought, died, or died a thousand dies live-and still do but a good one, a very good one.    


    

As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs- No Black-Bordered Obituary For Defense Secretary Robert McNamara

As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs- No Black-Bordered Obituary For Defense Secretary Robert McNamara 




A Link To "New York Times" July 6, 2009 Obituary For Robert McNamara. The Point Of This Link Is To Teach The Next Generation To Know The "Rational" Kind Of Monster We Have To Boot Out In Order To Get The Just World WE Desperately Need.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/07/us/07mcnamara.html?_r=2&hp=&pagewanted=all


Commentary (July 6, 2009)


The recent death, at 93, of Kennedy/Johnson Vietnam War-era War Secretary Robert McNamara has been met with a number of tributes in the bourgeois media about his role as architect of various Cold War military policies in defense of the American Imperial state. That is to be expected for those sources. There is, apparently, an unwritten rule that one does not speak ill of the dead in those circles. Including legitimate war criminals. And in the normal course of events that might be an appropriate response. But one Robert Strange McNamara is of a different stripe.

After a life time of public service to the bourgeois state Mr. McNamara, seemingly, late in life started to worry about his eternal soul and the harm that he had done to it by trying, as an example, to wipe the country of Vietnam, North and South at the time, off the face of the earth with his incessant strategic bombing policy. After exhibiting some qualms late in the Johnson presidency (and around the time of TET 1968) he was booted upstairs to become President of the American-dominated World Bank. Nice soft landing for a war criminal, right?

And who called him a war criminal? Well, of course, this writer did (and does). And so did many of the anti-war activists of the 1960’s. Those calls are to be expected (and might be considered to constitute a minimum response to his egregious policies). But, surprise, surprise late in life, after serious reflection, McNamara implied, haltingly to be sure, in his memoirs (a review of which is re-posted below) that that might have been the case. However, unlike some of his compadres at the Nuremberg War Crimes tribunals and other such venues, Mr. McNamara died quietly in his bed.

Not so fortunate were the millions of Vietnamese peasants and workers who bore the onslaught of the maximum fire-power the American military could lay down. No, there will be no final justice in this sorry old world until a future American Workers Republic pays real justice (and serious cash) to the people of Vietnam. As for Robert Strange McNamara, if the worst that happened to him was a “bad conscience” he got off easy.

******

Reposted below is a review of Robert Strange McNamara’s memoirs and of a documentary “Fog Of War” used by him in order to help “the second draft” of history of his legacy.

Reposted From April 30, 2009 Entry

The Fog Of War, Part II- War Secretary Robert McNamara’s View Of His Handiwork in Vietnam

Book Review

In Retrospect: The Tragedy And Lessons Of Vietnam, Robert Strange McNamara with Brain VanDeMark, Random House, 1995


Anyone who had caught the Friday March 27, 2009 headlines is aware that the Democratic Party-run Obama government has called for some 4,000 additional troops for Afghanistan and what they, euphemistically, call civilian support teams in order to bolster the sagging regime of “Mayor of Kabul” Karzai. Those numbers are in addition to the 17,000 extras already committed by the Obama regime in February. Does the word escalation seem appropriate here?

One of the problems of having gone through the Vietnam experience in my youth (including periods of lukewarm support for American policy under John F. Kennedy, a hands-off attitude in the early Lyndon B. Johnson years and then full-bore opposition under the late Johnson, Richard M. Nixon and Gerald Ford regimes) is a tendency to view today’s American imperial policy in the same by-the-numbers approach as I took as a result of observing the Vietnam War as it unfolded. There are differences, some of them hugely so, between Vietnam and Afghanistan. Just as, I have previously noted in this space, there are differences between Vietnam and the recently “completed” Iraq War. (Hey, I’m just going by what the media tells me is going on. They wouldn’t lead us astray, would they?)

But, I keep getting this eerie feeling in the back of my neck every time I hear, or see, anything concerning Afghanistan coming out of this new Obama administration. They appear clueless, yet are determined to forge ahead with this policy that can only lead to the same kind of quagmire than Vietnam and Iraq turned into. That is where the analogies to Vietnam do connect up. In this regard, I have recently been re-reading Kennedy/Johnson War Secretary Robert Strange (that’s his middle name, folk, I didn’t make it up and didn’t need to) McNamara’s memoirs, written in 1995, of his central role in the development of Vietnam policy, “In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam”.

