Category Archives: Fashion, music, politics, sports

Politics, music, and fashion

[September 18, 1969] Neo-Rococo Dreaming


by Gwyn Conaway

The Woodstock Music and Art Fair 1969 will live on in fashion for hundreds of years. Truly, this little festival of love is already making waves within weeks of the event. Like other artist-driven movements before it–the Pre-Raphaelites, Aesthetes, and Primitifs, to name a few–the Hippie Movement will inspire again and again, living on in infamy as the pinnacle of rebellion, freedom, and youth.


Ossie Clark Aeroplane, 1969 by Jim Lee.

Let us then take a moment to appreciate that we are living in a moment of great aesthetic change. If French Rococo had come from the cobblestone streets instead of the marble steps of the palace, this is what it might have felt like. Wondrous, confident, inclusive, worldly… Let us fall into our own naturalistic dream through a cacophony of colors and patterns, divine geometry, and just the exquisite mess of it all.

Without further ado, here are three les créateurs du jour to celebrate and thank for the vibrant fantasy that is 1969.


Ossie Clark has said that this photograph is meant to comment on soldiers that fool around and don’t take the war seriously. Celia Birtwell represents a peasant girl being sexually assaulted by a soldier holding a gun to her thigh while wearing one of Ossie’s floral dresses, 1969.

Ossie Clark is making the biggest splash of his career right now, and for good reason. Photographer Jim Lee helped bring his vision to life for the editorial series entitled 'Vietnam', a brutal commentary on both the realities of the war and his ardent hope for peace. His other photoworks with Jim Lee depict a similar combination of violence and vibrance that feel both glamorous and political. 'Target' uses the same bright, primary palette, but is reminiscent of suicide bombers. Ossie Clark has mentioned that his intent with the photo was to make it appear as if Celia Birtwell had survived a nosedive unscathed.


Celia Birtwell wearing an Ossie kaftan dress in parti color yellow and green. Interestingly, the fourth attempt at this photograph left the detonation expert badly burned.

Ossie Clark would not be complete, however, without his life and design partner, Celia Birtwell. Her Botticelli print has inspired much of Ossie’s fashion this year, making its way onto trousers, peasant tops, kaftans, and gowns. She is the mastermind behind the “floating” textiles that make his designs so bold and nymph-like.


The “Botticelli” print by Celia Birtwell on Ossie Clark’s chiffon and satin trouser suit, 1969.


The “Floating Daisy” and “Poppy” prints by Celia Birtwell on Ossie Clark’s crepe and chiffon evening dress and coat, 1969.

Zandra Rhodes is another exceptional designer with an eye for color that simply glows with life. Her first collection came out this year, titled “The Knitted Circle.” The stand-out piece from her very first collection is the jaw-dropping Butterfly Coat. This coat made of golden wool with a quilted collar that curls away from the neck like butterfly wings, dragged towards the ground with elegant beaded cords. The bodice’s embroidery is a trompe l’oeil print, which keeps its volume and shape from becoming too heavy. And the skirt’s rose and diamond print is reminiscent of gardens and tea in a charming, youthful way.


The Butterfly Coat’s skirt is a full circle gathered into a fitted bust, emblematic of the circular tailoring theme that Rhodes uses across the entire collection, 1969.

Other garments in the collection are ethereal and frothy, following the theme of full circle cutting in the skirts and balloon sleeves. The circular motif is inviting but powerful. When combined with Rhodes’ deft hand at color, it speaks to the energy of young women and their audacity to be happy as themselves.


Detail of the Butterfly Coat by Zandra Rhodes, 1969.

Let us end this little tour with a man of many talents. Giorgio di Sant’Angelo has apprenticed under Pablo Picasso and Walt Disney, worked as a textile designer for furniture, and studied industrial design. His personality is big and his look cherubic. Most stunning, though, is that his work embodies it all.


Sant’Angelo in 1968 photographed with a model draped in his scarves.


The scarf wall at the Phoenix Art Museum.

