Don't Gel Too Soon

The Vietnam Moratorium, 40 Years Ago Today

It wasn't that long ago - not really.  Thousands of us singing "All we are saying, is give peace a chance" on the Mall in Washington.   It all started when Sam Brown, David Hawk, David Mixner, Marge Sklenkar, John Gage and other peace luminaries, many of whom were veterans of the failed McCarthy and Kennedy campaigns, decided to call a "moratorium on the war in Vietnam" and ask everyone to come to Washington to support it.  It was a great idea: a kind of strike against the war, but with manners.

And 250,000 came, followed by at least 500,000 exactly a month later, during the November Moratorium that followed.   But on this day, a manageable and peaceful crew assembled.  My memories of the day are scattered.  I worked for CBS News by then and my job was to keep track of the march, marchers and plans for all the peace activity going on in the capital.  There was plenty, in a wide spectrum of militancy and affect. 

I wish I could describe for you some of the more radical "peace houses" I visited; collectives with tie died cloth covering the windows and mattresses on the floor - working for a much tougher way to oppose the war. 

Organizers and participants in this march , though, slept in church basements and the homes of local people who made room for them.  Everyone who lived in Washington didn't have a spare bed or couch - or inch of space on the floor.  You know this, but just to remind you, listen to what the BBC says about that time "in context:

American combat troops had been fighting the Communist Viet Cong in Vietnam since 1965.

Some 45,000 Americans had already been killed by the end of 1969. Almost half a million US men and women were deployed in the conflict, and opposition to the war was growing.

The Moratorium for the first time brought out America's middle class and middle-aged voters, in large numbers. Other demonstrations followed in its wake.

I guess that song is what I remember most - that, and members of the Chicago 7, out on bail as they awaited trial, addressing the crowd and pulling off wigs to show how their jailers had cut off all their hair.  For some reason, I can still see that - it felt to me like such a violation.  A less than friendly observer asked me later "How did you like what they did to "your friends" huh?  They weren't my friends; I barely knew them, but the question was a punch in the gut.  So many things stood for other things then. Long hair on men meant rebellion and outlier. 

Anyway, it's yet another 40 year anniversary and I didn't feel that I could let it go un-noted.

If you have never heard the Lennon song "Give Peace a Chance" here are John and Yoko singing it with a crew of friends during a peace "bed in" in, I believe, Amsterdam.  Happy Anniversary

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Memories of Peter, Paul, and Mary Travers

The first time I ever heard Peter Paul and Mary I was 15 and spending the summer at a writing program at Exeter Academy - the first year they ever let "girls" into the school at all. I remember loving Blowin' in the Wind, If I Had a Hammer and of course, Puff.   I remember visiting another student's home in Concord where her older brother, already in college, told me that the three were just "popularizers of Bob Dylan songs" and scornfully complaining  that I should be listening to Dylan not them.  (I didn't find Bob Dylan until later - junior year, I guess.)  I thought he was nuts  To me, Peter Paul and Mary were an introduction to  music that was about things I cared about: civil rights, war, peace and love --  from a more political perspective.

From then on, through high school, into college and "out into the world" Peter Paul and Mary held a special place in my life.  We seemed to cross paths often.  We played their music all the time, of course.  My sister and I saw them at a summer concert in Pittsburgh (my long-suffering mom driving us, of course.)  I remember watching them sing at the 1963 March on Washington,  and later seeing them at Wolf Trap with a blind date.  And, most profoundly, I remember seeing them quite literally, save lives in Grant Park at the Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1968.  Hordes of demonstrators were coming over a bridge into the part of the park right outside the Hilton.  There had been trouble, lots of trouble, for at least days and this would be another terrible confrontation.  Then, from nowhere, Peter, Paul and Mary started to sing.  The demonstrators slowly converged around their platform, diverted from certain misery.  It was quite a thing. 