Obviously McNamara has put his own ‘spin’ on his personal role then in order to absolve himself (a little) before history. That is to be expected. What comes through crystal clear, however, because in the final analysis McNamara still doesn’t get it, is that when you’re the number one imperial power all the decisions you make are suppose to fall into place for your benefit because you represent the “good guys”. Regardless of what you do, or do not, know about the internal workings of the situation at hand. The Kennedy/Johnson administrations were almost totally ignorant of the internal working of Vietnamese society. That is why I have that eerie, very eerie, feeling about this Obama war policy.

In the normal course of events former high level bureaucrats in American presidential administrations usually save their attempts at self-justification for high ticket published memoirs or congenial `softball' speaking tours and conferences. In short, they prefer to preach to the choir at retail prices. Apparently, Cold Warrior extraordinaire Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara felt that such efforts were very necessary in his case and hence he had to go to the prints in order to whitewash his role in the history of his times. Despite an apparent agreement with his “ghost writer” not to cover certain subjects and be allowed to present his story his way it is always good to catch a view of how the other side operates. It ain't pretty.

After a lifetime of relative public silence, at the age of 8o something, McNamara decided to give his take on events in which he was a central figure like dealing with the fact of American imperial military superiority in the post- World War II period, dealing with the Russians and the fight for American nuclear superiority during the Cold War, the ill-conceived Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the later Cuban Missile crisis and above all his role in the escalation of the wars in Southeast Asia, primarily Vietnam.

Very little here focuses on his time at the World Bank, a not unimportant omission that would highlight my point that he might have changed his clothing in the course of his career but not his mindset. While those of us interested in learning the lessons of history have long understood that to know the political enemy is the beginning of wisdom one will not find much here that was not infinitely better covered by the late journalist David Halberstam in his classic “The Best and The Brightest”.

McNamara has chosen to present his story in the form of parables, or rather, little vignettes about the “lessons” to be drawn from experiences (eleven in all by the way). Thus, we are asked to sit, embarrassingly, through McNamara's freshman course in revisionist history as he attempts to take himself from the cold-hearted Cold Warrior and legitimate “war criminal” to the teddy-bearish old man who has learned something in his life- after a lifetime of treachery. Yet, like that freshman course there are things to be learned despite the professor and more to learn, if only by reading between the lines, than he or she wanted to express.

McNamara presents his take by dividing the Vietnam War buildup, at least at the executive level, into periods; the early almost passive Kennedy days; the post Kennedy assassination period when Lyndon Johnson was trying to be all things to all men; the decisive post-1964 election period; and, various periods of fruitless and clueless escalation. It is this process that is, almost unwittingly, the most important to take from this world. Although McNamara, at the time of writing was an older and wiser man, when he had power he went along with ever step of the “hawks”, civilian and military. He led no internal opposition, and certainly not public one. This is the classic “good old boys” network where one falls on one’s sword when the policy turns wrong. And he is still scratching his head over why masses of anti-war protesters chanted “war criminal” when they confronted him with his deeds. And then listen to the latest screeds by current War Secretary Gates concerning Afghanistan. It will sound very familiar.

In the end, if one took his story at face value, one could only conclude that he was just trying to serve his bosses the best way he could and if things went wrong it was their fault. Nothing new there, though. Henry Kissinger has turned that little devise into an art form. Teary-eyed at the end McNamara might be as he acknowledges his role in the mass killings of his time, but beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yet, you need to read this book if you want to understand how these guys (and gals) defended their state then, and now.

DVD REVIEW

The Fog of War, starring former Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara, 2003


In the normal course of events former high level bureaucrats in American presidential administrations usually save their attempts at self-justification for high ticket published memoirs or congenial `softball' speaking tours and conferences. In short, they prefer to preach to the choir at retail prices. Apparently, former Kennedy and Johnson Administration Cold Warrior extraordinaire Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara felt that such efforts were not enough and hence he had to go before the cameras in order to whitewash his role in the history of his times. Despite an apparent agreement with his interviewer not to cover certain subjects and be allowed to present his story his way it is always good to catch a view of how the other side operates. It ain't pretty.

After a lifetime of relative public silence, at the age of 85, McNamara decided to give his take on events in which he was a central figure like dealing with the fact of American imperial military superiority in the post- World War II period, dealing with the Russians and the fight for American nuclear superiority during the Cold War, the ill-conceived Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the later Cuban Missile crisis and above all his role in the escalation of the wars in Southeast Asia, primarily Vietnam.

Very little here focuses on his time at the World Bank, a not unimportant omission that would highlight my point that he might have changed his clothing in the course of his career but not his mindset. While those of us interested in learning the lessons of history have long understood that to know the political enemy is the beginning of wisdom one will not find much here that was not infinitely better covered by the late journalist David Halberstam in his classic The Best and The Brightest.

