Experience the Sixties Through Contemporary Music, Films and Novels -- Power to the People!

I was there. And I still have the cloth I used to cover my mouth from tear gas. Growing up in Berkeley during the 1960's did not make for a typical childhood. After all, for a short time we had the National Guard bivouacked across from Berkeley High School. Drugs of all variety where readily available and cheap ($1 for a tab of LSD). Attitudes and mores were changing as fast as our teenaged hormones.

There were no pep rallies, even though we had the number one basketball team in the state. The prom was sparsely attended (I assume so anyway, I didn't know anyone who went). Instead of social events we were concerned about social issues. The times were a changin' and doing so in our very midst.

I made frequent trips up the street to the University of California campus for demonstrations.  There were the People's Park demonstrations and anti war and anti draft demonstrations. I saw young people literally thrown into paddy wagons and struck over the head with billy clubs. I also saw a helicopter overhead with streams of tear gas pouring out of it flying directly above me. "My God, my own government is attacking me!" I said aloud. At that moment I became a radical forever. (Some of that tear gas wafted down the road to the junior high school where some years later I would teach.)

The Sixties represented a cultural revolution, the reverberations from which are still felt today. Its roots ran deep and included the Beat Generation of the 1950's and the Civil Rights Movement. It's catalysts were the Kennedy Assassination, the Beatles and outrage over U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War. (In terms of the "spirit of the Sixties" I consider the decade to have been from 1964-1973, as will be reflected throughout this writing). So of course it was also a time of, as the cliche goes, political unrest. Never before have politics and culture been so inextricably intertwined.



Protest songs that were birthed in folk music became integral to the ever changing strains of rock and roll. Young people's music became less about puppy love and more about the times they lived in. Long hair was in and it, along with fashions, became a personal expression not just of individual style but of political leanings. It was a time of free love, hippies, be-ins, open drug experimentation, liberation movements and peace signs.

I was in the heart of it. Living in Berkeley and across the bay from San Francisco where hippies were so prevalent and the Summer of Love took place in 1967.

I remember the time fondly because of the incredible sense of hope and purpose so many of us enjoyed. We believed that we were part of positive change, that mountains could be moved and we could some day live in a world of love not war. While its true that today the world is as violent as ever, significant progress has been made in many areas. Out of the Sixties came an acceptance of humans in all variety. Witness the changing roles not just of women and African Americans but other ethnic minorities, gays, the handicapped and both the young and old. The Sixties forever put a dent into the monolithic power held by older, straight, white Christian males.

The impact the Sixties had on our culture is incalculable. As with politics, everything felt new and important. However we did not have an LBJ or a Nixon in opposition to us, just our hopelessly square parents.

Absent a time machine there's no way to truly experience what a time was like but one can certainly get a sense of a bygone era. It can be fun too. You need not read non fiction books, watch documentaries or visit museums (although those are all wonderful ideas). You can sit back and watch movies, listen to music and read novels.

I have provided 12 movies, songs and books to choose from, all contemporary to the period. Disclaimer: this is not meant to be a comprehensive list. Especially in the case of music where I could have offered five, six, even ten times as many choices.

The problem with films is that the movie industry didn't really catch up to the Sixties until a few years into the next decade. This is mostly a reflection on the nature of film production. The first film on the list is the definitive Sixties movie, the Strawberry Statement. Sadly it is not available on DVD and TCM rarely airs it. However you can watch it on Amazon On Demand and I highly recommend you do so. It is the story of a young college student who finds love and a social conscience though the protest movements then taking place on his campus. I watched it recently for the first time since it its initial release and was amazed at how well it holds up and how accurately it captures the time period. It also features one of the best soundtracks in film history. Other than Getting Straight, a rather weak entry I admit but one that does concern itself with campus protests, none of the films I've listed deal with Sixties per se. However they were all popular then and emboldened our counter cultural beliefs. Especially If..., M*A*S*H and Harold and Maude.

