Net Neutrality Can Survive in Massachusetts
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Friday, February 02, 2018
Net Neutrality Can Survive in Massachusetts
For Frederick Douglass On His 200th Birthday -In Honor Of Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday- Now He Belongs To The Ages- Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Abraham Lincoln- “Team Of Rivals: Abraham Lincoln's Political Genius"- A Book Review
In Honor Of Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday- Now He Belongs To The Ages- Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Abraham Lincoln- “Team Of Rivals: Abraham Lincoln's Political Genius"- A Book Review
Book Review
Team Of Rivals: Abraham Lincoln's Political Genius, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Simon &Schuster, New York, 2005
One would think as we celebrate, and rightly so, Abraham Lincoln’s birthday that everything that needs to be said about the man has been written, and written in profusion and to exhaustion. I believe that fact is essentially true, although that has not stopped all and sundry from taking a shot at reformulating, or “uncovering” the “real” Lincoln as the fairly recent attempts to win Lincoln for the “Homintern” (the English poet W.H. Auden’s term, not mine) on the question of his sexual preferences indicates. That said, after reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team Of Rivals it is apparent that there are reformulations and there are reformulations. Here Ms. Goodwin has gathered much material that I have seen in other sources and tells a very interesting and detailed politically-etched story about the way that Abraham Lincoln was able to use his sharply-honed skills to weld together a presidential cabinet that, with few defections and fewer resignations, ran the Unionist side in the American Civil War. For those already familiar with battles, military victories and personalities, and grand strategies this is a very good inside look at the mechanics of how the Union victory was won. If that fight was a close thing at times it was not Lincoln’s lack of ability to stay the course and to push the fight forward that was to blame.
As I mentioned above most of the material used here, including many of the humorous (1860s humorous) anecdotes and parables that Lincoln was famous for, have seen the light of day in other sources, especially in poet and fellow Illinoisan Carl Sandburg’s old time multi-volume study. Where Ms. Goodwin shines is on the information about the fight for the formation of the Republican Party in the 1850s and in chronicling Lincoln’s almost compulsive desire from early on to mark his name in the stars. The struggle to create that new party, and the sketches of the men that were drawn to it, including Lincoln, out of the divergent political tendencies that were coming apart in the tradition Whig and Northern Democratic parties as a result of the pressures of the slavery question represented some of the most interesting parts of the book. The mix and matches of personalities and divergent political backgrounds that came together and formed its core, men like William Seward, Montgomery Blair, and Simon Chase joined by Unionist Democrats and Whigs like Edwin Stanton and Edward Bates, were those that Lincoln had to work with in order to form a coalition, a popular front if you like, that held together under his authority to get the necessary job done.
There has been some recent controversy over the question of Lincoln’s racial views and whether he was, personally, a racist or not. While that question is more germane than the once concerning his sexual preferences I believe that Ms. Goodwin has put paid to that question by her narrative. Clearly Lincoln, as he entered the presidency, had the typical racial views of his times, his white man’s times, no question. In that sense Seward, and more so, Chase held more “advanced” views and were more comfortable with working with blacks. The beauty of Lincoln, as a kicking and screaming late covert to “high” abolitionist positions is that he was able to transcend his own personal views.
In that sense Ms. Goodwin, however, may have underestimated the influence that the “team” had on Lincoln’s racial views, as they meshed together to turn what started as a straight up, although still historically important, struggle for the Union to the more important struggle to break slavery as a reputable modern form of servitude. The ups and downs of that struggle to focus the fight on abolition form the core of this book. If you are not familiar, beyond the general high school or college history books, on the subject of the American Civil War and you are not desperate to know, in detail, every battle, skirmish, and mere looking mean at each other across every picket line, or every military commander, drunk or sober, or much about what was happening politically on the Confederate side once the war started this book is for you. And if you want to have a well written political narrative of the hows and whys of Lincoln’s growing political authority during the Civil War and understand why War Minister Stanton’s statement after his assassination “now he belongs to the ages” rings true you had better read this one.
