Thursday, March 26, 2015

From The American Left History Blog Archives (2008) - On American Political Discourse - A MODEST PROPOSAL-RECRUIT, RUN INDEPENDENT LABOR MILITANTS FOR THE 2016 ELECTIONS (Updated)


 

 

Markin comment:


In 2007-2008 I, in vain, attempted to put some energy into analyzing the then blossoming American presidential campaign, a changing of the guard election on the Democratic side, since it was to be, as advertised at least, a watershed election, for women, blacks, old white anglos, latinos, youth, etc. In the event I had to abandon the efforts in about May of 2008 when it became obvious, “in my face” obvious, that the election would be a watershed only for those few who really believed, who had talked themselves into, had a vested interest in touting that it would be a watershed election. That grim reality despite the hoopla, heavy cash and organizing of the thing, was that once again that election would essentially be a technician’s election, you know for armchair strategists and those who like to, for example, figure out how the Congressional race in the 26th District in Texas will impact the balance of power in the U.S. House. (I confess that early on in my life that kind of thing intrigued me too until I got “religion” and worried more about real live issues and political programs than wonk-ish concerns.)    


The subsequent “sleep-walk” four years of the Obama presidency, the non-watershed by anybody’s measurement 2012 American presidential election campaign, the banal mid-term elections of 2014 recently passed and the unending maelstrom of world politics have only confirmed in my eyes that that abandonment was essentially the right decision at the right time. In short, let the well- paid bourgeois commentators go on and on with their twitter. I, we, had (have) better things to do like fighting against the permanent wars, the permanent war economies, the struggle for more and better jobs, and for a workers’ party that fights for a workers government. More than enough to do, right?  


Part of my “alternative” offering then of the same old, same of the electoral cycle was a proposition that the labor movement and its supporters rather than spent another dime on what even a child can now see is a waste of good dues money on supporting this or that bourgeois candidate instead run our own independent candidates for appropriate offices in what for now would be exemplary campaigns. To that end I motivated my pitch with a few reasons and the outline of a program. Today as the non-watershed 2016 elections loom in our faces even before we have devoured the fact of the 2014 elections I offer an updated version of that program and the urgency to get out independent labors candidates.  


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1. FIGHT FOR THE IMMEDIATE AND UNCONDITIONAL WITHDRAWAL OF U.S. TROOPS FROM THE MIDDLE EAST NOW (OR BETTER YET, YESTERDAY)! U.S. HANDS OFF THE WORLD! VOTE NO ON THE WAR BUDGET!


The never-ending and apparently soon to be resurrected, with or without “boots on the ground” quagmire in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere in the Middle East (Palestine, Iran, Syria you name it) is the fault line of American politics today. Every bourgeois politician has to have his or her feet put to the fire on this one. Not on some flimsy ‘sense of the Congress’ softball motion for withdrawal next, year, in two years, or (my favorite) when the situation is “stable.” Moreover, on the parliamentary level the only real vote that matters is the vote on the war budget. All the rest is fluff. Militant labor candidates should make a point of trying to enter Congressional contests where there are so-called known anti-war Democrats or Republicans (an oxymoron, I believe) running to make that programmatic contrast vivid.


But, one might argue, that would split the ‘progressive’ forces. Grow up, please! That argument has grown stale since it was first put forth in the “popular front” days of the 1930’s. If you want to end the war fight for this "no funding" position on the war budget. Otherwise the same people (yah, those progressive Democrats) who unanimously voted for the last war budget and are reliably foaming at the bit to vote for the next one (or in the same vein authorized millions for Israel’s 2014 massacre in Gaza bought and paid for with U.S. aid) get a free ride on the cheap. By rights this is our issue. Let us take it back.


2. FIGHT FOR A LIVING WAGE AND WORKING CONDITIONS-UNIVERSAL FREE HEALTH CARE FOR ALL.


It is a ‘no-brainer’ that no individual, much less families, can live on the minimum wage of $7/hr. (or proposed $10/hr). What planet do these politicians live on? We need an immediate fight for a living wage, full employment and decent working conditions. A step in the right direction and a fight that should be supported and funded is the recent “Fight for $15.” We need universal free health care for all. End of story. (Although Obamacare is inadequate and filled with pitfalls it must be defended against those who wish to dismantle the whole thing and leave millions without insurance again.) The organized labor movement must get off its knees and fight to organize Wal-Mart and the South. A boycott of Wal-Mart is not enough. A successful organizing drive will, like in the 1930’s, go a long way to turning the conditions of labor and unionization around.


3. FIGHT THE ATTACKS ON THE ENLIGHTENMENT.


Down with the Death Penalty! Full Citizenship Rights for All Immigrants who make it here! Stop the Deportations! For the Separation of Church and State! Defend abortion rights! Down with anti-same sex marriage legislation! Support gay marriage rights! Full public funding of education! Stop the ‘war on drugs’, basically a war on blacks and minority youth-decriminalize drugs! Defend political prisoners! This list of demands hardly exhausts the “culture war” issues we defend. It is hard to believe that over 200 years after the American Revolution and the French Revolution we are fighting desperately to preserve many of the same principles that militants fought for in those revolutions. But, so be it.