For the songs I've for the most part selected music that not only is of the time but speaks to it. I've included some lyrics in a few cases to illustrate that point. The books start off with two by Jack Kerouac that were written in the Fifties but they certainly were important to the Sixties and popular then. The other books were released in the Sixties and had particular popularity among the young and disaffected.

At the end of included some photos from protests. Mostly from ones I attended, though I know of no picture of me at a demonstration. Perhaps I should check out the FBI files.

It may seem presumptuous of me to dedicate a blog post but in this case I'm going to go ahead: This is dedicated to James Rector, an innocent bystander killed during the People's Park Demonstrations in Berkeley on May 15, 1969. The last photo shows that tragedy.

 Movies:

The Strawberry Statement (1970)
Getting Straight (1970)
Easy Rider (1969)
M*A*S*H (1970)
2001 A Space Odyssey (1968)
If.... (1968)
A Hard Day's Night (1964)
Band of Outsiders (1964)
Bonnie & Clyde (1967)
The Graduate (1967)
The Last Picture Show (1971)
Harold and Maude (1971)

(Also see the Smothers Brothers TV show on DVD. They were cutting edge and constantly embroiled with censors as they took on the war, the administration and all facets of the power structure. They were also very funny and among their guests were the hottest musical acts of the time.)

 Songs:

What's Going On, Marvin Gaye
Father, father, everybody thinks we're wrong
Oh, but who are they to judge us Simply because our hair is long
Oh, you know we've got to find a way
To bring some understanding here today
Oh Picket lines and picket signs
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me So you can see
What's going on

Something in the Air, Thunderclap Newman

Call out the instigators
Because there's something in the air
We've got to get together sooner or later
Because the revolution's here, and you know it's right
And you know that it's right
We have got to get it together
We have got to get it together now

Ohio, Neil Young
Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We're finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.
Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are cutting us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?

For What its' Worth, Buffalo Springfield
What a field-day for the heat
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly say, hooray for our side
It's time we stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down
Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you're always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away
We better stop, hey, what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down

Vietnam Rag, Country Joe and the Fish
Come on all of you big strong men
Uncle Sam needs your help again
he's got himself in a terrible jam way down yonder in Viet Nam
so put down your books and pick up a gun we're gonna have a whole lotta fun
And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for don't ask me I don't give a damn,
next stop is Viet Nam
And it's five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates
ain't no time to wonder why,
whoopee we're all gonna die
My Generation, The Who
White Rabbit, Jefferson Airplane
Light My Fire, The Doors
San Francisco, Scott McKenzie
Can't Find My Home, Blind Faith
American Pie, Don McLean
Purple Haze, Jimi Hendrix

(Also listen to Janis Joplin; Simon & Garfunkel; Crosby, Stills and Nash; folk singers such as Joan Baez and the Mommas and the Poppas; the British Invasion especially The Beatles as well as such bands as the Kinks and the Dave Clark 5; and soul music like The Temptations, the Four Tops and Smokey Robinson.)

Books:

On The Road, Jack Kerouac
Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac
Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut
Catch 22, Joseph Heller
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert Heinlein
A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess 
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe
Portnoy's Complaint, Philip Roth
Myra Breckenridge, Gore Vidal
The Graduate, Charles Webb
Cat's Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut

This is the Third in My Series of Reminiscences, At Least it's Supposed to Be, You Decide For Yourself

I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness. - From "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac.


I have a friend whose life has been a case of going from Point A to Point B to Point C and so on with nary a detour on the way. It has been a rich full life that today sees him with a lovely family and a very healthy bank account. The wind has always been at his back and the sun has kissed his face gently. A beneficiary of extraordinary luck and very hard work. Bully for him! He deserves all the blessings that life has bestowed upon him.