Book Review
Team Of Rivals: Abraham Lincoln's Political Genius, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Simon &Schuster, New York, 2005
One would think as we celebrate, and rightly so, Abraham Lincoln’s birthday that everything that needs to be said about the man has been written, and written in profusion and to exhaustion. I believe that fact is essentially true, although that has not stopped all and sundry from taking a shot at reformulating, or “uncovering” the “real” Lincoln as the fairly recent attempts to win Lincoln for the “Homintern” (the English poet W.H. Auden’s term, not mine) on the question of his sexual preferences indicates. That said, after reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team Of Rivals it is apparent that there are reformulations and there are reformulations. Here Ms. Goodwin has gathered much material that I have seen in other sources and tells a very interesting and detailed politically-etched story about the way that Abraham Lincoln was able to use his sharply-honed skills to weld together a presidential cabinet that, with few defections and fewer resignations, ran the Unionist side in the American Civil War. For those already familiar with battles, military victories and personalities, and grand strategies this is a very good inside look at the mechanics of how the Union victory was won. If that fight was a close thing at times it was not Lincoln’s lack of ability to stay the course and to push the fight forward that was to blame.
As I mentioned above most of the material used here, including many of the humorous (1860s humorous) anecdotes and parables that Lincoln was famous for, have seen the light of day in other sources, especially in poet and fellow Illinoisan Carl Sandburg’s old time multi-volume study. Where Ms. Goodwin shines is on the information about the fight for the formation of the Republican Party in the 1850s and in chronicling Lincoln’s almost compulsive desire from early on to mark his name in the stars. The struggle to create that new party, and the sketches of the men that were drawn to it, including Lincoln, out of the divergent political tendencies that were coming apart in the tradition Whig and Northern Democratic parties as a result of the pressures of the slavery question represented some of the most interesting parts of the book. The mix and matches of personalities and divergent political backgrounds that came together and formed its core, men like William Seward, Montgomery Blair, and Simon Chase joined by Unionist Democrats and Whigs like Edwin Stanton and Edward Bates, were those that Lincoln had to work with in order to form a coalition, a popular front if you like, that held together under his authority to get the necessary job done.
There has been some recent controversy over the question of Lincoln’s racial views and whether he was, personally, a racist or not. While that question is more germane than the once concerning his sexual preferences I believe that Ms. Goodwin has put paid to that question by her narrative. Clearly Lincoln, as he entered the presidency, had the typical racial views of his times, his white man’s times, no question. In that sense Seward, and more so, Chase held more “advanced” views and were more comfortable with working with blacks. The beauty of Lincoln, as a kicking and screaming late covert to “high” abolitionist positions is that he was able to transcend his own personal views.
In that sense Ms. Goodwin, however, may have underestimated the influence that the “team” had on Lincoln’s racial views, as they meshed together to turn what started as a straight up, although still historically important, struggle for the Union to the more important struggle to break slavery as a reputable modern form of servitude. The ups and downs of that struggle to focus the fight on abolition form the core of this book. If you are not familiar, beyond the general high school or college history books, on the subject of the American Civil War and you are not desperate to know, in detail, every battle, skirmish, and mere looking mean at each other across every picket line, or every military commander, drunk or sober, or much about what was happening politically on the Confederate side once the war started this book is for you. And if you want to have a well written political narrative of the hows and whys of Lincoln’s growing political authority during the Civil War and understand why War Minister Stanton’s statement after his assassination “now he belongs to the ages” rings true you had better read this one.