Here's what else I remember.  Mary Travers herself, who died today.  She was a powerful model: not just her deep, resonant voice but also her powerful, sure presence, on stage and off. She was brave and funny and looked amazing.  We all knocked ourselves out trying to have straight hair like hers: ironed it, slept with it wrapped around orange juice cans.   She was a powerful presence. 

Of course, part of her power, and that of Peter and Paul was their commitment.  Where they were needed, they came.  Civil rights marches, peace marches, the McCarthy presidential campaign, even regional and local union struggles.  It was a signal to the rest of us: if we can show up, so can you.  And we did.  As another friend wrote to me tonight:  "I just saw the news story.  Can't believe how much of our history was tied up with them."   

Making my way out of my office, thinking about writing this, I started singing to myself: "Leavin' on a Jet Plane." But I couldnt finish.  I was close to tears.  It's happened so often this summer - icons of my life fading from view.  Teddy Kennedy, Walter Cronkite, Robert McNamara, Don Hewitt, Ellie Greenwich, Patrick Swayze just yesterday, and now Mary.  Each representing so many lives; so many memories.

I keep writing here because somehow I don't want to stop.  This ought to do it, though.  (The other guy is John Denver)

So Long Patrick, and Thanks

Does anybody not love Dirty Dancing?   At least for the many of us who were the darling Frances "Baby" Houseman, the idealistic, embryonic 60's activist, Daddy's girl for her brains, not her looks, the film is a misty, wonderful time capsule.  And so,  it may be, in essence, a women's film - so romantic and sexy in a new-at-sex kind of way.  But it wouldn't have worked without the sweet, gifted Patrick Swayze, who died today.  Although as Johnny Castle he gave us a young man who tried to present a weary, streetwise persona, he also brought us a man as idealistic as the rich girl who fell for him.  The perfect first lover.  Swayze, with grace and generosity, was all that and more.

This was a class story and coming-of-age story and a Times They Are A-Changin' story, evocative in ways that are difficult to express.  Baby, like us, was riding the cusp between the 50's end of the 60's and the Sixties that were to come.  Her relationship with Johnny was the bridge between those times, and so he meant even more than his lovely self.  I've always thought Swayze underestimated anyway but as I decided to write this I began to realize just how underestimated.  Without the right Johnny, Frances would not have mattered.

I, at least, could look at her and know her future.  Because it was mine.  Like Baby I never hated my parents.  Most of what I did that they wouldn't have liked, I hid.  Defiance was never a goal because I loved my parents and they loved me.   We just didn't see things like love and sex the same way so I decided just not to tell them.  There were many other things we saw differently too, but they changed their minds because they listened to us as often as we changed ours by listening to them.  We respected each other. 

So I did all my overnight disappearing on campus and kept my mouth shut about it.  And went home as the Cindy they knew -- more political and determined, but with no desire to blow up the neighborhood or leave the people I'd loved -- and still loved -- behind.  Like Frances, I responded to the Civil Rights movement and President Kennedy and longed to be part of what was to come.   Like Frances I had a "Johnny" though mine didn't dance. 

Of course, Swayze went on to make Ghost, which I think was at least as successful and even more of a fairy tale.  He appeared in gritty films like Road House and, as a tribute to his fellow dancers, many of whom died of AIDS, in drag in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.  And which role we choose to remember most probably depends on gender, and even more on age.

But for me, gratitude for the gift of memory, of the same sense of romance, in a way, that Twilight offers another generation, that's tough to beat.  And the gift, the reminder of the girl I remember and the hopes and dreams she took with her to college, that gift was from Patrick Swayze too. 

For Ellie Greenwich, Who Really WAS Leader of the Pack, With Thanks

When our kids were little, we used to sing.  All the time.  And early on, many of the songs they loved were written by this woman:  Ellie Greenwich. She was a tough cookie I think.  She was also one of the great song writers of her generation.  Ever heard Be My Baby? ("Bee my, bee my bay bee, my one and only baybee...")  Chapel of Love? ("Goin' to the Cha pull and we're gonna' get ma a a reed") River Deep, Mountain High ?("Do I love you my oh my, river deep, mountain high" that was Tina Turner.)  Ever hear of girl groups?  Then you've heard of Ellie Greenwich.  There's a reason she's in the Song Writers Hall of Fame.  She died August 26, the same day as Senator Kennedy, so I'm a little late, but I have a lot to thank her for.