4. FIGHT FOR A WORKERS PARTY.


The Donkeys, Elephants and Greens have had their chance. Now is the time to fight for our own party and for the interests of our own class, the working class. Any campaigns by independent labor militants must highlight this point. And any campaigns can also become the nucleus of a workers’ party network until we get strong enough to form at least a small party. None of these other parties, and I mean none, are working in the interests of working people and their allies. The following great lesson of politic today must be hammered home. Break with the Democrats, Republicans and Greens!


5. FIGHT FOR A WORKERS AND XYZ GOVERNMENT.


THIS IS THE DEMAND THAT SEPARATES THE MILITANTS FROM THE FAINT-HEARTED REFORMISTS.


We need our own form of government. In the old days the bourgeois republic was a progressive form of government. Not so any more. That form of government ran out of steam about one hundred years ago and has been choking human process since then. We need a Workers Republic. We need a government based on workers councils with a ministry (I do not dare say commissariat in case any stray anarchists are reading this) responsible to it. Let us face it if we really want to get any of the good and necessary things listed above accomplished we are not going to get it with the current form of government.


Why the XYZ part? What does that mean? No, it is not part of an algebra lesson. What it reflects is that while society is made up mainly of workers (of one sort or another) there are other classes (and parts of classes) in society that we seek as allies and who could benefit from a workers government. Examples- small independent contractors, intellectuals, the dwindling number of small farmers, and some professionals like dentists. Yah, I like the idea of a workers and dentists government after many years in the dentist chair. The point is you have got to fight for it.


Obviously any campaign based on this program will be an exemplary propaganda campaign for the foreseeable future. But we have to start now. Continuing to support or not challenging the bourgeois parties does us no good now. That is for sure. While bourgeois electoral laws do not favor independent candidacies and make things difficult write-in campaigns are possible.
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A Five-Point Program As Talking Points

*Jobs For All Now!-“30 For 40”- A historic demand of the labor movement going back to the 1930s Great Depression the last time that unemployment, under-employment, and those who have just plain quit looking for work was this high in the American labor force, although it is admittedly down from the Great Recession highs. Thirty hours work for forty hours pay is a formula to spread the available work around. This is no mere propaganda point but shows the way forward toward a more equitable distribution of available work.


The basic scheme, as was the case with the early days of the longshoremen’s and maritime unions, is that the work would be divided up through local representative workers’ councils that would act, in one of its capacities, as a giant hiring hall where the jobs would be parceled out. This would be a simpler task now than when it was when first proposed in the 1930s with the vast increase in modern technology that could fairly accurately, via computers, target jobs that need filling and equitably divide up current work.


Without the key capitalist necessity of keeping up the rate of profit the social surplus created by that work could be used to redistribute the available work at the same agreed upon rate rather than go into the capitalists’ pockets. The only catch, a big catch one must admit, is that no capitalist, and no capitalist system, is going to do any such thing as to implement “30 for 40” –with the no reduction in pay proviso, although many low –end employers are even now under the “cover” of the flawed Obamacare reducing hours WITH loss of pay-so that to establish this work system as a norm it will, in the end, be necessary to fight for and win a workers government to implement this demand.


Organize the unorganized is a demand that cries out for solution today now that the organized sectors of the labor movement, both public and private, in America are at historic lows, just over ten percent of the workforce. Part of the task is to reorganize some of the old industries like the automobile industry, now mainly unorganized as new plants come on line and others are abandoned, which used to provide a massive amount of decent jobs with decent benefits but which now have fallen to globalization and the “race to the bottom” bad times. The other sector that desperately need to be organized is to ratchet up the efforts to organize the service industries, hospitals, hotels, hi-tech, restaurants and the like, that have become a dominant aspect of the American economy. Support the recent militant efforts, including the old tactic of civil disobedience, by service unions and groups of fast-food workers to increase the minimum socially acceptable wage in their Fight For 15.


Organize the South-this low wage area, this consciously low-wage area, where many industries land before heading off-shore to even lower wage places cries out for organizing, especially among black and Hispanic workers who form the bulk of this industrial workforce. A corollary to organizing the South is obviously to organize internationally to keep the “race to the bottom” from continually occurring short of being resolved in favor of an international commonwealth of workers’ governments. Hey, nobody said it was going to be easy.

Organize Wal-Mart- millions of workers, thousands of company-owned trucks, hundreds of distribution centers. A victory here would be the springboard to a revitalized organized labor movement just as auto and steel lead the industrial union movements of the 1930s. The key here is to organize the truckers and distribution workers the place where the whole thing comes together. We have seen mostly unsuccessful organizing of retail stores. To give an idea of how hard this task might be though someone once argued that it would be easier to organize a workers’ revolution that organize this giant. Well, that’s a thought.

Defend the right of public and private workers to unionize. Simple-No more defeats like in Wisconsin in 2011, no more attacks on collective bargaining the hallmark of a union contract. No reliance on labor boards, arbitration, courts or bourgeois recall elections either. Unions must keep their independent from government interference. Period.

