Confessions of a Radical?

 Brothers John and Jim

your blogger circa '66

what to do about the establishment

   Surely many of you heard or took part in debates about "trusting or changing the establishment." Establishment was the cultural shorthand for the power elite, especially what later generations of politicians came to call "Washington and Wall Street," Eisenhower's "military industrial complex" or even more recently the swamp. It was also about how we lived, loved, thought, and behaved. 

    Change it from with in or by revolution? My brothers, pictured above, were inclined to revolutionary change. As their older brother I was already invested in journalism, observing and reporting and had been since high school.

    We had lively debates often joined by our parents both of whom were political veterans, studied people in addition to being WW II participants. There was no "generation gap" as such with unfixable fissures, but our family had a diversity of opinion.

    John, on the left, two years my junior was of the SDS/Weather Underground mind set. Jim was simply the brightest of the three and a poet philosopher, free spirit and gentle soul who broke with convention in almost every way. I guess I was a pragmatist, relying on reason.

the evolution of a "radical"

       My involvement in campus politics (that candidate for class senator on the far right is a baby version of your blogger) combined with my professional work as a street and police beat reporter in Muncie edged me in my own direction.

       I would sometimes ride with cops on a Saturday night as they rounded up drunks and broke up fights, which in blue collar Muncie was a full deployment. The way some of the detainees were beaten with night sticks seemed at odds with the sociology courses I took.

      It was the mid '60s and the Klan still marched, and blacks were denied access in some establishments. I covered sit ins and marches and got tossed down stairs by a Klan leader.

      All of this was a vastly different world than my beautiful campus and the vibe in the fraternity house. I began to cogitate. Academia would not, nor should it, insulate. Like the world, our campus was changing. 

     I raised issues of equality and civil liberties in Student Senate where I served my freshman and sophomore years.
    I got behind a Professor's declaration of Human Rights-ground breaking and long before feminism and LGBTQ entered the public mind. It was at a time when blacks were treated as less than full citizens in housing, banking and access.

     The writing seems a bit leaden and ponderous but it was 50 years ago and I was a kid.

the radical box

     I became an advocate for the abolition of dorm hours-that moved me onto the "radical" list. 

      Colleagues in the long and complex battle to eliminate women's hours were Jeff Lewis, Jon Hughes, and Jim Davis.

      Jeff went on to a vibrant career in public policy, marketing and later in opinion research. 
     Jon became a noted photographer, writer and professor who drove the establishment of a journalism school at the University of Cincinnati. 
     Jim Davis is the creator of Garfield the cat and presides over the Paws empire. 

      Butting heads with a University administration and government was a tall order but we were eventually successful. That changed the campus landscape and culture.

     I ran for the University Judicial Board (Supreme Court) my Junior year. I felt restrained by the traditional campus parties  and sensed the world was changing more rapidly than we were responding. The Judicial Board in my senior year would be a way to move ideas.
     The 1968 political campaign loomed and there were explosive issues of war and peace, civil rights and change that stirred me.

      Brother John shaved most his beard and cut his hair to 

"get clean with Gene", Senator Eugene McCarthy, the anti war democrat. John worked for McCarthy and above is seen serving as a body guard and beer drinking pal of actor Paul Newman who campaigned for McCarthy.

      I suffered my first campus election defeat that year as our  party was swept by a vigorous opponent.

progressive arises

       I came back my senior year with different ideas. I had been studying the emerging intellectual political movements of Dadaism, Herbert Marcuse, the Provos of Amsterdam, the Diggers of San Francisco, intellectual anarchism, Rudi Dutschke, Daniel Cohn-Bendit and others. All of that was a far stretch for a state university in the mid west.

   A ready ally was a fraternity brother who may be the deepest thinking and most intelligent person I know. People still marvel at how he ate through Philosophy classes and professors. He went on to a fine career serving as an attorney, prosecutor, Judge and just maybe the Rolling Stone's greatest fan. He's traveled the world to see them. 

   Ed was always up for a good joke and we thought we'd try to introduce a few "new ideas" to what we saw as the moribund political culture on campus. We created PUP-the Progressive University Party.

    We got pilloried by the campus newspaper.

    In the cartoon below-Ed is portrayed as speaking to the reporter. I am the pup.

   The editorial was more precise than the cartoon.

Fine Arts Building, Ball State University

Photo by Encyclopedia Brittanica 

   We had in fact accomplished something. We were able to "unite" a divergent group with a unified objective.