Saturday - Venezuela: Updates from the Streets When: Saturday, February 3, 2018, 12:00 pm to 2:00 pm Where: encuentro 5 • 9A Hamilton Place • Boston
Saturday - Venezuela: Updates from the Streets
When: Saturday, February 3, 2018, 12:00 pm to 2:00 pm
Where: encuentro 5 • 9A Hamilton Place • Boston
VENEZUELA
Propaganda and revolution, imperial force and mass struggle, Venezuela is a contested nation. Cutting through sensational headlines, this community briefing features a first hand report, an update on an innovative agricultural solidarity program, and organizing for a Boston delegation to the elections later this year. Join us for this lively conversation!
- Chair - Padma Balasubramanian
- Update - Jorge Marin
- Seeds - Omar Sierra
- Delegation - Jose Aleman
SPONSORS: Boston Democratic Socialists of America, Committee in Solidarity with the People of El Salvador (CISPES), Massachusetts Global Action, United for Justice with Peace, Venezuela Solidarity Committee.
Contact vensol2016@gmail.com and sandra@encuentro5.net for more information.
Upcoming Events:
| Film screening: Roadmap to Apartheid | Saturday, February 3, 2018 - 3:00pm | Cambridge Friends Meeting | Cambridge | |
| Ilan Pappe: Zionism and the Creation of the Biggest Prison on Earth | Saturday, March 10, 2018 - 7:00pm | Cambridge Friends Meeting | Cambridge |
Newsletter:
Breaking News: Indefinite Imprisonment of Reality Winner Upheld in Final Denial of Bail Hearing
Breaking News: Indefinite Imprisonment of Reality Winner Upheld in Final Denial of Bail Hearing
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FRIENDS OF REALITY WINNER ~ PATRIOT & ALLEGED WHISTLEBLOWER
c/o Courage to Resist, 484 Lake Park Ave #41, Oakland CA 94610 ~ 510-488-3559 standwithreality.org ~@standbyreality~ facebook.com/standwithreality |
Thursday, February 01, 2018
The Roots Is The Toots: The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Out In Jukebox Night-With Ben E. King's Spanish Harlem In Mind Spanish Harlem
The Roots Is The Toots: The Music That Got The Generation Of
’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Out In Jukebox
Night-With Ben E. King's Spanish Harlem In Mind
Spanish Harlem
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
It is the special one, it's never seen the sun
It only comes out when the moon is on the run
And all the stars are gleaming
It's growing in the street
Right up through the concrete
But soft and sweet and dreaming
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
It is the special one, it's never seen the sun
It only comes out when the moon is on the run
And all the stars are gleaming
It's growing in the street
Right up through the concrete
But soft and sweet and dreaming
There is a rose in Spanish Harlem
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal
That looks down in my soul
And starts a fire there and then I lose control
I have to beg your pardon
I'm going to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows in my garden
A red rose up in Spanish Harlem
With eyes as black as coal
That looks down in my soul
And starts a fire there and then I lose control
I have to beg your pardon
I'm going to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows in my garden
I'm going to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows in my garden
And watch her as she grows in my garden
La la la, la la la, la la la la
(There is a rose in Spanish Harlem)
La la la, la la la, la la la la
(There is a rose in Spanish Harlem)
(There is a rose in Spanish Harlem)
La la la, la la la, la la la la
(There is a rose in Spanish Harlem)
*******
Sometimes it is hard to figure out why a certain
memory draws certain other memories out although today, musically, which is
what I want to talk about, just flipping to YouTube and its cross-references
makes that statement more explicable since one is almost automatically
bombarded with about seven million songs with some memory meaning. Meaning
maybe a memory of that first record hop at school, elementary school in the
1950s, just by the reference. Or that first time you noticed that girls were,
well, kind of interesting or at least approachable at some basement family room
“petting” party. (The first “private” time when adults may be hovering around
unseen but when they are persona non grata with the confines of the party room
and a time when lights low or out the first “feels” occurred however innocent
or bewildering for either sex. That basement family room also serving as
fall-out shelter, fully-stocked, if the Russkies decided to blow one by us.)