McNamara has chosen to present his story in the form of parables, or rather, little vignettes about the `lessons' to be drawn from experiences. Thus, we are asked to sit, embarrassingly, through McNamara's Freshman course in revisionist history as he attempts to take himself from the cold-hearted Cold Warrior and legitimate `war criminal' to the teddy-bearish old man who has learned something in his life- after a lifetime of treachery.

In the end, if one took his story at face value, one could only conclude that he was just trying to serve his bosses the best way he could and if things went wrong it was their fault. Nothing new there, though. Henry Kissinger has turned that little devise into an art form. Teary-eyed at the end McNamara might be as he acknowledges his role in the mass killings of his time, but beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yet, you need to watch this film if you want to understand how these guys (and gals) defend their state.

Bay Area Anti-Fascist Protests For Labor/Black Action to Stop the Fascists! Defend Antifa!

Workers Vanguard No. 1117
8 September 2017
 
ILWU Tops Bury Union Call to Action
Bay Area Anti-Fascist Protests
For Labor/Black Action to Stop the Fascists!
Defend Antifa!
“Alt-right” fascist gangs had long been planning to stage a double-header of provocations in the Bay Area on the weekend of August 26-27. The first was called for Saturday at San Francisco’s Crissy Field by “Patriot Prayer,” which organized a June 4 fascist rally in Portland following the murder of two men who had intervened to stop the racist intimidation of two young women by a white supremacist. At the eleventh hour, its leader, Joey Gibson, called off the Crissy Field rally. Whining that he had been maligned as a white supremacist, Gibson complained that “tons of extremists” were being whipped up against him by Democratic Party city rulers and Democratic Congressional leader Nancy Pelosi.
This was as big an invention as the lie that Patriot Prayer has no ties to the fascists. The Democrats’ aim was to contain outrage against the fascists through the velvet glove of appeals for “peace and love” and the repressive force of the capitalist state. An army of SF cops was mobilized, together with the federal police agencies that control Crissy Field. Their purpose was to disarm and imprison anti-fascist protesters in a massive police pen at Crissy Field, where draconian restrictions banning picket signs and other items were announced. When Gibson said that he would instead hold a three-hour “press conference”—i.e., an alternate rally—at Alamo Square, the cops also threw up fences to barricade the area. Over 1,000 protesters marched on the San Francisco square, where several hundred were initially trapped inside the cops’ pen but later allowed to rally.
It is a victory that the fascists had to call off their SF rally and press conference. However, what mainly took place in San Francisco that day were insipid “unity” rallies. In collaboration with the mayor’s office, the Democrats’ loyal labor statesmen in the San Francisco Labor Council worked to divert any protest against the fascists at Crissy Field into a liberal “anti-hate” event miles away at Civic Center. The politics of this rally were the lie that racist terror is an assault on “American values” and the promotion of the Democrats as the “answer” to the fascists emboldened by Trump’s White House.
In fact, Trump is simply the naked face of the brutal racist reality of American capitalism, which the Democratic Party equally represents. California Senator Dianne Feinstein, who joined the howls of outrage against the Patriot Prayer rally, fought to keep up the Confederate flag of slavery at that very same Civic Center in 1984 when she was mayor after we had torn it down.
For all its sniveling complaints about safety, Patriot Prayer was itching to stage a provocation. On August 27, Gibson and his bodyguard turned up in Berkeley for a planned “No to Marxism in America” rally, as did a couple of dozen other right-wing and fascist provocateurs. They were appropriately dealt with by antifa, with Gibson, his bodyguard and others fleeing into the arms of the phalanx of heavily armed cops that had been mobilized to protect them. After warning other anti-fascist protesters, including those who did not want to participate, to safely retreat, the antifas defiantly jumped over the police barricades surrounding Martin Luther King Jr. Civic Center Park, where the fascists had called their rally.
Mobilize Labor/Black Power to Smash the Fascists!
At the Berkeley protests against the fascists’ “No to Marxism” rally there was only one contingent that actually represented the program and the purpose of Marxism. That was the 40-strong contingent of the Spartacist League and the Partisan Defense Committee. The reformists of the International Socialist Organization (ISO) and the Democratic Socialists of America had linked up with assorted liberals and preachers to organize a “Rally Against Hate” demonstration to celebrate non-violence and diversity blocks away from where the fascists planned to have their provocation. Others had prevailed in actually marching toward the fascists’ rallying site. We joined that march under an SL banner demanding, “Break with the Democrats! For a Workers Party! Finish the Civil War! For Black Liberation Through Socialist Revolution!” and a PDC banner declaring, “For Labor/Black Mobilizations to Stop the Fascists!” Standing at the head of the oppressed, and relying on its collective strength, the working class is the only force in society that has the social power to not only stop the fascists but to overturn the whole capitalist system that spawns these vermin.
