The War Is Not Over

President Eisenhower had prevented the USA from becoming involved in the Vietnamese civil war.

He was a military man who understood that the military-industrial complex was only interested in profits as well as the logistic strain of transporting troops and weapons halfway around the world to fight support the despised Diem dictatorship. Unfortunately after the disastrous Bay of Pigs and Cuban Missile Crisis the Kennedy administration had to play tough against any form of communism to placate the arch-conservatives on Congress. The CIA okayed the assassination of the Diem and set up puppet governments to fight a 10,000 Day War.

The 1968 Viet Cong Tet Offensive basically proved to a large segment of Americans that this war was unwinnable by the Pentagon, who only cared about 10-to1 body counts of VC versus the dead soldiers from the USA.

The Pentagon turned our troops into baby-killers.

Still I wanted to enlist.

Mostly to get out of my hometown on the South Shore of Boston, but my mother, an arch-anti-communist, refused to singed my underaged enlistment papers.

Like millions of other American youth I became a hippie.

I marched against the War and I cried the night of RFK's murder by the Dark Cabal.

I miss his life.

Almost 50 years gone.

A long time ago.

Nixon, The war criminal Kissinger, the Fall of Phnom Penh, the bombing of Laos, millions of dead.

The Khmer Rouge.

All the world needed was peace.

But the War dividing America is stronger than ever.

I'm living in Juneau Alaska this summer.

Four year ago I was selling jewelry to the tourists off cruise ships.

"Most of them are from the South.

This afternoon a four-year vet came into the store.

He wasn't buying and I said, "I'm trying to get a pension from the Pentagon for my anti-war protests."

"Maybe you should ask Jane Fonda. She was a traitor to America."

Our war was not over and I said, "Same as Nixon.

He said nothing and my boss came over to ask why I failed to score. She was not a hippie and had abandoned her son at 14.

"He didn't want to buy nothing."

"You'll get lots of those."

And I did for the rest of the day.

Curse you Jane Fonda.

"And peace on Earth.

My Son Fenway

The Damned Live 1979

Hurrah was a walk-up nightclub on 32 West 62nd Street. The second-floor had been a disco in its previous reincarnation. Studio 54 stole that clientele and the owners brought downtown uptown by having Jim Fouratt book punk bands.

The live music was the main attraction to Hurrah. The bookers loaded the stage with New York bands such as Klaus Nomi, ESG, Polyrock, and Ballistic Kisses to opened for headliners like the B-52s, Gang of Four, the Dead Boys, and the Ramones.

Between sets video monitors played music and strobed a kaleidoscope of images. My friends and I worked the punk disco as barmen, DJs, bookers, management, security, cashiers, and me employed as the doorman.

Our crowd were cute high school girls, long-legged models, generous drug dealers, wild movie stars, aspiring musicians, though teenagers from the outer boroughs, off-duty cops, druggy diplomats, doctors, and ne'er-do-well artists as well as a diverse collection of undesirables.

$10 bought entry for anyone other than a rat pack of bridge-and-tunnel boys. They were trouble.

In June of 1979 The Damned from the UK hit Hurrah for a one-night stand with the Dead Boys. I was familiar with the band from their newly-released LP MACHINEGUN ETIQUETTE. The Jefferson Airplane?s WHITE RABBIT was a cover from the album. I had the single. RABID was on the B-side.

Aside from letting in underage girls from Fieldston Academy and cuffing twenties for extra wages, one of my tasks as doorman was to lead the top billing bands from the dressing room in the rear corridor through the crowd onto the low stage.

A distance of 150 feet through a crowd crammed past capacity, since a cashier and I had racketed the door and resold tickets to SRO shows.

The night of The Damned's concert I probably had packed another hundred fans into the club. The Dead Boys had torn up the 700+ boys and girls. They wanted more and the more that they were going to get was The Damned. Hundreds chanted for the band. Their boots stomped hard on the wooden floor. The booker signaled me that it was time to get the band onstage. I went to the dressing room. The five bandmembers sat on its asses, surrounded by the usual punk groupies. Cheetah Chrome of the Dead Boys sulked in the corner. The lead guitarist was not used to being ignored by his faithful sluts.

"What's the problem?" It was obvious that the Damned weren't going anywhere.