Sant’Angelo is daring and bold, but there’s an inherent softness to his work. He combines organic subjects with psychedelic color, and geometry with hand-drawn repetition rather than precision. There’s a speculative element to his work that makes one think he wishes to drape you in dreams rather than necessarily create clothing.

Even his heavier textiles maintain the dreamlike crossroads between geometry and mysticism. For his photoshoot with Veruschka for Vogue in 1968, he supposedly took only fabrics and jewelry, draping each frame by hand. The result is a mesmerizing dance of triangles and circles.



The above photographs are from the Vogue desert photoshoot, photographed by Franco Rubartelli.

Enjoy these watershed years, my friends! We are seeing the future being shaped as we live and breathe. What will the Hippie movement lead to next? Fops and dandies? Peasant dresses and pastorales? It will seep into our daily lives, of that there is no question.

[August 26, 1969] A Bumper Crop at the Farm (Woodstock Music & Art Fair)


by Victoria Silverwolf

A little more than a week ago, something remarkable happened in a small town in the state of New York.  Depending on your point of view, it was either a gathering of joyful people sharing fun and good music, or a mob of filthy hippies stoned out of their minds and destroying their hearing with loud noise.  Let's go back in time a little bit and try to figure out how this all came together.


Poster designed by Arnold Skolnick.

The Woodstock Music and Art Fair took place in Bethel, New York.  That's about forty miles away from the town of Woodstock.  Why the name?  Thereby hangs a tale.

Early this year, some business folks planned to hold a big concert in Woodstock.  They even called their company Woodstock Ventures.  Long story short, local residents rejected the idea.  The people running the thing tried other communities in the area.  The authorities of the towns of Saugerties and Wallkill nixed the idea as well.  What to do?

Enter a fellow named Max Yasgur.  He owns a six hundred acre dairy farm In Bethel.  He agreed to lease the use of his property for the festival in return for something like ten thousand bucks.


Yasgur's farm.

Some local residents were not pleased at all.  (Rumor has it that Yasgur is himself a conservative Republican.  Apparently that didn't prevent him from accepting money from members of the counterculture.)


A sign posted when the deal was announced.

Despite opposition, the authorities granted the necessary permits.  (By the way, the reason the poster shown above mentions White Lake as the scene of the festival is because White Lake is a hamlet within the town of Bethel, and is about three miles from Yasgur's farm.  Don't ask me; I'm only used to hamlet being the title of a famous play.)

It took so long to find a site for the festival that the folks running the thing didn't have time to put up fences or ticket booths.  Heck, they barely had a chance to put up the stage!  They'd already sold 186,000 tickets in advance (despite expecting only about 50,000 people to show up.)


Full admission price to the entire festival.  Expensive!

The big show was going to start in the early evening on Friday, August 15.  By Wednesday, the expected 50,000 folks had already shown up, with no way to find out if they had purchased tickets or not.  A lot more were on their way.  At its peak, the crowd was estimated at 450,000.

Roads leading to the area were jammed with would-be attendees.  Recent rain turned fields into seas of mud.  Lack of facilities — food and water, first aid stations, sanitation — added to the chaos. 

Three people died at the festival.  Two were from drug overdoses.  One teenager was run over by a tractor while he was in his sleeping bag.  Despite these tragedies, and many hundreds of people needing medical attention, one extraordinary fact stands out.  There was not one reported act of deliberate violence at the festival.

Think about that.  Close to half a million people living in close proximity, and in very stressful situations, without violence.  Makes you wonder if these Flower People are doing something right, doesn't it?

Enough background.  What about the music?  Thirty-two acts performed, from early Friday evening to late Monday morning.  Let's go over some highlights.


This advertisement doesn't list all the performers.  There were also changes in the schedule.  Sha-Na-Na didn't perform until Monday morning, and Iron Butterfly got stuck at the airport and didn't show up at all. Jeff Beck wasn't there, either.

Day One: Indian Summer

The opening speech was delivered Friday evening by Swami Satchidananda Saraswati, an Indian guru.  The first day was heavy on folk music performers, including Arlo Guthrie and Joan Baez (who is six months pregnant, by the way.) For me, the outstanding act was Indian sitarist Ravi Shankar.