Against the pro-Democratic Party “dump Trump” reformists, we stood out as a militant and disciplined communist pole. Our chants of “Sweep the Fascists from the Streets! Racist Terror is not Free Speech!” as well as “Remember Hiroshima! Remember Vietnam! Democratic Party We Know Which Side You’re On!” took on those liberal and reformist organizations that promote the capitalist state and the Democratic Party as their protectors from fascist terror. These chants were picked up by others in the crowd.
In the lead-up to the fascist provocations in SF and Berkeley, we had been mobilizing ourselves and others behind the call made in a motion passed unanimously at the August 17 union meeting of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union (ILWU) Local 10 in the Bay Area. That motion resolved that the local would march on San Francisco’s Crissy Field on August 26 “to stop the racist, fascist intimidation” by the Patriot Prayer rally and “invite all unions and antiracist and antifascist organizations to join us defending unions, racial minorities, immigrants, LGBTQ people, women and all the oppressed.”
As we wrote in the last issue of WV (“For Labor/Black Mobilizations to Stop the Fascists!” WV No. 1116, 25 August):
“We welcome this call. Other unions and all opponents of racist terror should mobilize with the ILWU on August 26! The Spartacist League and the Partisan Defense Committee will be mobilizing a contingent emphasizing that for labor to bring its power to bear against the fascist terror gangs, it must be mobilized on the basis of its own independent strength—not as an adjunct to the Democratic Party politicians who are trying to get the fascist rally banned by the federal government. Unfortunately, the Local 10 leadership is pushing the efforts of the Democratic Party administration of San Francisco and Democratic Party Congressional leader Nancy Pelosi to get the rally banned, with Local 10 president Ed Ferris telling KPFK on August 18, ‘I am hopeful that they’ll just deny this permit’.”
Such deadly reliance on the forces of the capitalist state and Democratic politicians has long corroded the fighting power of the unions. In this case, it was wielded by the Local 10 bureaucracy to betray the members who voted to mobilize to stop the fascists. No call to action based on the motion was issued by the union misleaders. On the contrary, they did nothing to mobilize the ranks of the union.
The Treachery of the Labor Bureaucracy
In the week leading up to the fascist rally, we did several sales of WV at the ILWU hall. Many Local 10 members did not even know about the motion passed at the August 17 union meeting. Many more were fearful of what might happen in a march to Crissy Field. In particular, black workers who are the majority of the local were understandably worried that they would be targeted by the fascists and the cops. Several told us that they would join the protest if it was a mass, disciplined show of the social power of the ILWU against fascist terror. But they also knew that Local 10’s leadership had no intention of organizing such an action.
Instead of taking responsibility for implementing the motion, reaching out to other unions and mobilizing its own membership, the Local 10 bureaucrats sloughed off any purported organizing to a phony “rank and file” committee. The majority of those who attended the one organizing meeting of this committee were not ILWU members, though there were some members of other unions, especially electricians from IBEW Local 6 who were attempting to mobilize their union based on the ILWU motion (see report above).
Serving as the bureaucracy’s handmaiden in this charade was Jack Heyman, a now retired member of Local 10 who was previously on its executive board. A practiced hand in the bureaucracy’s game of smoke and mirrors, Heyman has a long history of boosting the “militant” credentials of the ILWU while covering for the treacherous policies of the bureaucracy. The only call to action ever issued to the Local 10 membership was signed by Heyman and an active longshoreman, who called themselves “Longshore Workers to Stop the Fascists.” WV was told that this flyer, posted on the website of the Heyman publicists in the Transport Workers Solidarity Committee, barely saw the light of day at the union hall, and it was never distributed by the active Local 10 member who co-signed it.
Heyman joined Local 10 president Ed Ferris for the KPFK radio interview, never disagreeing with Ferris’s support for the local Democrats’ attempts to get the Patriot Prayer rally banned. In the interview, Ferris offered the Local 10 dispatch hall as the meeting point for the action, saying, “People can start queuing up at Local 10 and begin the march” to Crissy Field. He claimed details would be firmed up later. Yet when the leaflet of the putative “Longshore Workers to Stop the Fascists” appeared it listed Marina Green, not the Local 10 hall, as the meeting place for the march. This had the effect of further distancing the Local 10 leadership from the action, and it ensured there would be a far smaller longshore turnout.