I went from Point A to Point LSD and stumbled about to point AA. My path was littered with rocks and roses. Holes in my socks and silly poses. The wind has howled, pushing me off the path and lifting me back up again. I've wailed at the wind and been sailed by it. All curses, nurses and stolen purses. Today I'm a respectable man about town and a silly clown. Wow, a husband and father. Good God I couldn't be happier today. Imagine.


I know not shame nor pride at this given moment. Just the busy business of being. But I do like to look back. Who was I at 17? That chap is unrecognizable. The fellow I was at 23 is in slightly better focus, well for a second and then it gets blurry. At 30? Dirty, flirty not always purty. And so it goes....


The deal as I see it is that we spend too much time trying to be something. In high school we want to be the guy in college. In college we want to be the guy who's working. Then we want to be the guy who's married. Then the guy with a house. Then the guy with kids. Might as well want to be the guy who's the center of attention at a memorial service. So I'm saying maybe we should want to be the person we are at the time we are because that's all we ever are. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Especially if we do the right thing (right, Spike?).


Some empty people go through life with two eyes focused on THE FUTURE. Hey buddy, how about sneaking a glance that way every so often and meanwhile groovin' on today.


Okay so I took an unconventional route to get...say, where am I, anyway?


Oh yeah, watching movies. I've always been watching movies while starring in my very own technicolor extravaganza. An epic tale of hedonism and depravity. Okay, maybe not that. It's an indy film! A rollicking comedy. A joyous romp. Whatever it is it is but it isn't on DVD. Yet.


You know we all THINK that we are the director, producer and writer of our own movie. Star too. But we don't get final edit. Studios!


So what happened was that in high school I was a total jock and total hippie, which DO NOT go together. I knew not what I was but ran off to college and that college was Chico State at a time when it was THE party school. Match made in heaven, my friends. Party on me. Then there was a career in journalism and I was good but not good enough to know it and so I was off to all kinds of nonsense which can only possibly lead to being a middle school teacher which was weird and run on sentences were verboten except this one right here hello exception that makes it a rule.


Focus on me in early college days and you get this kid who just wants to dance. Literally. Figuratively. And girls. Oh my God... Did I do all that I did? Yes, really. So much which may look like it amounts to so little but money -- not everything. (ever wonder then, what IS everything? I think everything is, but that's just me.)


Say hello to the nice man.


I mean it was cool but here's what I'd say as advice: have some sort of clue. You needn't be a driven go-getter but how about an awareness of consequences. Question mark.  I saw a lot of people not even considering consequences when I was teaching. They didn't consider sh*t. But do as I say not as I did.  Yeah see, this is the balancing act between living only for tomorrow and only for today.


Happy median. Oh joyous, elated median. 


I've seen the sunsets from the wrong end but not the money I did spend. I've seen walls move and people who just wanted to groove. I've seen people running and playing and kicking and laughing and I've even been one. One of everything. One of all of you as you've been one of me.


Sinatra did it his way. I did it way.  I did it anyway. Funny how many mistakes you can make, how royally you can screw up and still end up ambulatory. What a story. Glory. Hey man appreciate. I do. I'm thankful for it all. Yes, sorry for the people I bumped and bruised along the way, but I've been somebody. Not special. Not unique. Just a person on this planet. Better this than nothing. I'm hoping to keep it going for awhile.


Hey, have you seriously read this? It's supposed to be the third in a series of reminiscences (hate spelling that word). But I don't know man....What we have here is a failure to conjugate. Two, four, six , eight I just hate to conjugate.


Dude, I'm not even high!


I was lying in a burned out basement
With the full moon in my eyes.
I was hoping for replacement
When the sun burst thru the sky.
There was a band playing in my head
And I felt like getting high.
I was thinking about what a
Friend had said
I was hoping it was a lie.
Thinking about what a
Friend had said
I was hoping it was a lie. 
From the Song "After the Gold Rush" by Neil Young

A Guy I Once Knew (Second in A Series of Reminiscences)

There's a fever in your soul.

Yeah, there is.