* Defend the independence of the working classes! No union dues for Democratic (or the stray Republican) candidates. In 2008 and 2012 labor, organized labor, spent over 450 million dollars respectively trying to elect Barack Obama and other Democrats (mainly). The “no show, no go” results speak for themselves as the gap between the rich and poor has risen even more in this period. For those bogus efforts the labor skates should have been sent packing long ago. The idea in those elections was that the Democrats (mainly) were “friends of labor.” The past period of cuts-backs, cut-in-the-back give backs should put paid to that notion. Although anyone who is politically savvy at all knows that is not true, not true for the labor skates at the top of the movement.

The hard reality is that the labor skates, not used to any form of class struggle or any kind of struggle, know no other way than class-collaboration, arbitration, courts, and every other way to avoid the appearance of strife, strife in defense of the bosses’ profits. The most egregious recent example that I can recall- the return of the Verizon workers to work after two weeks in the summer of 2011 when they had the company on the run and the subsequent announcement by the company of record profits. That sellout strategy may have worked for the bureaucrats, or rather their “fathers” for a time back in the 1950s “golden age” of labor, but now we are in a very hard and open class war. The rank and file must demand an end to using their precious dues payments for bourgeois candidates all of whom have turned out to be sworn enemies of labor from Obama on down.

This does not mean not using union dues for political purposes though. On the contrary we need to use them now more than ever in the class battles ahead. Spent the dough on organizing the unorganized, organizing the South, organizing Wal-Mart, and other pro-labor causes. Think, for example, of the dough spent on the successful November, 2011 anti-union recall referendum in Ohio. That type of activity is where labor’s money and other resources should go. And not on recall elections against individual reactionaries, like in Wisconsin, as substitutes for class struggle (and which was overwhelmingly unsuccessful to boot-while the number of unionized public workers has dwindled to a precious few).  

*End the endless wars!- As the so-called draw-down of American and Allied troops in Iraq reached its final stages back in 2011, the draw- down of non-mercenary forces anyway, I argued that we must recognize that we anti-warriors had failed, and failed rather spectacularly, to affect that withdrawal after a promising start to our opposition in late 2002 and early 2003 (and a little in 2006).As the endless American-led wars (even if behind the scenes, as in Libya, Yemen, Somalia, and other proxy wars) continue now with a new stage against ISIS (Islamic State) in Iraq we had better straighten out our anti-war, anti-imperialist front quickly if we are to have any effect on the U.S. troop escalation we know is coming before that fight is over. Not Another War In Iraq! No Intervention In Syria! Stop The Arms Shipments To The Middle East! Stop The Bombing Campaign! Defend The Palestinian People-End The Blockade of Gaza. And as always since 2001 Immediate, Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops (And Mercenaries) From Afghanistan!  

U.S. Hands Off Iran! Hands Off Syria!- American (and world) imperialists have periodically ratcheted up their propaganda war (right now) and increased economic sanctions that are a prelude to war well before the dust has settled on the now unsettled situation in Iraq and well before they have even sniffed at an Afghan withdrawal of any import. We will hold our noses, as we did with the Saddam leadership in Iraq and on other occasions, and call for the defense of Iran against the American imperial monster. A victory for the Americans (and their junior partner on this issue, Israel) in Iran is not in the interests of the international working class. Especially here in the “belly of the beast” we are duty-bound to call not just for non-intervention but for defense of Iran. We will, believe me we will, deal with the mullahs, the Revolutionary Guards, and the Islamic fundamentalist in Iran in our own way in our own time.

U.S. Hands Off The World! And Keep Them Off!- With the number of “hot spots” that the American imperialists, or one or another of their junior allies, have their hands on in this wicked old world this generic slogan would seem to fill the bill.

Down With The War Budget! Not One Penny, Not One Person For The Wars! Honor World War I German Social-Democratic Party MP, Karl Liebknecht, who did just that in 1915 in the heat of war and paid the price unlike other party leaders who were pledged to stop the war budgets by going to prison. The only play for an honest representative of the working class under those conditions. The litmus test for every political candidate must be first opposition to the war budgets (let’s see, right now no new funding in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran preparations, China preparations, etc. you get my drift). Then that big leap. The whole damn imperialist military budget. Again, no one said it would be simple. Revolution may be easier that depriving the imperialists of their military money. Well….okay.

*Fight for a social agenda for working people! Free Quality Healthcare For All! This would be a no-brainer in any rationally based society. The health and welfare of any society’s citizenry is the simple glue that holds that society together. It is no accident that one of the prime concerns of workers states like Cuba, whatever their other political problems, has been to place health care and education front and center and to provide to the best of their capacity for free, quality healthcare and education for all. Even the hide-bound social-democratic-run capitalist governments of Europe have, until recently anyway, placed the “welfare state” protections central to their programs. Be clear Obamacare is not our program and has been shown to be totally inadequate and wasteful however we will defend that program against those who wish to dismantle it and leave millions once again uninsured and denied basic health benefits.  

Free, quality higher education for all! Nationalize the colleges and universities under student-teacher-campus worker control! One Hundred, Two Hundred, Many Harvards!