On the night of August 24 and the morning of August 25, WV supporters distributing literature at the Local 10 hall heard from some workers that the planned march was the work of “outsiders.” Very few longshoremen said they planned to attend. A “Special Memo to the ILWU Local 10 Membership” issued by Ed Ferris did not mention the unanimously passed union motion or the march to Crissy Field. Instead, Ferris advised “rank and file” longshoremen who “may choose to protest the ‘alt-right’ groups” that weekend to “be safe and keep it peaceful.”
This was a treacherous act of demobilization by the Local 10 leadership, allowing a wider hearing to more conservative elements in the union. Fearing a threat to their livelihood, some longshoremen argued that the best strategy was to ignore the fascists. “Why should we make ourselves targets and give the fascists publicity,” they told WV. Many pointed out that the fascists wouldn’t dare to march in black Oakland, or in the SF black neighborhoods of Hunters Point/Bay View.
The growing fascist menace in Trump’s America threatens black people, immigrants and unionists everywhere, as the proliferation of nooses and racist graffiti at the SSA Terminal in the Oakland Port illustrates. The fascist killers, including those who mobilized in Charlottesville, are mainly young, urban, have military training and are out for blood. When they are ignored, they are emboldened. Members of ILWU Local 10 brought their collective strength and solidarity to bear on May 25 when they shut down the SSA terminal to protest the racist noose provocations. In doing so, they gave a glimpse of the social power the multiracial working class can unleash to drive the white supremacists back into their holes. The union’s August 17 motion could have provided the potential for the Bay Area labor movement to flex its muscle. It is a crime that the Local 10 leadership worked to sabotage that potential.
The Cynical Charlatans of the Internationalist Group
Having demobilized longshore workers, the labor tops then used them for a cynical photo op on the morning of August 26 at the Local 10 hall—after Patriot Prayer had announced that it was canceling its Crissy Field rally. Union members who had been told that all rallies were canceled and to come out to get jobs were then asked to pose for a picture in front of a banner reading, “Stop Fascist Terror.” It is an impressive picture of some 50, mainly black, longshore workers looking militant and determined. The reality is that these Local 10 members had gone to the hall for work, not to march against the fascists. We don’t fault them. They were used as pawns by the Local 10 bureaucracy, which after undermining the August 17 union motion, saw the opportunity to burnish their “militant” credentials. Helping perpetrate this fraud were members and supporters of the Internationalist Group (IG) who are also featured in the photo.
A shamelessly cynical August 26 article on the IG’s website prominently features a nearly identical picture under the headline “Fascists Forced to Flee San Francisco—A Significant Victory.” The IG brays: “Key to running off the fascists was the move by the International Longshore and Warehouse Union Local 10 to shut down the port and march to stop the fascist ‘Patriot Prayer’ rally.” This is a complete fabrication, as anyone with any contact with Local 10 members knows.
The IG’s lies simply gallop along. After claiming that the Patriot Prayer fascists canceled their rally “after the ILWU voted to use its power to stop it,” their article argues that “if the longshore union had taken the next step to bring out the membership in a mass labor-led victory march, it would have really driven home the lesson.” But the ILWU bureaucracy had done nothing to take the first step of mobilizing the union’s power to stop the fascists. And the IG assisted them in the charade that “rank-and-file” longshoremen were organizing for action. At an August 24 meeting for the Berkeley protests, two IG members passed themselves off as speaking for Local 10 longshore workers through the bogus “rank-and-file” committee.
In the aftermath, the IG writes that “not only the fascists, but also the cops and their Democratic Party bosses are well aware that going up against this heavily black powerhouse of Bay Area labor is quite a different matter than attacking loosely organized protesters drawn largely from student and middle-class sectors.” True. But the heavily black ILWU Local 10 workforce was not being mobilized! Rather, they rightly feared what would happen if they went out for a similar “loosely organized” protest headed by the variety of liberals and reformists in the “rank-and-file” committee.
The IG is providing a left cover not only for the putatively more militant leaders of Local 10 but for the ILWU International bureaucracy. The ILWU International ran the photo of Local 10 members in the hall the morning of August 26 on its Longshore and Shipping News website. What is completely disappeared is any mention of the Local 10 motion calling for the union to take the lead in a march to Crissy Field to stop the Patriot Prayer fascists. Instead, the photo is being used to promote a “Statement of Policy on Racism” which simply echoes the rhetoric of the Democratic Party-inspired “love fests” that have been endorsed by labor misleaders in the aftermath of Charlottesville.