You won't settle for contentment, want something more. You've got to feel "it" not just think "it." No going through the motions, being the motions, and the emotions.

I knew a guy once. Steven. Super distant cousin. Rescued my first cousins and I at a big family 4th of July picnic. I was 15, bored hard. HE showed up. Our first meeting. Spiked our drinks with vodka.

Sailing.

Steven -- never Steve -- was 19 and a student at Cal. He looked like David Bowie or Mick Jagger depending on who you asked. Robert Downey Jr. reminds me of him. Steven was way post cool. Had presence, a style unique and amazing. His skinny body shook with laughter which exploded from him as often as could be managed. He could go from philosophical to hilarious to political to sarcastic to awfully damn silly in a the span of a few sentences. Didn't always need that much. Steven's views were always his own, nothing borrowed. His flamboyant manner was unique. Never foppish nor exaggerated, just an extension of the inner fever in his soul.

I wanted to be like him but didn't have the guts. Nor the brilliance. Not a loose employment of the term. He read books in half the time of us mere mortals and retained twice as much. Could learn a language in a few months. Was spellbindingly articulate even while blind drunk.

So you've got intelligence, a hip sophistication, outrageous humor and boundary pushing. Don't forget charisma. I had found an influence. He found something interesting about me so we were able to hook up regularly through the years.

Steven came out to me by necking in front of my girlfriend and I with the guy he was going with. This about four years after we met. No surprise and no matter. If I was going to have my first gay friend all the better that it be someone I admired.

Once we were in a bar in Marin County where there were large communal tables. This guy starts talking to us and raises a question that had to do with intercourse (with women). When the stranger asked for opinions Steven said that being gay he had none on the matter. The guy, an obvious rube, says: "I have a cousin who's gay, his name is Craig, he lives in San Francisco, you know him?" Steven doesn't miss a beat. Replies, sure I know Craig, I s*cked his c*ck once.

I literally, not figuratively, was on the floor with laughter. When I managed to regain my seat, the stranger was gone and Steven was casually puffing on his cigarette which he held as if channelling Marlene Dietrich.

We had many "adventures" together. The quotation marks are required because these "adventures" were invariably alcohol fueled laugh fests leaving most others more than a little bemused at the two know-it-all hyenas. As I climbed into my 20's we grew closer though we only saw one another a few times a year. I always tried to bring my latest girl friend to meet him, which meant a special trip into the wilds of Marin. It was worth it. They liked him as indeed did everyone save a few of the more morally conservative sorts who couldn't abide his bohemian lifestyle. He in turn liked everyone, save perhaps himself. He loved a lot about himself, just not who he was. Though without question possessing a ravenous sexual appetite and quite open about his preferences, Steven actually tried to cure his homosexuality through hypnosis, psychiatry and prescription drugs. You talk about inner conflict.

Steven's life ended up being a mess and he died young. That's abrupt, I know, but that's in keeping with his life.

I didn't miss Steven for many years. By the time of his death we'd been out of touch for awhile. I'd found sobriety, married and become a father and a teacher. Now that the young uns are grown and I've left teaching I realize what a great gift my time with Steven was. It's no use trying to pass judgement on either him or the many dances with Bacchus that we had together. Clearly he failed to find fulfillment in life and would have done well to trying to cure himself of his addictions rather than his sexual proclivities. But that, to me, is not nearly so important as the fact that he lived so stylishly, so fabulously. Richly. I can't condemn him for not utilizing nature's gifts, I can only appreciate him for enriching my life.

He had a fever in his soul and for good or ill, I caught it.

(The phrase "a fever in your soul" is from Jack Kerouac's On the Road)

The Low Spark of High Minded Drunks (First in a Series of Reminiscences)

I was 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22 years...old. I was going to "do" "everything." There was no question but that I would attain fame, fortune and not incidentally all woman were at my disposal. But first, I had to get high this one more time.