This would again be a no-brainer in any rationally based society. The struggle to increase the educational level of a society’s citizenry is another part of the simple glue that holds that society together. Today higher education is being placed out of reach for many working-class and minority families. Hell, it is getting tough for the middle-class as well.

Moreover the whole higher educational system is increasing skewed toward those who have better formal preparation and family lives leaving many deserving students from broken homes and minority homes in the wilderness. Take the resources of the private institutions and spread them around, throw in hundreds of billions from the government (take from the military budget and the bank bail-out money if you want to find the money quickly to do the job right), get rid of the top heavy and useless college administration apparatuses, mix it up, and let students, teachers, and campus workers run the thing through councils on a democratic basis.

Forgive student debt! The latest reports indicate that college student debt is something like a trillion dollars, give or take a few billion but who is counting. The price of tuition and expenses has gone up dramatically while low-cost aid has not kept pace. What has happened is that the future highly educated workforce that a modern society, and certainly a socialist society, desperately needs is going to be cast in some form of indentured servitude to the banks or other lending agencies for much of their young working lives. Let the banks take a “hit” for a change!

Stop housing foreclosures and aid underwater mortgages now! Although the worst of the crunch has abated there are still plenty of problems and so this demand is still timely if not desperately timely like in the recent past. Hey, everybody, everywhere in the world not just in America should have a safe, clean roof over their heads. Hell, even a single family home that is part of the “American dream,” if that is what they want. We didn’t make the housing crisis in America (or elsewhere, like in Ireland, where the bubble has also burst). The banks did. Their predatory lending practices and slip-shot application processes were out of control. Let them take the “hit” here as well.

*We created the wealth, let’s take it back. Karl Marx was right way back in the 19th century on his labor theory of value, the workers do produce the social surplus appropriated by the capitalists. Capitalism tends to beat down, beat down hard in all kinds of ways the mass of society for the benefit of the few. Most importantly capitalism, a system that at one time was historically progressive in the fight against feudalism and other ancient forms of production, has turned into its opposite and now is a fetter on production. The current multiple crises spawned by this system show there is no way forward, except that unless we push them out, push them out fast, they will muddle through, again.

Take the struggle for our daily bread off the historic agenda. Socialism is the only serious answer to the human crisis we face economically, socially, culturally and politically. This socialist system is the only one calculated to take one of the great tragedies of life, the struggle for daily survival in a world that we did not create, and replace it with more co-operative human endeavors.

Build a workers’ party that fights for a workers government to unite all the oppressed. None of the nice things mentioned above can be accomplished without as serious struggle for political power. We need to struggle for an independent working-class-centered political party that we can call our own and where our leaders act as “tribunes of the people” not hacks. The creation of that workers party, however, will get us nowhere unless it fights for a workers government to begin the transition to the next level of human progress on a world-wide scale.

As Isaac Deutscher said in his speech “On Socialist Man” (1966):

“We do not maintain that socialism is going to solve all predicaments of the human race. We are struggling in the first instance with the predicaments that are of man’s making and that man can resolve. May I remind you that Trotsky, for instance, speaks of three basic tragedies—hunger, sex and death—besetting man. Hunger is the enemy that Marxism and the modern labour movement have taken on.... Yes, socialist man will still be pursued by sex and death; but we are convinced that he will be better equipped than we are to cope even with these.” 

Emblazon on our red banner-Labor and the oppressed must rule!

ROLL UP YOUR SHEEVES! GET THOSE ELECTION BALLOT PETITIONS SIGNED! PRINT OUT THE LEAFLETS! PAINT THOSE BANNERS! GET READY TO SHAKE HANDS AND KISS BABIES

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Surfers Like Lemmings To The Sea-With The Gaslight Gang In Mind

 
 
 
From The Pen Of Bart Webber

Before dawn on a warm winter San Diego Mission Beach morning in 2015 but it could have been any year since about World War II, maybe before, a bunch of guys, and a few gals, dressed in non-fashionista but endlessly long day searching for perfect wave mandatory rubber suits, black from head to toe. Carrying, of course a fully-waxed surf board which they will umbilically, if there is such a word to be used in the surfing vocabulary to explain the real nature of the relationship of board to human, tie to themselves and if not let us say they will tie the board to their wrists with a cord, and tie that cord to themselves at water’s edge as they head to the far edge of the beach, to where the sand gives way to stones and edges to the sawdust peeling sand cliffs.

This is important because just the morning before this one as Sam Lowell walked along the beach that same herd of black-suited lemmings had been anchored around the pier about a mile before the rocks. As Sam well knew, although since he had not been to coastal Southern California for some years he had put the thought somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, the search for the perfect wave will drive every savvy surfer to the place where they think that wave action is likely to happen and if they are not savvy then they will follow the others betting that wiser heads will take them to Nirvana.

All of this surfer action though this day got Sam thinking about back in the days, back in the mid-1960s days, when although not a surfer himself since he could barely swim and when young had foolishly drifted out to sea on a log and almost drowned except for the quick wits of the female life-guard which increased his love/fear of the sea, he had snagged surfer girl Butterfly Swirl, Cathy Callahan, from up the road in Carlsbad.