    The historic arts building displayed a giant US flag on a main hallway. The flag was old, dirty and even a bit frayed. PUP was able to get cooperation from the conservative Young Americans for Freedom (YAF), the Young Peoples Socialist League (YPSL), Young Republicans, Young Democrats, the fraternity council IFC, sorority council Panhellenic, the Newman Society and others, that the issue of the flag should be addressed and something needed to be done. The flag had been there for decades. Ed and I took delight in thinking we were able to bring all of the extremes and different groups together. We though PUP would be politics with a sense of humor.

   These are notes from one of our brainstorming sessions as we began to articulate what would become our manifesto.

    We would not have signed off on all of these-in fact the fight over what to select would be interesting, but this demonstrates the range of thought in our "thought group."

     Abolition of Hours, one quarter housing fees, pass fail in general education courses, faculty evaluation, equal student representation, discussing changes in tenure and department  chairman reports hold up as solid ideas.

     But life intervened. The day after our "flag union" I was involved in a serious auto accident. I was riding in the front seat, in an era before seat belts were the norm. I was thrown through the windshield, was jerked back through, and tossed from the car. I suffered a compound skull fracture, breaking 

everybone in my face and would have bled to death had it not been for fraternity brothers and a Muncie police officer who was also a Ball State student. I was in a coma for a while and when I came back to campus I struggled to graduate, work and get healthy.

      My days of "radical" politics were over. After that I spent almost 5 decades in journalism and broadcasting and left the politics to others.

      I came across these papers in an old file as I have been working to organize some of my archives for the Indiana Historical Society that has curated some of my early journalism and investigative reporting.

      A few of us from that era were together recently and we concluded the late 60's were without precedent and peer.

      From here it all seems so playful and hopeful. 

celebrating the fava

  Lana's green ways delivered us another bountiful year of our beloved fava beans.

for your amusement

a dancing chair

    

        See you down the trail.

DUCK AND COVER

     A smackdown is coming. The overwhelming lack of public support versus the heavy handed nature of the Trump cabal sets a collision course. We'll get to that after visiting a ghost  conjured recently by yet another dust up--the clash of the man child leader of North Korea and his American equal. 

        It happened at the height of the cold war on an afternoon in an old classroom in Garfield Elementary School in Muncie Indiana.

        Third grade teacher Mrs. Rogers signaled yet another "duck and cover" drill. We'd seen film strips, movies, heard a Civil Defense presentation and certainly had our fill of posters. Atomic bomb mushroom clouds. Horrible, ominous dark rising swells of hell in the shape of a mushroom. Mushroom clouds were big in those days. If you had a TV set you'd see Civil Defense warning announcements. You'd see no end to mushroom cloud explosions at the movies and in those incessant films they played in the grade schools. 

      Seeing the test footage clips of houses, dummies, cars and buildings suddenly obliterated in fireballs and fiery wind storms we had a pretty good idea of what the "A" bomb could do. Some of us had mushroom cloud nightmares. That meant the campaign was working of course. The remedy? Duck and cover. 

      We would frequently interrupt the sacred process of a third grade education to learn to "save ourselves" by ducking under our desks-the old wooden variety complete with an inkwell, and covering our head. No random manner of covering allowed. No indeed, there was a proscribed technique of covering the back of your neck and head while essentially kissing your ass-good by. At least that's how I read it, as a third grader.

      It was the first time I was called incorrigible. Mrs. Rogers singled me out, told me I was a bad influence, that I was risking the lives of my Garfield third grade classmates. Why-because I refused to duck and cover.  It wasn't just rebellion. It came with reasoning that I tried to explain. 

      After seeing those army test houses vaporized and blown to smithereens complete with flying glass, furniture and telephone poles, I simply tried to make my case that ducking under our desks would do no good. Instead of miraculously saving our lives, permitting us to climb out of the ashes of a nuclear armageddon so we could go on with a reading lesson, we would just be vaporized or burned to a crisp while cowering under a desk in some unholy body twist.  

      You know, a third grade kid just doesn't get a fair shot in the world of adult logic. Mrs. Rogers was having none of it and I was as insistent about the futile stupidity of thinking we could save our lives in an atomic bomb blast by ducking and covering.  Incorrigible? Yea, maybe. Insistent certainly and an early adapter in reading the bull shit of adults. 