Yeah, I'd be getting high again later, but in the meanwhile I'd have written the great American novel or starred, man, in a movie. It was all going to happen for me. Not even a question. But there was a six pack of beer waiting. There was Bowie, or Traffic, or Rod Stewart, or Neil Young to listen to. There'd be a party to go to. There'd be girls there. Lots of them. Money in pocket. No need leaving it there. Some more in the bank.

Not an issue. No issues really.

I was also going to figure it all out. It was coming to me. Answers. Not a matter of if, just when. All revealed. But like I said there was some booze and you know maybe something stronger and hey, I'm almost out of cigarettes. That health stuff related to smoking is nothing to worry about it. I'm young now and would be for a long time.

(Tenses change, I know. But it's cool. Was cool. Is.)

Hot outside so the beer is especially good. Iron cast stomach. Long as I ate something. Maybe a burger. As for sleep, that's just what you do after passing out.

I...was...just...so...smart. Couldn't tell me anything. Wouldn't listen anyway. I had good looks, charm, one helluva sense of humor and was athletic. Smart? Sure, but I knew that the real answers were not to be found in classrooms. That and jobs and stuff was not at all cool. Coolness was critical. Fun was crucial. Beers.

There was this girl...uh, Gretchen, I think. She was really pretty and was prob'ly gonna be at the party and I bet she'd....Hey, man, why wouldn't any girl dig me? Then again, why would they? Sh*t, I think she has a boyfriend....Another beer. Worry less about Gretchen, worry less about a-n-y girl. Any ONE girl. If they couldn't appreciate me.... Such a remedy for insecurity -- in a bottle!

Yeah I was cool, I was smart, most of all I was cute. I was living each day without a thought to consequences. I was that kind of forever young that wakes up old real soon and suddenly. Then where would I be? Hadn't the foresight to wonder. Too blessed with a combination of talent minus common sense. Arrogance within egocentricity nestled in my narcism. Greatest compliment I got in high school was when a girl said: "you think your so cool, but you're not." Obviously she thought I was cool. That's all I heard. That's all I ever heard. As a soccer player an adult once labeled me "a prima donna." Thank you, man.

To be good at a lot of things and not be willing to push yourself at anything is a recipe for crushing disappointment.

I see young people who are just like I was (some even worse). You know what I say to them? Nothing. If they're at all like me then nothing I say will make the slightest difference. It's like this: you can't tell anyone to be humble. There's so much that people have to learn for themselves. The real important lessons are out there. Whether people get them or not is a matter of something like maybe luck, or karma, or prayers.

Speaking of luck:  I have had more than one could ever reasonably ask for. It's ridiculous really, how fortunate I've been. No. I've got to say it this way: how f*cking fortunate.

Hey, how about regrets? Well, yes there are those. They can eat you alive. Can strangle you. Dead, I mean. And I mean it. Regrets will kill you. They can drive you to self destruction.

But just try, try to pretend you haven't any. Not a chance. It's like a slight or a hurt, you can let those eat you from inside but you can't pretend they don't exist. It's all delicate balances. Like when you're young. Yes, party, good times (even when you're old) but not at the exclusion of going forward. Being useful, making yourself into some damn thing. We grow, we learn, are useful by doing, not by drinking and thinking and listening.

So I was that and must suppose it contributed to the "man I am today." Better or worse. Anyway we're here for the moment we live, not for the moments we'll later live. Weird conundrum. Living for today while keeping an eye on tomorrow. Fer me, tomorrow got way lost. I was all about today reasoning that tomorrow would take of itself and would magically bring enlightenment and riches and I'd still be way cool, brother. Just let it come.

Hot day, beer. White shorts, dark tee shirt. Cigarettes in pocket. Listening to Stevie Winwood and Traffic. Going nowhere. But being somewhere. Thinking of Gretchen or whoever. Feeling the profundity of being high. Answers coming.

Last night I watched a John Ford film.

Changes....