Shankar performs Evening Raga.

Day Two: The Big Names

Saturday afternoon until Sunday was when a lot of the most famous rock bands showed up.  Santana, Grateful Dead, The Who, Jefferson Airplane, etc., but the electrifying performance of Janis Joplin and the Kozmic Blues Band, in the wee hours of the morning, was the highlight.


Joplin belts out an hour of her hits.

Day Three: Past and Future

More rock music ended the festival, interrupted for about three hours by a thunderstorm.  Monday morning the concert ended with two strongly contrasting acts, one looking backward and one offering hints as to what tomorrow's popular music might be like.

Nostalgia act Sha Na Na brought a chance of pace by performing doo-wop songs from the 1950's.  (It's amazing how much pop music has changed in fifteen years or so!)


Performing oldie Book of Love in gold suits.

The final act was the amazing Jimi Hendrix, said to be the highest-paid rock musician in the world.  His music is so far out, that it seems to be coming from the 21st century.


And yet he paid tribute to the past, with the wildest version of The Star-Spangled Banner you'll ever hear.

Was it worth all the mud and chaos?  Despite the small number of tragic deaths, and hundreds of bad drug trips, most of the folks who were there would probably say it was.  And here are some other eyewitness reports for you.  Over to you, Walter…


Er… you're not Walter…


photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Woodstock: when it wasn't hot, it was cold.  When you didn't have to pee, you were hungry.  If you were anywhere near the stage (as we were Friday night into Saturday morning), you were elbow to elbow with a hundred thousand other people.  I got less than 10 hours of sleep over the 72 hours of the event, and then I soldiered on to help clean up before crashing in the van.

It was the best weekend of my life.


Aftermath in Paradise

Look—I'm 50 years old.  I've done a lot in my day, but I've never really pushed myself.  I've never done drugs.  I go to sleep by 10pm.  I stay at home, except when I fly to Japan, and then I go first class…planes and hotels

For this adventure, there was none of that.  The biggest concession to comfort is that we drove to the event early, and thereby avoided the worst of the traffic.  And I surrendered my six square feet of ground near the stage to eat and excrete and nap in the comfort of our rented van (though I slogged back during the rainstorm Sunday afternoon and stayed through until the end of the event).  It was a test of physical and emotional fortitude greater than any I'd had before.

What made it all worth it?  The music and the people.  It's all a riot of memories right now, a kaleidoscope that refuses to resolve, probably won't resolve for weeks or months:

  • The sensitive, soulful passion of Richie Havens, strumming powerfully until I felt his fingers must bleed, singing his own songs and those of the Beatles, and finally some sort of ethereal impromptu folks are calling "Freedom".


    A snap from an 8mm I shot of the concert—we were that close on the first day!

  • The bombed out young group that wandered by our van on Saturday evening.  We shared our chicken and rice with them and pointed them in the direction of the main stage.  Did they ever make it back?  We'll never know.

  • The surreality of feeling the Earth's rotation, watching dusk turn to night then to dawn then to day, and then to night again…marked not by the sweep of wristwatch hands but the endless cavalcade of bands: Santana, John Sebastian, Mountain, the Creedence Clearwater Revival…


    Sunset on Day 3

  • The ethereal beauty and surprising charm of Bert Sommer, who bewitched all who espied him.


    Telephoto shot of Sommer

  • The one-two punch of Janis Joplin and Sly and the Family Stone—easily the high-water mark of the event—the former, a goddess; the latter, the Supreme Being.

  • Marla and Tim and their lovely kids, who were our site neighbors, and as luck would have it, are also practically our hometown neighbors.  You can bet we'll keep in touch.

  • The most hilarious retelling of the Book of Exodus, as told by a quite stoned Arlo Guthrie.


  • The soaring harmonies of Crosby, Stills and Nash (and occasionally Young), with counterpoint provided by Amber's snoring…the poor girl had lasted through the endless sets of Ten Years After, Johnny Winter, and Blood, Sweat, and Tears, only to founder at the shores of excellence.