Better just a little time later, although time seemed then to drag infinitely
by and you tried to hurry it up then, when you started dreaming about that
brunette on television (you can fill in your own color preference) swaying back
and forth provocatively, provocatively in your mind anyway, just for you after
rushing home after school to watch American
Bandstand. Or later when the hormones really kicked in that first night
time junior high school dance with her, the her with the faraway eyes whose
bubble soap (or maybe some “stolen” scent from the top of mother’s dresser)
drove you crazy. Yeah, I like the latter better since that scenario would mean
that she was provocatively trying to drive you crazy with her amateur womanly
wiles. Moving on to that first double-date night down by the seashore watching
the “submarine races” and you copped a “feel” (for those who did not have a
seashore to go down to in order to look for those locally famous submarines at
midnight, sorry, but okay so maybe at a drive-in movie, or that spot out by the
dam or up in the foreboding hills known strictly as a lovers’ lane). Then
before you know it you had graduated high school and the memories got fonder
but faded with time until you got to the 2000s night and you woke up in a sweat
thinking about that girl with the faraway eyes and that damn bubble soap smell
that filled your nostrils (and wondering, wondering did she really have the
cunning to steal that mother’s scent right off the top of her dresser).
Recently I have, seemingly endlessly, gone back
to my early musical roots, my memory roots, in reviewing various commercial
compilations of classic rock series that goes under the general title Rock
‘n’ Roll Will Never Die. That
classic rock designation signifying the “golden age of rock,” the time of some
Les Paul guitar zip rocket 88 Ike Turner, zap finger-snapping the big man
flapping shake, rattle and roll Big Joe Turner, from long side-burned,
sexy-eyed (yeah guys can say that now about guys without blushing), sneering
one night of sin hunger Elvis, from sweet little sixteen Mister’s girl hunger
telling Beethoven his time had passed Chuck Berry, from the back of a flatbed
truck double girl hunger high school
confidential Jerry Lee, the time of the original jail break-out and not the
smoother later patched-up stuff-ouch!. While time and ear have eroded
the sparkle of some of the lesser tunes (and lesser singers like blueberry hill
Fats and he/she good golly Little Richard) it still seems obvious that those
years, say 1955-62, really did form the musical jail break-out for my
generation, the generation of ’68, who had just started to tune into music.
We had our own little world, or as some hip
sociologist trying to explain that Zeitgeist today might say, our own
sub-group cultural expression. I have already talked about such notable
phenomena as the pre-chain convenience store mom and pop corner variety store
corner boy hangout with the tee-shirted, engineered-booted, cigarette
(naturally unfiltered, not some “faggy” (yeah, that’s what we said then and
what did we know about such things, such same-sex things that were whispered
then and are now laughingly out in the open, anyway) Kents, Winstons or
Marboros but real coffin nails Luckies, Camels, or Pall Malls) hanging from the
sullen lips, Coke, big sized glass Coke bottle at the side, pinball wizard guys
thing. Complete with foxy tight cashmere-sweaterd girls hanging off every bump
and grind of that twisted machine. And, of course, about the pizza parlor, you
name it House of Pizza, Marios’s, Mama Mia’s,
juke-box coin-devouring, playing some “hot” song for the nth time that
night, hold the onions on that order please as I might get lucky tonight,
dreamy girl coming in the door thing. Another of course, the soda fountain,
and…ditto, dreamy girl coming through the door thing, merely to share a sundae,
please. Ditto for the teen dance club, keep the kids off the streets even if we
parents hate their damn rock music, the now eternal hope dreamy girl coming in
the door, save the last dance for me thing (and where Mister Ben E. King at
some point was “walking with the king” to get us close on his la la la’s in
Spanish Harlem.
Whee! That’s maybe enough memory lane stuff for
a lifetime, especially for those with weak hearts. But, no, your intrepid
messenger feels the need to go back again and take a little different look at
that be-bop jukebox Saturday night scene as it unfolded in the early 1960s.