As befitted the times Butterfly had been a young just out of high school surfer girl on the loose looking for what everybody was talking about, talking about when they talked about the new breeze coming through the land, the stuff that the late Peter Markin had clued Sam and the other corner boys about in the hometown Carver night back in the early 1960s. That new breeze thing, read the dope, sex and acid-etched rock and roll part of the breeze, Sam was all over, had his doctorate in that subject and had no mixed feelings about what was going on unlike that mixed relationship of his with the sea. In another time no way that Butterfly and Prince Valiant, the moniker Sam was travelling under in that change-your-name-change-your-karma moniker-filled time, would have crossed paths. Butterfly would probably have endlessly continued to wait on shore for her perfect wave golden surfer boy (young women were not usually surfers themselves but just looked bikini beautiful on the West Coast beaches tanning themselves waiting for the sunlight to fail and then give their pruned boys a little something to take the chill off, and you can figure out what that was). Sam, after a serious bout of corner boy petty crime and grifting with the likes of Frankie Riley, Peter Markin, Jack Dawson, Jimmy Jenkins and a revolving cast of characters in high school would have gone off to college and law school like his parents wanted him to do.

He had let those choices hang fire, had caught hell from his working-stiff parents for going off the path they had worked so hard to provide for him, had caught hell from his sometime girlfriend, Maud Callahan, who had dreams of marriage after that cookie-cutter college-law school-start-a-small-practice-in-Carver routine got them out from under the old neighborhood burdens, when the siren calls came from out in California (the call could have been from anyplace at a certain point in that decade including Denver, Ann Arbor, up in the Oregons, Seattle, Santa Fe and so on but Sam had his mind set on Frisco where he had heard the new world was beginning, was in flower. Markin had also held a certain sway over him since he was the first of the corner boys to head west and see what it was all about, see if his, Markin’s, ideas about the new breeze held up. When Markin had headed back East to bring others back out Sam had been the first guy who hitchhiked out there with him.

Back to the Butterfly meet-up though. In order to meet Sam or somebody who was hip to the new wave scene Butterfly had left her golden-boy-looking-for-the-perfect-wave surfer boy and headed to San Francisco where all the action that she was interested in was happening. They had met in Golden Gate Park when he was on board Captain Crunch’s psychedelic color-plastered converted yellow brick road school bus and she had come up to him with a come hither look and asked if anybody had any dope. Sam flipped her a joint and lit a match to get her going. Of course new wave or not, new wave in 1967 anyway, no way that a fox like Butterfly was not going to be hit on by old corner boy Markin who thought he had the old feudal “rights of the first night” or something since he had been on the bus longer than Sam. In any case he was lying in wait once he saw her. Butterfly picked Sam after a little verbal struggle between the two old corner boys who were like high school kids about the situation, worse since they had not bothered each other back in Carver under the corner boy code, you don’t mess with another guy’s woman, maybe an idea honored more in the breech than the observance but still part of the genetic make-up of the Carver code.  

Sam, as he thought back, thought too about how he had not only snagged Butterfly from her surfer boy but from his old friend Markin and chuckled at the thought since usually Markin with his piss-ass two thousand facts would talk his way into something leaving Sam to get mad about the lost. That Butterfly had in the end turned back into the surfer girl and had gone back home to her golden boy after about a year also was a sign of the times but Sam had long ago figured out that he had been lucky for what time they had had together since he a New England boy, a bookish New England boy would never have run into a surfer girl otherwise. He never had subsequently and that kind of proved the point.            

 A few times while Sam and Butterfly Swirl were together, usually when they were riding up and down the coast in Captain Crunch’s magical mystery tour yellow brick road converted school bus, and usually when stoned Sam (then using the moniker Prince of Love once he tried of the Valiant moniker since everybody seemed to switch up without notice as a sign that they were breaking out of their bourgeois old habits of thought and living) would ask Butterfly to tell him about the attractions of the surfer world that he had known really only by photographs and the songs of the Beach Boys who had made a fine career out of paying homage to all the Southern California post-World War II youth cultural signposts.

Cathy told Sam during those conversations that she was not sure how she had become a surfer girl, although she was hardly alone in that designation in a place like Carlsbad since it was part of growing up in such a town. (or for that matter La Jolla, Mission Beach, the beach cities heading north on to Mecca Malibu and as Sam remembered back he had also seen the scene in such outposts as Old Orchard Beach, Maine and off the coast of Cape Breton so go figure). In her case as Sam realized since she was a long leggy blondish young woman with ocean blue eyes she was a perfect specimen of the type then. What Sam could not figure is why in those days somebody as attractive and smart as Cathy would sit on shore all day if necessary waiting for her golden boy to have a shot at the perfect wave or come out of the water prune-like (even with the protective suits long periods in the water tended to prune a guy up). See unlike today when you are likely to see more than a few surfer girls suited up to search for their own perfect wave in those days surfer girls by definition waited on shore for their menfolk. Waited maybe working on their tans then to be taken home in the ubiquitous “woodie” in order to get ready to go out that night and catch some act at a surfer bar and then to “curl a guy’s toes” before going home to rest up for another day of the perfect wave.  (That “curl your toes” Cathy’s expression for sex and an expression of what she was capable of doing in bed as Sam found out)      

 That is what Cathy was taking a break, a momentary break from as it turned out, when she headed north after breaking up with golden boy. Sam would thereafter always wonder on those occasions when he saw the sight at any beach about the lure of the surf board where the black-clad brethren held forth. And he was wondering about that the Mission Beach morning when the worm turned.           