       How about a bouquet to the incorrigibles of Garfield elementary school! Charlotte, Connie, Benny and Tommy seemed to get on board with the logic. It's pretty much a haze now, but I can't remember doing those crazy duck and cover drills when we began to talk to our parents who, like most in those days, thought the PTA or PTO was an organization that had influence. I think they began to back off on some of the A-Bomb mushroom cloud propaganda as well. Too many kids were having bad dreams, or belly aches and the like. 

life below trump tower

      Those days of nuclear worry aren't so distant for those who live on the west coast since a strange little north Korean tin god has been trying to join the nuclear club and since our orange bully has threatened to take care of Kim Jung Un if he tries to threaten the US or makes into the nuke club.

      Intellectual weaklings, emotional children with war clubs-that's what we have. 

      Some, including a few from my decades in journalism have asked why after years of neutrality and trying to be objective have I been so nasty about the president. The answer is simple-I'm a civilian now and while that simply frees me to express an opinion it is in fact the sheer lack of competence and character of the president that compels me. Not in my life has such a jack ass achieved such influence. It is tragic because the majority of Americans rejected the buffoon, his tasteless noveau riche opulence and his despicable character. There should be a law that a minority president cannot reverse majority policy nor take to redefining how Americans conduct diplomacy. 

behaving like a dictator

    More than a handful of groups are going after the lout in chief for his boast he will not release records of who visits the White House. The man who said he was going to drain the swamp is now planning to end transparency. The previous President posted daily logs of visitors. Failure to do so undermines our laws and it shows he does not want to be accountable. Refusing to report to his employers, the American tax payer, who visits our White House is the trick of a dictator as is his broken promise to show his tax returns. What's he trying to hide?

     So to those who have wondered, I never thought I would be disrespectful to a President. Never did I think I would call the commander in chief a fool, idiot, lout, predator, liar, cheat, con man, hustler, sexual molester, narcissist or Russian stooge, but then I never thought America would stoop to such lows either. This president is a disgrace.

     Here's to the day we can climb out of the trump latrine.

important history

     The Zookeeper's Wife is an extraordinary film. It's historical sweep, passionately told and powerful story and superb acting make it a must see. Jessica Chastain is one of the best actresses working. Daniel Bruhl also deserves raves as do the animals and their trainers. And we must never forget this story or that larger event in history.  There was a time I thought such a thing could never happen again. I'm not so sure anymore.

     See you down the trail.

HITTING WHERE IT HURTS-A MUSICAL CHRISTENING-MAKING MEMORIES-A WAY BACK THROWBACK

HITTING THE NFL HARD

     Something good may come of the domestic brutality cases haunting the NFL. People are talking about the pathology of abuse and abusive relationships. Sponsors are flexing their muscle and putting pressure on the league and individual team endorsements. That too will help raise consciousness and provoke more talk. 
    Perhaps the major sack out there is the effort to revoke the tax exempt status of the NFL. If you were unaware, the league has estimated revenues of 9 Billion dollars but is tax exempt, as a not for profit entity. Incredible you say?  This link takes you a Mother Jones article that explores the matter.
       There is also the matter of the 44 Million dollar salary of the non profit's Commissioner.The story of Roger Goodell's salary and the NFL Not for Profit status reported here by Esquire Magazine.   
   These are fluid times for the NFL, teams and those who help fuel the giant entertainment dynasty.

WHERE TIME IS NOT IDLE

    As the old TV soap opera announcer intoned, "Like sands through the hourglass, these are the Days of our Lives."
    That was a favorite of my grandmother and great aunts so I heard it often. I think of it often as I watch the surf erase foot prints in the sand."
   Jackson Browne wrote in These Days "These days I seem to think a lot about the things I forgot to do for you…"

 Visiting with friends we are reminded of the swift flow and the wisdom of not leaving things unsaid or kindnesses undone,

  or of the joy in keeping the child in us alive. 

     When we arrived in Cambria, recent retirees and just beginning the throttle back process, our wise plumber Phil told us to go out to Moonstone beach, settle into the sand and search for moonstones. "That'll help you relax."  Indeed it does, still.

   A concert served as the inaugural event at the old Woodland Garage where, as promoter Steve Crimmel said, "nothing had gone on" in decades.

 Austin based Eliza Gilkyson and guitarist extraordinare Nina Gerber initiated the new venue in a Painted Sky presented concert that blessed the old place with sweet sound, vibrant energy and remarkable artistry. 

   The old garage has been refurbished to provide relaxed seating and lounge space.

   Who would have thunk the old garage would grow up to be a nice funky concert venue?  We hope Steve will book more shows into the Main Street gem.

 THROWBACK TO THE THIRD GRADE

    This blogger is in the class photo from Garfield Elementary School. Want to guess where?

     See you down the trail.