Hey, you could have found the old jukebox in lots of places in those days.
Bowling alleys, drugstores, pizza parlors, drive-in restaurants, and as had
been shown in the cover art on one of that rock and roll series CDs I reviewed
also at the daytime beach. While boy or girl watching. Basically any place
where kids were hot for some special song and wanted to play it until the cows
came home. And had the coins to satisfy their hunger.
A lot of it was to kill time waiting for this or
that, although the basic reason was these were all places where you could show
off your stuff, and maybe, strike up a conversation with someone who attracted
your attention as they came in the door. The cover artwork on that daytime
beach scene, for example, showed a dreamy girl waiting for her platters (vinyl
records, okay, check on it) to work their way up the mechanism that took them
from the stack and laid them out on the player. And tee-shirted sullen guy
(could have been you, right?) just hanging around the machine waiting for just
such a well-shaped brunette (or blond, but I favored brunettes in those days,
and still do if anybody is asking), maybe chatting idly was worth at least a
date or, more often, a telephone number to call. Not after nine at night though
or before eight because that was when she was talking to her boyfriend. Jesus.
But lucky guy, maybe.
But here is where the real skill came in, and
where that white-tee-shirted guy on the cover seemed to be clueless. Just
hanging casually around the old box, especially on a no, or low, dough day
waiting on a twist (one of about a dozen slang words for girl in our old
working-class neighborhood usually made up by or learned from corner boy leader
Frankie Riley who had a thing for old time detective novels and films where he
would pick them up) to come by and put her quarter in (giving three or five
selections depending what kind of place the jukebox was located in) talking,
usually to girlfriends, as she made those selections. Usually the first couple
were easy, some old boyfriend memory, or some wistful tryst remembrance, but then
she got contemplative, or fidgety, over what to pick next.
Then you made your move-“Have you heard Spanish
Harlem. NO! Well, you just have to hear that thing and it will cheer you
right up. Or some such line. Of course, you wanted to hear the damn thing. But
see, a song like that (as opposed to Chuck Berry’s Sweet Little Rock and
Roller, let’s say) showed you were a sensitive guy, and maybe worth talking
to... for just a minute, I got to get back to my girlfriends, etc., etc. Oh,
jukebox you baby. And guess what. On that self-same jukebox you were very, very
likely to hear some of the following songs. Here’s the list and there are some
stick-outs (and a few that worked some of that “magic” just mentioned above on
tough nights):
1)
My
Boyfriend's Back-The Angels: it seemed that every good-looking girl had some
hidden boyfriend stashed away for just that occasion when you got too close and
she sprung the hurting news on you without grace, worse scorned you for
thinking that you had a chance beyond “being friends” when everybody, everybody
who counted, knew she had been going with Joe College from State U who had
graduated from high school a couple of years before forever. Although if you
thought about it for a minute the real problem had been the break-down in your
“intelligence” network, you know, your Monday morning before school boys’ lav
info session where you gathered the scoop on the weekend doing and discreetly
asked around about that Laura something, the one who you had been eyeing in
study for about a week before you made your big move and got your hopes up. Or at least had gotten “the word” from one of
your corner boys, maybe Josh, maybe Frankie, who were sworn to not leave you in
the lurch on such matters and make you the laughing stock of subsequent Monday
morning boys’ lav talkfests about the weekend doings. No, you had to jump in
with both feet, hell, both feet and both hands, on the basis of a furtive
glance that she threw you way in the corridor one day. Hadn’t you learned by
then that those subtle furtive glances were thrown at every guy with anything
going for him by the Lauras of this wicken old teen world. Join the club
brother, join the club.