But not only surfers inhabit the beach world although they are much more likely to be there at the sun’s call, or cloud’s call or wind’s call than landlubbers who will abandon our mother the sea at the drop of a hat. Sam remembered the time Josh Breslin had told him that when he went golfing out at Torrey Pines a few years back he struck up a friendship with some of the regulars there and played with them for a few days straight on very sunny warm days. Then one day they were not there although they were serious regulars. He played in any case. The next day they reappeared and he asked what had happen the day before. They told him it was too cold, too cold at 60 degrees to play. Hell, Josh from snow country cold weather Maine opened his jaw in disbelief. But the surfers all suited up and impervious to the prune effect anyway would be there unlike the sullen crowds who are no shows at the amusement park when the weather hits the slightest bit south.     

Yes the worm turns, and turns in odd ways since no way would anybody back in the 1960s be thinking about golf, hell, Sam remembered being at one meeting in San Francisco where they were discussing how to actively stop the goddam war in Vietnam and one guy, and no radical, just to show how upside down the times were said that they should burn down the country clubs. Jesus, Josh would flip now.

He thought about another story Josh had told him, being at Mission Beach seemingly exploding some old kept previously tight thoughts. One time, one hot sultry time. Josh and his companion Laura walked from the Mission Park parking lot at West Bay Bridge to Belmont Park, the amusement center which confronts you before you hit the beach, a distance of maybe a mile which was easier to do that California wait in the traffic that was going nowhere so Laura could take pictures of the amusement park for some camera club completion. Needless to say old serious Josh, having had his fill growing up about twenty miles north of the Orchard Beach amusement park in Olde Saco normally would give such places a wide berth. Laura too. But that day something of the old time kids taking the rides for the momentary thrill of being bumped, dragged, twirled, jumbled, twisted, made seasick, and just plain bedazzled got to them.

Josh, naturally, as an old arcade man from his Old Orchard days  attempted to try his luck on the skee game that he had mastered very early when he was young (unlike the pinball wizard games that he never quite caught and usually had to depend on some generous corner boy up in his corner at the Colonial Diner  on Main Street who had other things to do, go meet some girl or some hijack a car or something to leave him his games won).

Josh was excited by the prospect of “winning” some little trinket for Laura although having been down that road before with Josh she just rolled his eyes at the prospect of getting a rabbit’s foot or a feathery snake like in previous Josh efforts down at Paragon Park south of Boston or Seaside Heights in New Jersey. Josh tried to reason with her, telling her his classic skee story about the time when he was twelve or thirteen and this girl, Mary Lou, was having a terrible time working the skee balls, getting the right aim at the targets. So he stepped forward and showed her how. She still could not get the drift and the ever smooth Josh decided that he would win her a trinket. He had been on fire that day and he actually won her a stuffed animal. For his bravado efforts Mary Lou and he walked to the secluded end of the beach and she gave him a big kiss. That was what was at stake. Laura just rolled her eyes again and said that was when he was twelve, get over it.

In any case Josh’s story had a weird if modern ending. Apparently even on the lowly skee ball machines you have to deal with the modern technology way of payment. You needed to swipe your debit card to begin the game, to have the balls roll down the chute. No cash accepted although on other wizard machines at the park cash was accepted. Josh had not brought his wallet not thinking that he was to do combat that day at the arcade. He asked, no, begged, cajoled, cried for mercy for Laura to let him use her card. No dice, no way Jose. No way was she going to expose her credit card to whatever craziness was going on in the hacker world, and emphatically was not going to pay for her rabbit’s foot or feathery snake. Josh was “bitter” very bitter about that as they moved on to the bumper cars so Laura could take some photographs.                 

Strangely one of Josh’s fondest memories, fondest brother memories was when they, all four of the them, would bump the bejesus out of each other all trying to get the maximum from a direct frontal or back hit on those saucy bumper cars. Such were the times, better times in the Breslin family. Laura said that she never went on the rides, was too afraid to even look at them usually as they went skyward. She did confess to a weakness that she and her sister had had for the whirl-a-whirl which was just a covered surrey which did dips as it went on its circular route. They would laugh like crazy so it could not have been too scary.

As they left the park Laura spied the inevitable carousel and needed to take photos of the little ones on the painted ponies going up and down, gently as a new generation gets used to the momentary thrills produced by the magic of the amusement park. The carousel a relic of a gentler by-gone day before the super-electro dump up and down, speedo, nip and dip rides carried the day. As they walked back to the car they both almost simultaneously said that they had had fun in the park. Yes, they did.    