"No Vodka. Our contact stipulated four bottles of Vodka. We ain't got none." Captain Sensible, the lead guitarist was wearing a gorilla suit. Pink top. Yellow bottom. It was a warm June night and sweat rivuleted down his face. Hot pants and a tube tops would have been a better choice.

"No vodka. No show." The black-haired singer announced with folded arms. His skin was covered by a film of white. He so wanted to look like a vampire.

"Gimme a minute." I reckoned that the owners had refused the vodka fearing the band would hit the stage drunk, but if they wanted vodka, I was going to get them some. Jhoury was the head bartender. Long thin and gay, he had a thing for the lead singer. I told him the problem and his hands elegantly seized five bottles of bar-well quality.

Old Cossack.

"Lead the way." The bottles, glasses, and mixers appeared on a tray, as if Jhoury had anticipated this call all evening. He had a thing for straight boys with English accents and reveled in his glory, when he entered the dressing room with their request the band sprang to their feet at the sight of the vodka.

“Good man." The redheaded drummer, Rat Scabies, grabbed the bottles and distributed to his fellow band members. He waved away the glasses and mixers. "We'll be drinking it neat."

The Damned screwed off the tops and lifted the open bottles to pour the vodka down their gullets like baby birds swallowing their mother's spew. Some of it made it down their throats. The rest spilled onto their clothes and floor. Jhoury was in wide-eyed awe. He like his drink too. The bottles were half-empty within a minute. Cheetah Chrome drank most of one. The drummer Rat Scabies smirked at him and said, "It's showtime. Get us on the stage and keep any lit cigarettes away from us. We're combustible."

"Jhoury, you're coming with me." I eyed his tray. Jhoury smiled with thanks. He never got out from behind the bar and now he was leading rough boys through a thick crowd. He didn't have to be told twice and we wedged out way through the phalanx of fans. The band picked up their instruments and opened the set with NEW ROSE.

It was a great show.

They performed WHITE RABBIT as an encore.

By 3am Hurrah was empty and the band ready to hit the road on their bus.

The Dead Boys with them. They were a double bill for the tour.

Destination Cleveland.

No one could find Cheetah Chrome and the bus pulled out without him. It wasn't until Buffalo that someone opened the storage area under the bus and found Cheetah passed out on the speakers. He didn't wake up until Cleveland.

The lead guitarist knew the smell of his hometown.

I never saw the Damned again, but Jhoury and I spoke often about their glugging the vodka. They were our heroes, then again so were so many of the bands that appeared at Hurrah.

It was the best of times.

ps Cheetah Chrome called me a phony for writing him into the story, but I recall him under the bus.

Plus this is semi-fiction and I love the Dead Boys.

Check out NEW ROSE by the Damned

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTfyUqVqX-0

I'm A Poseur Too

This morning I re-wrote a story about the Damned's show at Hurrah in 1978. I thought that the Dead Boys from Cleveland were touring with the British group. Cheetah Chrome emailed a comment excoriating my time-misplacement.

What an honor.

Here is his email.

SONIC REDUCER rocks.

The Damned Live 1978

Cheetah

Nice story , too bad it never happened. Do yer research man.The only gigs we ever did with the Damned in the US were at CBGB.The only tour we ever did with them was in England. Documented fact. Christ, you lame-ass posers...

My replies

Mr. Chrome, I will change the facts about the gig. I was there and recall passing out in the underneath baggage compartment of the Damned's tour bus. Don't worry you were my favorite band from Cleveland. Sonic reducer will forever rock. Plus this is semi-fiction. And I don't give a shit for nothing other than seeing you guys live. My memory has been savaged by time. Once I was in a taxi coming down down 7th Avenue from Hurrah. Probably 2 in the morning. With a few high school girls from the upper west side. There was a traffic jam around MSG. Didn't make sense until I spotted you bare-chested in the avenue facing the traffic. The girls asked who was that.

"A true dead boy."

And that's the truth.

Thanks for the comment, Mr. Chrome.

ps I saw the Dead Boys every chance I had in the late-70s.

They were better than great. They were most excellent.

Fuck 12

I was just at a demonstration at jay Street Metro Tech calling for the abolition of the NYPD. About 3-4000 people shouting FTP after two separate incidents of police brutality at this subway stop.

End the reign of the rich. End the 12. Free the POWs of the Drug Wars. Defund the DEA. Empty the prisons for profit.