2)Nadine (Is It You?)-Chuck Berry: anything
by Chuck by definition in the theme and tenor of his lyric, or by the various
hot licks he laid down on his guitar spoke of sex, back seat of the car sex
which was just fine then when you were young and agile. Young and agile and if
the moment was right and you had some Chuck playing on the car radio permanently
tuned to WMEX down by the seashore (or wherever that local lovers’ lane was far
from prying adult eyes and far from children glares) and you needed every inch
and ounce of young and agile in that damn crowded backseat that somebody, some
S.O.B car manufacturer though was saving profits by making as small as possible
you still managed to do what you, and she (or he for she or whatever
combinations pass these days in the love circle) started out to do because
otherwise why were you down by that seaside far from prying eyes.
3)Spanish Harlem-Ben E. King: I
have already pointed out the central importance of this song come late night
school dance night when you want that she you were eyeing all evening to slow
dance with you on that last chance to dance, and you were looking for that one
moment when you could put your hands down her back toward her ass and she
didn’t brush you off, didn’t seem to mind at all in that dark hall moment.
Thanks, Brother King.
4) Come & Get These Memories-Martha and the
Vandellas: well, it is not dancing in the streets but Martha and the girls had
that Motown sound down. That sound that got everybody up and dancing just to be
dancing, dancing close or dancing apart but just dancing. A big relief for bad
dancers and semi-wallflower guys like me. The real full-time wallflowers that
hugged the gym walls like they were a life-saver thrown in the sea just kept to
their walls as they always did but the rest of us decided to live a little
dangerously, and we survived.
5) Little Latin Lupe Lu- The Righteous
Brothers: every guy, at least every guy I knew, wondered about that Latin girl
thing from these guys like maybe we missed something, like maybe there was
something to that Tia Taco thing, that high-blown Spanish blood lust thing.
Problem, big problem around our way was that there was no way to verify or not
verify that hot blood thing since there were zero, nada nunca nada, Latinos in
our high school, hell, in the whole town. Needless to say no blacks either,
none. The closest we came to dark-skinned ethnics was a girl from Lebanon who
seemed very exotic. It would be a long time and a couple of thousand miles
south in old Mexico before I got the message that those hermanos were laying
down.
6)It's Gonna Work Out Fine-Ike and Tina Turner: Yeah, we all
know now, have had it knocked into our heads that Ike was not nature’s noble
man but they rocked on this one with that drop dead guitar work of Ike’s and
Tina’s on fire singing.
7) When We Get Married- The Dreamlovers: after a bunch of busted marriages, a few
off-hand affairs that didn’t work out and a few things that did that kid’s rush
to the blissfully wedded aisle with his ever-loving honey seems kind of wishful
thinking now. And you know what in those days I had a lot of the same feelings
although not directed to a specific person since the routine was finish high
school, get a job or go on in school, get married, have two point three
children, one white picket fence with whitewashed house attached, have a dog named
Spot or Rover and bliss. Yeah, life turned out a little different, no, a lot
different.
8)Dear Lady Twist
–Gary U.S.
Bonds: Brother Bonds saved more two-left feet guys in this universe than you
could shake a stick with his twist mania where you could look pretty good all
tangled up as long as everybody else was too. Except don’t watch this lad, me,
too closely because his tangled up is off the beat even though his kindly
partner was courteous enough to mention that, said he was a great dancer. Said
it in such a way that they wound up sitting down by the seaside shifting sand
before the night was over where she admitted that her tangling up was off too.
Get this, and suggested we form a club, a two left- feet club, with two
members. Well, okay.
9) If You Gotta
Make a Fool of Somebody –James Ray: the national anthem for guys who did not
get to dance that last chance dance, damn, after eyeing her all evening until
your eyeballs got sore. And you suddenly learned if you did not know already,
and maybe you should have, maybe some boys’ locker room guy, come brethren
corner boy, heck, your older brother, consulted wiser heads to find out that
the good-looking women of the world, the Lauras mentioned above throw out those
furtive glances just for kicks, just to see what sore eye-balled guys would do.
And guess what 16 or 68 it does not get any better. Jesus.