Notably Longshore and Shipping News never saw fit to publish a single word about the nooses found on the Oakland docks or Local 10’s May 25 work stoppage to protest them. The ILWU International is using the rise of fascist terror not to mobilize labor’s power against these storm troopers but to further shackle the workers to their capitalist exploiters and oppressors. Joining the IG in providing cover for this treachery are the labor reformists of In These Times, who ran a slightly less delusional article on August 29 titled, “These Dockworkers Just Showed the Labor Movement How to Shut Down Fascists.”
In the face of the union misleaders who have rolled over during the decades-long, one-sided class war against the unions, it is no easy task to mobilize the power of the working class to take on the fascist terror gangs. For that you need a leadership that can inspire the workers with the confidence and consciousness of their social power. The IG, in embellishing the actions of the ILWU misleaders, serves only to corrode the consciousness of the workers, reinforcing a sense of demoralization in the capacity of unions to struggle.
To their credit, the ILWU’s Inland Boatmen’s Union division, which organizes ferry and tug workers, had small contingents at SF’s Alamo Square on August 26 and in Berkeley the next day. But this was the only visible ILWU presence. The real strength of the ILWU lies in its longshore core. Contrary to the myth peddled by Heyman and the IG, the union’s remaining power is not a reflection of its militancy. Rather, it is rooted in the fact that the labor of longshore workers is key to moving the cargo chain of world trade. If mobilized for an actual fight against the fascists that power could ignite the impoverished black masses in the inner cities for combat, driving home the inextricable link between the fight for labor’s emancipation from wage slavery and the fight for black freedom.
The Working Class Is the Key
In the wake of the August 27 Berkeley anti-fascist rally, Democratic mayor Jesse Arreguin is demanding that antifa be branded a “gang”—i.e., criminal outlaws. He is backed by a collective howl from the bourgeois media, grotesquely equating antifa with the violence and terrorism of the fascist gangs. Joining this chorus is the one-time guru of anti-communist anarchism, Noam Chomsky, who describes antifa as a “major gift to the right.” Such grotesque ravings—which echo Trump’s condemnation of “both sides” in Charlottesville—serve to strengthen the powers of the cops, the source of the most lethal racist violence in this society, against anti-fascist activists and anyone else deemed an “enemy of the state.”
We salute the courage of the antifas in driving away the fascists from MLK Park that day, as well as the precautions they took to protect other anti-fascist protesters. But make no mistake: they only got away with it because, particularly in the aftermath of the rampage of fascist terror and murder in Charlottesville, the city rulers and their cops did not want to pay the overhead for mass casualties and arrests that day. The fact that the cops retreated this time should not lull any opponent of fascist or cop terror. The fascist gangs are the reserve army of the bourgeoisie, to be unleashed in times of crisis, when regular state terror does not suffice to enforce capitalist class terror and racist murder against the working class, black people and all the oppressed.
Antifa activists may well be defiant and heroic, but their political outlook is simply the street-fighting face of the “anti-hate” liberals. The fascist menace cannot be eliminated through isolated actions that do nothing to advance the political consciousness of the working class. A serious fight to eradicate fascism must be based on a revolutionary proletarian perspective to do away with the capitalist order that breeds the fascist scum.
In the 1980s and into the ’90s, the SL and PDC initiated mobilizations to stop the KKK and Nazis when they reared their heads in major cities. The aim was to stop the fascists. But it was also to imbue the working class with the consciousness of its social power as well as to arm it with an understanding of the class nature of the capitalist state and the Democratic Party. In building for these actions, we sought the endorsement of unions and their officials in order to be able to mobilize the union ranks, who formed the proletarian core of these mobilizations. These actions demonstrated the possibility of mobilizing the proletariat in defense of itself and all the oppressed. Above all, they underlined the need for a revolutionary proletarian leadership that is steeped in the lessons of the battles of the past and able to arm the workers for the battles to come.
The working class has the numbers, the power and the organization at the point of production not only to defeat the fascist stormtroopers but to win what the ruling class appropriates for itself—health care, quality education and housing, the very ability to lead a decent life. What is lacking is the kind of leadership necessary to fight—a leadership of the unions that doesn’t bow to the bosses’ laws, their political parties and state agencies. We need a workers party that fights for a workers government to rip the means of production from the capitalist class and institute a planned socialist economy that operates not for the profit of a few greedy exploiters but for the working people who produce the wealth.