The PO Dee were shocked by this message.

They are calling for reinforcements.

Helicopters are flittering overhead.

Don't they know we are not going to take it anymore?

Obviously not.

Resist.

Friends responded on FB

EW - And turn this city into pandemonium stupid people without the rule of law you have nothing

JD - there is no question that the NYPD needs major reform and that the department needs retraining. But to completely abolish the NYPD and have no law is nonsensical. We need to stop the militarization of the police force. And we need to reform and overhaul our prison system. There is a lot that needs to be done, but to totally dismantle or abolish the police force would be foolish. We need to fight corruption and injustice, but we also need laws and law enforcement.

AT - Ahh. That's what the helicopters were about. Hope we have enough sense to fight injustice with out the absurdity of "abolishing" the police.

FS - New York City has only angels and saints ,now living there? Hypothetically,in your police free state,who will protect the victims of crime,or will crime disappear with no police?

"The police are not here to preserve order, they are here to preserve disorder." - Mayor Daley Chicago 1968

And eat donuts.

Lolapange - 2019 Kili Initiative # 10

After dawn the Kili 2019 crew washed in small individual bowls.

Face, hands, and arms.

I hit everything.

Old men smell bad in the heat.

We gathered their packs, as Johnny folded the tents to transport to our next campsite. I put my backpack on the three-wheeled tuk-tuk.

"You aren't carrying yours," asked Vanessa, as she helped prepare a breakfast of bacon, sausages, eggs, and porridge.

"Nope. I'm carrying all the camera equipment; two cameras, a phone, chargers, batteries, mikes, and a book to record the where and when of the shots. "Do you need me to help you?"

"I'm fine." The young Kiberan native frowned, wishing she was free of the weight, but this was all part of getting them into shape for the climb of Mount Kilimanjaro.

The highest mountain in Africa seemed far away that morning.

The sky was blue.

After cleaning up, we set off down a dusty path. The temperature was agreeable, but everyone was wearing wide-brimmed hats. The sun was strong on the equator. I took my place with JM at the head of the group. At 67 I was supposed to be the slowest and we followed the rules of the wild. The oldest keep the pace.

"There's Lolapange." Fast Steve pointed to a tall hill in the distance.

"It doesn't look so tall."

The Kili Initiative director had warned me of this climb.

"Thorns. Lots of thorns," said JM in a low voice for my ears only. "If you fall into the thorn bush there are only two ways of getting you out. Chopping you out or burning you out."

JM and Fast Steve laughed at this joke, but something in his voice told me that he was serious.

The morning was quiet.

"What day do you think it is?" I asked Larry.

"Thursday?"

"Sounds good to me." School was open and the students were hurrying to classes.

Some of them ran barefoot with their shoes around their necks.

No one in the world ran long-distance better than the Kenyans and of the Kenyans none were better than those of Kalenjin, but the Maasai were darn fast too.

Vanessa came up to me.

"Can you run?"

"Not that fast."

"He's an old man," said Fast Steve.

"M'zee but I will beat you in a 40-meter dash.

Everyone laughed at that.

Illasit was quiet too.

The wind whispered dust down the paths around houses.

The doors were shut to keep out the dust.

I tasted the grit on my tongue.

"What is it like?" Vanessa drank water. We had been warned to drink over two liters a day. The sun evaporated the sweat off our skins and the rising heat gave us thirst.

"Clean."

"How can dirt be clean?"

"I think we will find out on this trip."

We left Illasit and tramped through the savannah.

"The houses are protected from lions and hyena by thorn bushes. Nothing can stop an elephant," said Ma'we. "Nothing."

"Where does an elephant sleep?" It was an old joke.

"I don't know."

"Anywhere it wants."

Ma'we and JM chortled and we kept walking into a small Maasai village.

A young man and his grandparents waited by the door.

"This is John. He has on the Kili climb, because his grandmother came up to us several years ago and asked why we came this way. Tim explained about the Kili Initiative and his grandmother asked to take John. The next year we did."

"It was a great thing for me. It changed my life."

"And what about Lolapange?" asked Jackman. The hill was closer now.

I climbed that every day when I was a young boy tending cattle."

We drank fresh milk. The Maasai live on cattle; the blood, the milk, and the meat.

They are reputed to be the one of the healthiest people on Earth.