10) I Count the Tears-The Drifters: a great
backup song just in case Spanish Harlem had already been played
and Loopy Lenny the DJ was not into taking requests or maybe the borrowed record
was worn out from play or the guy running the record-player if not Loopy Lenny had
absolutely no sense of what a high energy, high hormonal count teenage crowd
wanted to hear late at night. Wanted to have a chance for that last
dance.
From the Archives of Marxism-Friedrich Engels' “From the Kingdom of Necessity to the Kingdom of Freedom”
We publish below excerpts from Friedrich Engels’ 1880 work Socialism: Utopian and Scientific. In explaining scientific socialism, Engels makes clear that only through the conquest of power by the working class and the expropriation of the capitalist class can the benefits of science, technology and education be available to all, laying the material basis for the full liberation of humanity. The excerpts below are taken from the Marx and Engels Selected Works (Progress Publishers, 1976).
For Black History Month-Artists’ Corner-The Work Of Jacob Lawrence
For Black History Month-Artists’ Corner-The Work Of Jacob Lawrence
Jacob Lawrence first came to widespread public attention for his series of paintings chronicling the historically significant migration of blacks out of the Mister James Crow South toward the north which became a flood after World War I-mainly the industrial towns of the Midwest then. Going up the Mississippi. Later Lawrence came to evoke the northern urban scene of the black diaspora. Those later paintings evoke in a dramatic manner the visual search via iconic Jazz among the folk for the high white note that every musician worth his or her salt was looking for. Pictured are the workman, the hipster, the street persona and the respectable too. Thanks Brother Lawrence-there is a very strong reason that some of your work is enshrined in the Afro-American History Museum down in Washington fast by the Washington Monument.
from the migration series
Poet’s Corner- Langston Hughes- With One-Easy Boogle In Mind
From The Pen Of Frank Jackman
February is Black History Month
One-Easy Boogle
… he, all six feet two, one hundred and ninety-five lanky pounds, brown- skinned brother of him dressed in his Saturday night finery nothing flashy but a couple of guys, a couple of guys not skimpy in the fashion plate set-up looked the look that they thought he made the cool grade, better some brown sugar gave sets of big eyes his way (truth to tell the finery stuff had been bought at Wal-Mart’s or cadged from an older brother not using the material since said brother had long ago given up Saturday night roaming, Saturday night hungers but in the half-light the look looked), had spied her, all that brown sugar of her not giving a set of big eye glances his way across the room the minute he came in the door. Came into Brother Earl’s High Hat Lounge ready for some low-key jazz and maybe some jam too, came into his what did the white folks call it, yeah, his watering hole (funny white-bread name for bars but those white folks were always coming with up weird words, had been coming up with weird crap ever since they hung “nigger” and “high yella” on his people).
So he gave her his full eyes up and down, and then down and up, practically unclothing her slinky frilly white dress low cut the way he liked them in order to see what baubles a gal had. While he was too much of a gentleman to lick his chops, he also knew if she had seen him in such a foolish schoolboy on a lark pose he would be sleeping alone that night. Or more likely given his luck lately with some cheap pick-up floozy like Sarah Lou or Betty Buck ready to roll over for a guy, a guy like him in his finery (they too not able to tell the difference or maybe he mused they were looking at other stuff, looking down his well-creased pants), with some dough, some good liquor and reefer, and a line of patter to get her out of her panties (not hard when it came to floozy time, midnight hour time, he knew, knew only too well not being able to shake either of those two whores when they got their walking daddy habits on). She not so much beautiful as fetching, all high yella like Mr. Whitey said, knowing she had plenty of blood coursing through her veins from some long ago indignity ravaged on his great-grandmother, maybe before. Yeah, fetching in the long haul which was usually preferable unlike Sarah Lou who after he had had his way with her and he woke up the next morning her beside him would scamper out of bed and out the door before she opened her blood-shot eyes.