Freshman year we lived in a dorm with a big porch facing Seelye Hall, the main classroom building.  We'd put our stereo speakers in the windows over the porch and blasted  whatever we liked at the time, especially in the spring, as the snow melted and spirits rose.  One of our classics was "Leader of the Pack."  All of us, the Gang of Four as we were then, could re relied upon, for no reason, to belt out "Hey there, where'd you meet him?"  to which another would reply (in song, of course, and I know you know this) "I met him at the candy stoh - ore."   It sounds so silly, doesn't it?  But it wasn't. 

The tribal music Greenwich gave us was alive with the spirit that was all of us, before the War tore everything apart, when we just had fun and our minds were full of ideas and ambitions, and songs, and romantic daydreams, and songs, and learning how to be grown ups (slowly) and songs.  And her songs were so universal, so full of a love of living and living for love - way before we even heard of our sister alums Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan.  Somehow, as things became more serious, Doo Wa Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Doo didn't flow off the tongue so easily.  That's why I was so glad when a Broadway musical, Leader of the Pack, opened in the 80's and gave us another chance - and a great cast album, full of many of her greatest songs.

My own favorite is all tangled up in a memory.  It was a sunny fall day and my six-year-old and I were walking down a street someplace in the Village.  And we were arm-in-arm.  And our walk had a rhythm - right feet at the same time, left feet at the same time, just the two of us.   And the rhythm?  It came because, together, crossing the nearly 30 years between us, together, we were singing -Da Doo Ron Ron." 

Not quite this great, but not bad, either. So thanks Ellie. And the rest of you - see for yourselves.

Back to the Future: Futurism at the Tate and 1968

In the early 20th Century there was a band of wild men who created an entire new way of thinking about "Art."  They were called Futurists and for those of you who took Art 11 and already know about them, I understand that I didn't discover them - this being particularly true since they are currently appearing in a retrospective at the Tate Modern here in London.  AND for my penultimate (I think) post here I want to tell you about them because they were a real kick.

This painting, by Luigi Russolo, is called "The Revolt."  On the right you can see "the people" pushing up against the hard line of the establishment.  It's the same thing the Futurists themselves were doing.  Here's their major "Manifesto."

These are our final conclusions:

With our enthusiastic adherence to Futurism, we will:

1. Destroy the cult of the past, the obsession with the ancients, pedantry and academic formalism.
2. Totally invalidate all kinds of imitation.
3. Elevate all attempts at originality, however daring, however violent.
4. Bear bravely and proudly the smear of “madness” with which they try to gag all innovators.
5. Regard art critics as useless and dangerous.
6. Rebel against the tyranny of words: “Harmony” and “good taste” and other loose expressions which can be used to destroy the works of Rembrandt, Goya, Rodin...
7. Sweep the whole field of art clean of all themes and subjects which have been used in the past.
8. Support and glory in our day-to-day world, a world which is going to be continually and splendidly transformed by victorious Science.

The dead shall be buried in the earth’s deepest bowels! The threshold of the future will be swept free of mummies! Make room for youth, for violence, for daring!

As I wandered through, alone and more available for being by myself, (this one is Carra's The Funeral of an Anarchist)  I felt that I knew these guys.  Yes they denigrated women (more on that in a second) but their rebellion, their anger, their passion, their desire to change everything - that was familiar.  Of course I never wanted to destroy; none of us did.  But the feelings of anger, of disappointment in the ways of the world, the desire to find new ways to say things, those were familiar -- and swept me back to the determined, impassioned girl I was then.  I can only describe my reaction as delight.