Of course any trip to the sea, waylaid by an amusement park diversion or not, requires due homage to our homeland, the ocean, with the obligatory walk, barefooted in good weathers, maybe flip-flops if the going is a little sandy or with appropriate boots in winter time and so before they left the area to head back to the car they walked Mission Beach. This had been the first time Laura had walked that particular beach, although if one deals with Josh Breslin you will get very jaded after the first twenty or so trips any time you are within ocean breeze of the coast. (One time Josh told Laura when he was heading west hitching with Markin, maybe on that first trip out together, he swore that he could smell that seaweed, seashell, sea animal mucked ocean once they hit Travers City and that town is seventy-five miles from the sea so you know he has a keen sense of the ocean draw). That hot sultry day they walked, talked and observed which half of the fun is when you are at the beach and especially when the weather is warm like that day was warm for a winter’s day. Again a fine day.

Later that night at dinner Laura mentioned to Josh a couple of things  she had observed at the beach while they were walking but had just thought of since she had just seen a very tall, slender  woman, close to six feet maybe more, walking into the restaurant with a man slightly shorter than she was. Laura commented on her very nice figure and clothes but also wondered as she had observed at the beach as well with many long-legged women in very skimpy bikinis that there were many more tall women around in the generation or two after theirs then when they were growing up. Laura said at five feet, six inches she was not short by her generation’s standards, in fact would be on the taller side, but related to Josh that she had been teased in high school by some of the guys for being so “tall for a girl” and that had hurt her since she was conscious of what that meant in that less enlightened time. Laura also believed that she had lost dates over the matter since guys then didn’t as a rule see anything attractive about woman taller than they were. All the literature, and she remembered especially a short story by Fitzgerald in which the one woman mentioned had been tall and left out of the action, made sport of, which spoke to a woman’s height as much as to say that such a beast was ungainly and to be treated like somebody’s unwanted sister.

Josh spoke up at that remark and said that he once was “forced” to take one of Brendan Pirot’s younger sisters to the Spring Frolic at Olde Saco High as a favor to him since she was five feet, eight inches and nobody wanted to take her. The funny part was that she was something of a beauty, and later in college half the guys on campus were looking for dates with her, some begging according to Brendan, but the worm was turning on that tall woman thing a little by then. Josh noted as well that aside from that “duty” performed his preference had been to not date girls as tall as or taller than he is, and thus giving Laura anecdotal evidence of the pervasiveness of the old time custom.

He also mentioned that he had broken up with a girl, Josie Davidson, for just that reason after high school when he was serious about her, a young woman almost six feet tall but he could not get over the fact that people, guys, would think less of him because he was with a taller woman. He was extremely self-conscious about that and while he never mentioned her height to her it was one of the things when they were having their final split-up that he was relieved to be leaving behind. Kids’ stuff but any unacknowledged hurt by him aside it was an unacknowledged way tall women were perceived then as Amazons and thus man-eaters.     

Later that night as they headed home in the car Josh mentioned that he remembered reading in some magazine that was hip to such things that these newer generations unlike theirs and earlier generations were corn-fed, got more meat and the like and probably had shot up based on that added food supply to their systems as well as whatever DNA stuff was going on. That magazine article also noted that in the 1960s the trend toward very thin women, the Twiggy effect, had started in England after the war when Britain was still reeling from food shortages and that thinness changed from a negative to a plus. Apparently at least one guy did not mind being with a thin as a rail woman.

Having exhausted the subject of tall women Laura to switch the subject up a bit started talking about the other generational thing that she had noticed, the incredible number of men and women, mostly younger, who had tattoos. And not just like sailors and bikers in the old days maybe some rose, some mother sentiment, or some sweetheart’s name, but anything from almost full body tattoos giving some genesis story to a lower back or ankle simple symbol. Josh said in the old days tattoos were reserved for sailors far from home, maybe drunk to give themselves a boost and would go to the convenience tattoo parlors that dotted the wharf areas where sailors hung on when not on ship, bikers who saw it as their way of “showing the colors” and occasionally somebody who had sailed into the China seas and as a result was entitled to wear a tattoo to tout that fact.

During the counter-cultural movement of the 1960s occasionally young women would have a butterfly put on their shoulder or on their lower back or ankle. But the latest explosion spoke to a generation trying to scream out its existence to an indifferent world, or some such message. He wondered aloud whether they all knew so young that unless some new therapy to erase the tattoos gets developed they have to live will all this through the skins sags that will come with middle age. Probably not, just like that did what they liked stuff and damn the rest of what the world thought when they were young. Laura chuckled at that. Before bed both agreed once again that it had been a great day  

Josh got the last word in, surfers, misplaced surfer girls, skee ball champions, tall women and shoulder length tattoos all in a jumble but don’t’ blame the ocean for all that though. Laura laughed again.

In Honor Of The 144th Anniversary Of The Paris Commune-On The Barricades- The Dwindling Days

 

Henri Broue was beside himself when he heard the alarm bell, the bell that was used to warn of impending danger in front of the barricades coming now from two sources, the dreaded Prussians who had the outpost fortresses of the city under their control and now the dreaded revamped Theirs governmental forces who were charging throughout the at various point. He thought back to late March, late March when the now fallen Jean-Paul Dubois had urged the section committee to pursue the Thiers troops and disband them before they had a chance to regroup in Versailles. But that fervent brave voice was not listened to was not heeded as the spirit of the time was not following a military bend but a good riddance to bad company feeling after Theirs and company had fled to Versailles. Now with the ringing of the alarm (three long gongs, repeated) they were back, back seeking revenge, seeking blood, seeking death.    