Yes, one look at her, one look at that light brown sugar, one once-over (really twice over) told him that, told him too that he needed to be cool, cool enough to stay a little aloof while she was up at the stand in front of that band singing, singing some faggy Cole Porter tune that Billie made pop, sounded like Night and Day as he came in, some god-struck angel face now that he had stopped looking up and down and started to figure out what he needed to do when intermission time came.
He knew for instance, that she would require scotch, high-shelf scotch, to soothe those tender vocal cords like some magic elixir. He liked to speculate on the brand; here it seemed to require Haig &Haig Royal Bonded to aid his cause. (He was right when he asked the waitress what the torch singer was drinking when he sent a drink over to her table at intermission, and plenty of it too, judging by the way she drank the drink in front of her and later that one he had sent up to the stage so she would not be dry between songs). He thought about whether she would want to be complimented on her clothes. (She did, talking for a little too long about it, about how tough it was to keep herself in slinky dresses which guys wanted to look at her in, the boss too, until he moved the subject on to her music that blues jazz mix that she had down pat, very pat). Or whether telling her that she had a fine body (nice shoulders, slim waist, etc.), nice legs, nice well-turned ankles, nice hair, nice, fill in the blank, or any combination of nices, would get him any place. (It did, as she gave him even more meaningful looks as they talked, only be stopped by the call for the next set from Sammy, the combo leader). Thought whether he should ask right then whether she wanted a nightcap with him elsewhere later or ask her ask her at the end of the evening. (End of the evening, a wise choice since she kept giving him meaningful little smiles along with the drinks to keep the mood up throughout that last performance.)
Preliminaries over he once again listened to that angel-voice, listened to her phrasing, listened for the pause between the phrasing, and then that slight little snarl of the upper lip as she went into her own blues-drenched version of Rock Me Baby, and looking right at him, right directly at him, when she sang long drawn out phrasing sang, “rock me all night long.”(He did, rocked her sore, and she did too, rocked him sore as hell.)
… and hence this be-bop poem in celebration
Easy Boogie
Down in the bass
That steady beat
Walking walking walking
Like marching feet.
Down in the bass
They easy roll,
Rolling like I like it
In my soul.
Riffs, smears, breaks.
Hey, Lawdy Mama!
Do you hear what I said?
Easy like I rock it
In my bed!
The101stAnniversaryYearOfTheBolshevik-LedOctoberRevolution-LessonsForToday-The Bolshevik Revolution Versus The State Church
From The Marxist Archives-The Bolshevik Revolution Versus The State Church
Frank Jackman comment:
Usually when I post something from some other source, mostly articles and other materials that may be of interest to the radical public that I am trying to address I place the words “ A View From The Left” in the headline and let the subject of the article speak for itself, or let the writer speak for him or herself without further comment whether I agree with the gist of what is said or not. After all I can write my own piece if some pressing issue is at hand. Occasionally, and the sentiments expressed in this article is one such time, I can stand in solidarity with the remarks made. I do so here.
February is Black History Month-Honor Historian Carter G. Woodson
February is Black History
Month-Honor Historian Carter G. Woodson
By Sam Eaton
Normally, unlike guys
like Sam Lowell and Frank Jackman that write here about politics and history, I
am not interested in the fate of historians dead or alive. They provide
valuable material, mostly, but I just am not attuned to history enough to go
crazy over any particular one, or any particular morsel they have to serve up.
Not so the man we are honoring here Carter G. Woodson (and on Google’s home
page doodle as well which is where I got my prompt from). The reason I am more
than happy to make an exception is that the good Doctor did yeoman’s work, no
more than that, to bring us young white kids who were involved in the black
civil rights movement in the early 1960s plenty of information about the history
of early black struggles and personalities. Started journals and programs to study
the subject. Stuff that we were clueless about despite our avidity to help in
the black liberation struggle. Stuff that was not taught in any high school
course, hell, any college courses until well after Black/Afro-American study
programs were established. So, yes, hats off to the good Doctor.
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