You're going to tell me that this is the kind of blind passion is just what was wrong with the 60's.  And for those who transformed these feelings not into art but into primitive acts of violence - they were wrong then and they're wrong now.  That's what is so amazing about art.  You can act, and express, through representation instead of concrete acts of violence and hatred.  That's what these enraged men did.  Meanwhile, the women artists were pretty angry, as you can imagine.  One of them, Valentine de Saint-Point, although she agreed with their ideas, had some of her own to go along with them.  Like this:

"Women are Furies, Amazons, Semiramis, Joans of Arc, Jeanne Hachettes,  Judith and Charlotte Cordays, Cleopatras, and Messalinas: combative women who fight more ferociously than males, lovers who arouse, destroyers who break down the weakest and help select through pride or despair, "despair through which the heart yields its fullest return."  

I wish I knew more because there's so much more to this; the impact of Cubism on all of it, the way it affected artists in nation after nation, and, most of all, the sheer energy of art that, instead of freezing a moment, seems to set it free and follow it.    

 

Avenue Q, in London! How Did We Miss It Before?

It's more than a little crazy to come all the way to London, see an American musical - and find it so familiar, so real and well-observed, witty, loving and even joyous, that you wonder how it is possible that you hadn't' seen it before.  The play is Avenue Q, and for most people it will be a "yeah, and???" because it won so many Tonys, including Best Musical, Best Book, Best Direction of a musical, Best Performance by a leading actor in a musical, and Best Performace by a leading actress in a musical, and because everyone has written about it for years.  Hah! And Cindy thinks she made some great discovery!  

In fact, I do think I've made a great discovery - that it's still possible that an entire theater full of people from dozens of countries (just seated directly around us were India, New Zealand, Australia and France) can respond to something without helicopters or wild moving sets or TV/film stars in the cast  -- something so completely human (well, if you count the puppets who are in fact among the "most" human) that it inspired and moved us all.  That all this can be accomplished with warmth and -- I know this sounds corny -- a real affection for what makes us human, for the power of laughter and of songs.  Both of us feel that we had a perfect evening, one that inspires gratitude, even.  Here's a little of it for you, in case you missed it too.(From the Tony's)

We're Here - London Is Home for a While

Just in case you wondered if we were really here, I took this photo. Kind of weird to see phone booths all over London since they're almost completely gone at home. Hardly profound but there you are.

It's been an exciting, exhausting day.  We landed at around nine this morning, moved into our flat on Broad Court just off Drury Lane and near Covent Garden, and did our usual forced march to check out the neighborhood.  Lunch, a quick nap and now we've returned so I can write this before I go offline for Shabbat.

Oh - and if you're like me, one of your favorite memories of Covent Garden aren't even of the "real" one.   Take a look.  See you Sunday.

Playing With the Big Boys: Bruce Springsteen's New Drummer and the Rest of Us

Does the young drummer in this photo look familiar? He's definitely not Bruce's long-time drummer The Mighty Max Weinberg. He is, however, a Weinberg, Max's son Jay.. I learned about this from my own son, who IM'd

"Did you know that Max Weinberg's son is now the drummer for the E Street Band?  It's a great story - little coverage.  Seriously - he is 18 and no one has picked up that an ageless band now has an 18-year-old on drums."

He's right.  It's a wonderful story, for many reasons.  Just because it is, first of all.  But also because all parents love it when their kids go into the family business; at least I think they do.  That's not all, though.  To be fair, Jay is only going to tour with them when his dad has to stay in LA to help launch the new Conan O'Brien Tonight Show. Even so, there's something lovely about Bruce calling and inviting him to join the band. Anyone who's ever watched a sound check or read about Bruce knows he's got high standards; this was NOT a sentimental decision. Jay can play the drums.

So why do I love this?  A demonstration of that kind of trust by a national legend close to three times  his age is pretty impressive.  The idea of two generations on stage together as peers is an example of something that's been important to me for years: alliances across generations in all manner of venues.