We bid good-bye. John was going to meet us at Loitokitok in several days. JM stopped the group before a maze of eroded washes.

"We are all going one way, but you will go before us. To Lolapange. Guiding by a map."

"If you think you are going the wrong way, then there is nothing wrong with admitting it and going back to the bad turning point," I suggested to the young people and looked to the five women. "Men tend never to think they are lost. Don't let them lead you astray."

"Thank you for the warning." Vanessa trudged away weighed down by her back. Larry, the pathfinder walked with the map in his hand. Ubah held the compass. The rest of the group followed them and once they were out of sight we waited several minutes before proceeding down the path.

A crack in the soil widened to a chasm. The group's bootprints went to the right. I mentioned that something about that didn't seem right and JR said, "They have taken the wrong path, but at least they didn't walk down into the crevice. They will be fine. We are climbing Lolopange. Are you ready?"

"Never readier?" I estimated the hill's height to be five-hundred feet. "It doesn't seem that tough."

The three Kenyans laughed at my ignorance and I soon found out why.

Thorn bushes abounded the rocky slopes.

Thorns with hooks.

I can't remember the name.

I cut them off them with scissors.

I cursed them every step.

They caught everything without mercy. Bird skeletons festooned the trees. Bugs were impaled on their spikes, but thirty minutes later we were on the top. The rough rocks offered no comfort and we stood, wondering where were the young people.

"They are probably climbing the other side. Steeper and more thorns," said JM. He knew this hill well.

"They will be fine." Ma'we studied me and said, "If you can climb Lolapange, then you can climb Kilimanjaro."

"It still looks tall from here."

"It is always tall." JM turned and walked to the top of Lolapange. We stayed quiet and he said, "I do not here them."

"I will go look from them." Fast Steve dropped his pack and took his water, then disappeared into the thorn bushes.

"Nothing. No one." Fast Steve wasn't even panting from his exertion and I remembered challenging him to a race. I didn't stand a chance.

He came back again.

"Nothing."

"They will be here soon," said Ma'we. He was a guide. Steve worked for Kili Initiative. He was a responsible man. I was supposed to care for the three New Yorkers. I found a smoothish rock. "What's the worse that can happen?"

Ma'we pointed to the ground.

A big print in the sand.

"Lion." JM kicked away the warning. "Old."

Not hearing any screams was a good sign.

"I'll go look one more time."

He went down the back of Lolapange.

Ten minutes later we heard voices.

We found the crew. They had stripped off their tops. None of them looked happy, as if we had played a joke on them. Their cold-weather jackets lay at their feet and Ubah explained, "The thorns were so bad we put on the jackets for protection."

"I think I lost ten pounds," crowed Larry.

Steve showed up in fine form.

"Everyone good?"

"Very good."

"Really?" I asked and then added, "Would you prefer a night in jail or another climb up Lolapange?"

"Jail," chorused the group and we laughed before eating lunch.

Twenty minutes later we descended a steep slope to the bottom of Lolapange.

Through the thorns.

Lolapange the Hill of Thorns

Never to forget.

Me Too # Not Far Enough

In 1971 Bernardo Bertolucci directed Marlo Brando and Maria Schneider in LAST TANGO IN PARIS.

The film featured a controversial rape scene between the two actors. Bertolucci and Brando coerced the nineteen year-old actress into performing the scene. Wikipedia reports that she later said, "They only told me about it before we had to film the scene and I was so angry. I should have called my agent or had my lawyer come to the set because you can't force someone to do something that isn't in the script, but at the time, I didn't know that. Marlon said to me: 'Maria, don't worry, it's just a movie', but during the scene, even though what Marlon was doing wasn't real, I was crying real tears. I felt humiliated and to be honest, I felt a little raped, both by Marlon and by Bertolucci. After the scene, Marlon didn't console me or apologise. Thankfully, there was just one take."

Bertolucci said that "I feel guilty, but I don't regret it."

This rape was a crime.

Pure and simple.

Not art.

Rape.

The movie critic Pauline Kael stated, "October 14, 1972... should become a landmark in movie history comparable to May 29, 1913—the night Le Sacre du Printemps was first performed—in music history... Last Tango in Paris has the same kind of hypnotic excitement as the Sacre, the same primitive force, and the same thrusting, jabbing eroticism. The movie breakthrough has finally come."

For when crimes against women become acceptable in Art.