Stop The Endless Wars-Listen To The Gals And Guys Who Have Been There-Veterans For Peace-VFP

Stop The Endless Wars-Listen To The Gals And Guys Who Have Been There-Veterans For Peace-VFP

By Frank Jackman

Recently I wrote a comment in this space about “street cred,” anti-war street cred in that case placing the anti-war organization Military Families Speak Out directly in the front line of those who have earned that honor, earned it big time as those of us, even many veterans like myself could expect out in those mean sullen anti-war streets. In that comment I had placed Military Families in the same company as those from my generation, my war generation, the Vietnam War, who too “got religion” on the questions of war and peace and who ran into the streets in the late 1960s and early 1970s to put muscle into that understanding. I noted that there was no more stirring sight in those days than to see a bunch of bedraggled, wounded, scarred, ex-warriors march in uniform or part uniform as the spirit moved them, many times in silent or to a one person cadence, in places like Miami and Washington with the crowds on the sidelines dropping their jaws as they passed by. Even the most ardent draft-dodging chicken hawk in those days held his or her thoughts in silence in the face of such a powerful demonstration.       

That was then and now is now. Now that spirit of military-borne   resistance resides a greying, aging, illness gathering relatively small group of veterans who have formed up under the dove-tailed banner of Veterans for Peace (VFP). While that organization is open to all who adhere to the actively non-violent principles stated below who are veterans and supporters the vast bulk of members are from the Vietnam era still putting up the good fight some forty plus years later. Still out on the streets with their dove-tailed banners flailing away in some off-hand ill-disposed wind stirring those crowds on the sidewalk once again. Still having that very special “street cred” of those who had have to confront the face of war in a very personal way. Listen up.


When The Blues Was Dues- The Classic Alligator Records Compilation

When The Blues Was Dues- The Classic Alligator Records Compilation

CD Review




By Zack James

Classic Alligator Records, many blues artists 

Long before Seth Garth became back in the day, the 1960s day, the music critic for the now long gone The Eye published in those day out of Oakland, California he had been bitten by the blues bug. Of course in the 1960s if one was to be a successful and relevant music critic one had to concentrate on the emerging and then fading folk music minute (of which the blues was seen as a sub-set of the genre especially the country blues wings with the likes of Skip James, Son House, Bukka White, and Mississippi John Hurt) and then post-British invasion and the rise of the counter-cultural movement what was called “acid” rock. So Seth’s blues bug, except for an occasional sneak-in was cut short by the needs of his career. Even then though Seth would keep up with the various trends coming out of places like Chicago and Detroit and of the artists who had formed his first interests.  

Strangely Seth had come to his love of the blues almost by accident. Back in the 1950s he had been like many teenagers totally devoted to his transistor radio to shutout the distractions of parents and siblings around the house. In those days though he was drawn to the fresh air jail breakout of rock and roll, guys like Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Chuck Berry. One Sunday night though almost like a ghost message from the radio airwaves the station he usually listened to WMEX was drowned by a more powerful station from Chicago, WABC. The show Be-Bop Benny’s Blues Hour (actually two hours but that was the title of the show). The first song Hound Dog Taylor’s The Sky Is Crying. He was hooked, hooked mainly because in those days the blues coming out of Chicago sounded like a very primitive version of rock, like maybe it had something to do with that beat in his head whenever a serious rock song came on WMEX like Chuck Berry’s Sweet Little Rock and Roller. He couldn’t always get the Chicago station on Sunday night, something to do with those wind patterns but he was smitten.

Like a lot of things including his later interest in folk music and acid rock Seth always wanted to delve into the roots of whatever trend he was writing about. That was how he found out that a lot of the songs that he heard on the Be-Bop Benny show were the genesis of rock. Also that rock had eclipsed the blues as the be-bop new thing leaving many of the most popular blues artists, overwhelming black artists, behind to pick up the scraps of the musical audience (only to be “discovered” later by some of the more thoughtful rock stars like the Stones just as the old time country blues artists from the South had been “discovered” by folk aficionado in their turn).  


Seth also dug into the technical aspects of the industry, who was producing the music. Those where the days when there were many small, small by today’s mega-standards, essentially mom and pop record companies producing blues material. In Chicago, with the huge migration of blacks from the South during the previous two generations there were a myriad of labels. But two stuck out, two were the ones who grabs the very best artists around Maxwell Street and made them stars, from the many one hit wonders to classic stars like Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and B.B. King. 