I've been writing both here and on SVMoms about the tensions between Boomers and Millennials.  There is a growing stress between us.  Just a month ago I heard a young political social media genius - a serious one - mock the Boomers who claimed they helped to end the Vietnam War.  "Dead soldiers ended the war, not you guys." he said with determination.  Permutations of that attitude abound; although perhaps less so in families where parenting was respectful and strong and included a history of those times and a modest explanation of what we were trying to do.  

President Obama, whose attitudes and capabilities I admire, tends to imply that it's time to ditch, at the least, a lot of the rhetoric and style of that time.  I don't disagree.  All that I want is for those of us in my generation and the younger people whose core values we share to be free to travel across the boundaries of style and execution to be allies and friends rather than adversaries.  That kind of sharing emerges from respect in both directions, from engaging younger people more as peers than acoytes.  That's what the Obama campaign did, and look what happened.

I've been fortunate, because of my relationship with my sons, because I've worked in the Internet world for ten years -- so much with younger people, and because I am part of a community full of young families, to be able to do the same.  But the divisions are growing for many of us, and they're sad.

So when Bruce, who has so often spoken for so many, crosses two-thirds of his life to, at 60+, add an 18-year-old drummer to his band, it's an example and a message for which I am grateful.  No one who knows his music would ever think he would add a drummer to send a message; he takes his music, and his fans, too seriously for that.  He is, however, reminding us all that, 18 or 80 - talent, music, dreams, ideas, faith or fun, the walls need not be so high.  Whether it's campaigning for a candidate, working for women's rights, writing a poem, cooking a meal, building a house, growing tomatoes or making music, we are all pooer for the walls we build, and richer for the gifts we share. 

Norman Lear Reminds Us Why We Love Music (and Why We're Right)

 

Leave it to Norman Lear, founder and early funder of People for the American Way and creator of All in the Family and Maude, two of the most successful sitcoms in American television history, to produce the remarkable Playing for Change.  Musicians - street musicians, from all over the world, recorded and filmed separately and combined into a multi-national, multi-ethnic concert, recorded (with high-tech equipment) on city street corners and the red dirt of townships, Congo, New Orleans and right in front of the White House. The message, as Lear freely admits "sounds like claptrap" but somehow it can't help but sink in: music, the universal language, reminds us how much we have in common across the barriers that separate nation and race, faith and gender. It won't change anything by itself, certainly, but it's a lovely reminder of what could be.

Walking in the Woods, Spring, Bruce and The Daily Show: Even Jon Stewart Couldn't Resist

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Bruce Springsteen - Interview
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You probably saw this.  Bruce Springsteen on The Daily Show; Jon Stewart interviewing him about his music and his life with the E Street Band.  I wasn't going to write about it.  But today, as I made my way through Rock Creek Park, Sherry Darlin' booming on my iPod, I thought about what Springsteen, over all these years, has meant to me.  About giving away all our Bruce tapes when we were in Prague in 1985 and met a "behind the Iron Curtain" tour guide who told us that each sold for almost a month's pay in his part of the world, of a six-year-old in his dad's tee shirt.  As I knotted the bottom (very 80s) so it would at least not drag on the ground, he asked "Do you think Bruce wears his this way?"  Now he and his brother meet up to go to concerts together when the band tours.  He's part of our family history.

So I understand, I really do.  The music travels in our hearts, lifts us up.  And in Stewart's case, lifted him right out of New Jersey, into Manhattan... and you know the rest.  I was a little shocked to hear him talk about it on the air; (it's at the end of this video) it was the antithesis of the coolness dude he offers us most of the time.  He couldn't resist...had to say it out loud.  To offer his gratitude.  It was surprising;  moving and endearing. 

 Anyway, the other part of today, as I move toward Shabbat, is the beauty of the spring.  The park is great; walking along the creek, over the bridges and paths was a real treat.  Here's a little bit for you - some buttercups and the beginnings of green.   Shabbat Shalom.