Henri had been nothing but a young man the first time, his first time, on the barricades back in those bloody June Days of ’48 when all hell broke loose as the as the old forces tried to drown the new republic in blood, and did so. And hell that was only a republic, not even a workers republic like he and his comrades on barricade Marat (French Revolution, circa 1789, figured murdered by Corday) were trying to establish, establish through the German defeat, the starvation blockade, the perfidy of the Theirs government, their flight and now their vengeful return. The Commune had made some headway, had stabilized things for a while but they forgot a few things too, forgot they were not an isolated island in France but part of all France and should have fought, fought like hell to link up with the other communes in some kind of defensive league. Now they were being destroyed section by section without any outside help, without, as well, any forces to hold the Prussians at bay.

Henri Broue did not consider, despite his revolutionary past, himself a brave man, or a great military fighter although he accounted himself well back in the days. This he knew though, this he knew well, brave or a coward, he was going to be on barricade Marat just as long as he held breathe…  

As The 100th Anniversary Of The First Year Of World War I (Remember The War To End All Wars) Continues ... Some Remembrances-Writers’ Corner  

In say 1912, 1913, hell, even the beginning of 1914, the first few months anyway, before the war clouds got a full head of steam in the summer they all profusely professed their unmitigated horror at the thought of war, thought of the old way of doing business in the world. Yes the artists of every school the Cubist/Fauvists/Futurists/Constructivists, Surrealists or those who would come to speak for those movements (hell even the Academy spoke the pious words when there was sunny weather), those who saw the disjointedness of modern industrial society and put the pieces to paint, sculptors who put twisted pieces of metal juxtaposed to each other saw that building a mighty machine from which you had to run created many problems; writers of serious history books proving that, according to their Whiggish theory of progress,  humankind had moved beyond war as an instrument of policy and the diplomats and high and mighty would put the brakes on in time, not realizing that they were all squabbling cousins; writers of serious and not so serious novels drenched in platitudes and hidden gazebo love affairs put paid to that notion in their sweet nothing words that man and woman had too much to do, too much sex to harness to denigrate themselves by crying the warrior’s cry and by having half-virgin, neat trick, maidens strewing flowers on the bloodlust streets; musicians whose muse spoke of delicate tempos and sweet muted violin concertos, not the stress and strife of the tattoos of war marches with their tinny conceits; and poets, ah, those constricted poets who bleed the moon of its amber swearing, swearing on a stack of seven sealed bibles, that they would go to the hells before touching the hair of another man, putting another man to ground or lying their own heads down for some imperial mission. They all professed loudly (and those few who did not profess, could not profess because they were happily getting their blood rising, kept their own consul until the summer), that come the war drums they would resist the siren call, would stick to their Whiggish, Futurist, Constructionist, Cubist worlds and blast the war-makers to hell in quotes, words, chords, clanged metal, and pretty pastels. They would stay the course.  

And then the war drums intensified, the people, their clients, patrons and buyers, cried out their lusts and they, they made of ordinary human clay as it turned out, poets, beautiful poets like Wilfred Owens who would sicken of war before he passed leaving a beautiful damnation on war, its psychoses, and broken bones and dreams, and the idiots who brought humankind to such a fate, like e. e. cummings who drove through sheer hell in those rickety ambulances floors sprayed with blood, man blood, angers, anguishes and more sets of broken bones, and broken dreams, like Rupert Brooke all manly and old school give and go, as the marched in formation leaving the ports and then mowed down like freshly mown grass in their thousands as the charge call came and they rested, a lot of them, in those freshly mown grasses, like Robert Graves all grave all sputtering in his words confused about what had happened, suppressing, always suppressing that instinct to cry out against the hatred night, like old school, old Thomas Hardy writing beautiful old English pastoral sentiments before the war and then full-blown into imperium’s service, no questions asked old England right or wrong, like old stuffed shirt himself T.S. Eliot speaking of hollow loves, hollow men, wastelands, and such in the high club rooms on the home front, and like old brother Yeats speaking of terrible beauties born in the colonies and maybe at the home front too as long as Eliot does not miss hi shigh tea. Jesus what a blasted nigh that Great War time was.   

And do not forget when the war drums intensified, and the people, their clients, patrons and buyers, cried out their lusts and they, they, other creative souls made of ordinary human clay as it turned out artists, sculptors, writers, serious and not, musicians went to the trenches to die deathless deaths in their thousands for, well, for humankind, of course, their always fate ….            
    
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The Beauty and the Sorrow

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4.2 of 5 stars 4.20  ·  rating details  ·  865 ratings  ·  147 reviews
Four devastating years told by twenty eyewitnesses showing not just what the First World War was, but what it was like to live through

There are many books on the First World War, but award-winning and bestselling historian Peter Englund takes a daring and stunning new approach. Describing the experiences of twenty ordinary people from around the world, all now unknown, he
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