Of course most people have heard of those artists who worked out of the Chess Record label. But the other big label, the one under review, Alligator, also produced a shew of stars. So that very first night Seth had heard the legendary Hound Dog Taylor doing The Sky Is Crying he was under contract with Alligator. For more artists check out this two CD compilation of those others who also graced that label. Then you will be up to date on the genesis of the Chicago blues explosion that changed blues from acoustic to electric back in the day.           

In New York City on October 7th- A Forum In Honor of The 100th Anniversary of the Russian Revolution

In New York City on October 7th- A Forum In Honor of The 100th Anniversary of the Russian Revolution


    

“Strobe Light’s Beams Creates Dreams”-The Summer Of Love, 1967-The Boston Museum Of Fine Arts Take

“Strobe Light’s Beams Creates Dreams”-The Summer Of Love, 1967-The Boston Museum Of Fine Arts Take   







By Political Commentator Frank Jackman  
  
Early this year driven by my old corner boys, Alex James and Sam Lowell, I had begun to write some pieces in this space about things that happened in a key 1960s year, 1967. The genesis of this work is based on of all things a business trip that Alex took to San Francisco earlier this spring. While there he noted on one of the ubiquitous mass transit buses that crisscross the city an advertisement for an exhibition at the de Young Art Museum located in Golden Gate Park. That exhibition The Summer of Love, 1967 had him cutting short a meeting one afternoon in order to see what it was all about. What it was all about aside the nostalgia effect for members of the now ragtag Generation of ‘68 was an entire floor’s worth of concert poster art, hippy fashion, music and photographs of that noteworthy year in the lives of some of those who came of age in the turbulent 1960s. The reason for Alex playing hooky was that he had actually been out there that year and had imbibed deeply of the counter-culture for a couple of years out there after that.
Alex had not been the only one who had been smitten by the Summer of Love bug because when he returned to Riverdale outside of Boston where he now lives he gathered up all of the corner boys from growing up North Adamsville still standing to talk about, and do something about, commemorating the event. His first contact was with Sam Lowell the old film critic who also happened to have gone out there and spent I think about a year there, maybe a little more. As had most of the old corner boys for various lengths of time usually a few months. Except me. Alex’s idea when he gathered all of us together was to put together a small commemoration book in honor of the late Peter Paul Markin. See Markin, always known as “Scribe” after he was dubbed that by our leader Frankie Riley, was the first guy to go out there when he sensed that the winds of change he kept yakking about around the corner on desolate Friday and Saturday nights when we had no dough, no girls, no cars and no chance of getting any of those quickly were coming west to east.


Once everybody agreed to do the book Alex contacted his youngest brother Zack, the fairly well known writer, to edit and organize the project. I had agreed to help as well. The reason I had refused to go to San Francisco had been that I was in the throes of trying to put together a career as a political operative by attempting to get Robert Kennedy to run against that naked sneak thief of a sitting President, Lyndon Baines Johnson, who had us neck deep in the big muddy of Vietnam and had no truck with hippies, druggies or “music is the revolution” types like those who filled the desperate streets around Haight-Ashbury. Then.  Zack did a very good job and we are proud of tribute to the not forgotten still lamented late Scribe who really was a mad man character and maybe if he had not got caught up in the Army, in being drafted, in being sent to Vietnam which threw him off kilter when he got back he might still be around to tell us what the next big trend will be.              


The corner boys from the old Acre neighborhood in North Adamsville are, as the article below demonstrates, not the only ones who are thinking about the 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love. Not only did the de Young cash in on the celebration which is to be expected since it is right in San Francisco and right in Golden Gate Park where the Be-Ins, and many concerts by Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin and Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Doors, etc. played (many times for free if you can believe that in the now age of high priced tickets for the Stones, etc.) but the Museum of Fine Arts in staid old Boston has tipped its hat as well. The exhibit in Boston unlike San Francisco is small and concentrates on the graphic poster art and photographs but is similar in intent to the larger exhibits (also one at the Berkeley Art Museum around the same time as the de Young). Boston had its own smaller Summer of Love experience as well in 1967 but it was a pale refection of the big deal in Frisco town     


Still no question as I have mentioned before around this celebration year 50 years later looking at the art, the posters, photographs and listening to the music makes me once again realize that in that time “to be young was very heaven.”    


The100thAnniversaryYearOfTheBolshevik-LedOctoberRevolution-Lessons- *From The Marxist Archives- Karl Marx On Capital

Click on the title to link to a "Workers Vanguard", newspaper of the Spartacist League/U.S, article on the subject mentioned in the headline.

Dance Scene from "Picnic" - Kim Novak/William Holden