  • The couple that broke up at the beginning of the event only to be compelled back together by the end of it.

  • The turgid endlessness of Canned Heat, the Grateful Dead, and (sadly) Jefferson Airplane.

  • The sublimity of Jimi, pinnacling in his fiery, bomb-laden rendition of the National Anthem.

  • The three demons of Woodstock: the blue acid, the mud, and the scaffold creeps who would not abandon the stage towers despite the constant admonitions of the velvet-voiced EMCEE, "Chip" Monck.

  • The three angels of Woodstock: Max Yazgur, the nice mensch who offered up his farm to host the event so as to bridge the generation gap; the ministering angels who provided food when the concession stands ran out; and the good-natured attendees who, for the most part, offered no hassles or bummers and kept things peaceful and brotherly.


    Max Yazgur prepares to speak

It was an event for the ages, squared, cubed, and beyond for being shared with all of my closest friends.  My life is forever punctuated into two eras: before and after Woodstock.

The papers already seem to be forgetting the festival, the city we built that, for a weekend, contained more people than the whole of Anza Highway corridor back home.  But I'll never forget.  We'll never forget.

We were there.



by Janice L. Newman

Even as we watched the opening acts, more and more and more people were pouring in, young and muddy and hungry. While others were focused on the stage, my mind couldn’t help but be consumed by something else: logistics.

How, I worried, were all these people going to get fed?

Fortunately, others had the same thought. By the time the second day was going strong, the Hog Farm commune, founded by Hugh Romney, Jr. (aka “Wavy Gravy”) had gone into action, requesting money from the concert organizers and using it to purchase thousands of pounds of rolled oats, sliced almonds, apricots, currants, bulgur wheat, wheat germ, and truckloads of fresh vegetables. “There’s plenty of food over at the Hog Farm,” a young woman told the audience. I had to see for myself.

So I left my spot near our van (I’d slept there through the first night, unable to stay awake even with Ravi Shankar and Joan Baez performing) and went to see what it was all about.

I spent the next four days going back and forth between Hog Farm and Woodstock, helping mix and serve muesli out of giant trash cans purchased for the purpose, handing out sandwiches, and watching as people patiently lined up and accepted their share, or stepped forward to volunteer to help, or passed food through the audience to their friends who refused to leave their spot near the stage. The food wasn’t hearty, but supplemented with the milk and yogurt from the dairy farm, it was enough.

I missed out on all the night concerts, even my twin-named Janis Joplin, but I was up early enough to catch The Who. The music was great, but more than that, I enjoyed the chance to be a part of something bigger.


Me at our campsite in the woods

The Age of Aquarius, one of brotherhood, peace, and universal love, has always seemed like a beautiful but naive dream. Yet we saw something like it over the course of four days. Not just in the young people who gathered, but the people who came together to help support, feed, and care for them and for each other. Even the US Army helped out!

Woodstock may not end up being a profitable endeavor after all that happened. It’s already being talked about in the papers as a boondoggle. And yet…it was something special. Something different. Something new.

The people in the audience weren’t just spouting words about peace and brotherhood, they believe it. In the face of such sincerity, cynicism melts away and hope can’t help but take its place.  Who knows? Maybe this generation really will be the one to end war for good


.

by Lorelei Marcus

"How was Woodstock?" A friend asked me recently.

I couldn't reply for a long while, because there is no one answer; there is no one holistic Woodstock experience. Woodstock comprises moments, measured in music acts, naps, and meals. It was a lifestyle, a lifetime balled up into four days. How does one reply when asked "how is living?"

"Good," is all I could reply at the time.

Now I've had a bit longer to reflect. I can say that overall, it was worth it. But what was it like?


Me and mom at the campsite

It was the most humanity I'll ever see in my life. Everything from the funny guy teaching me about mushrooms, to the girl crooning out ballads on her tiny guitar between sets, to the practical feeling of wearing nothing along with everybody else. At some times we were a mass, snoring in the sun, lining up for food, eating, clapping, tripping, slipping on mud. Sometimes I was alone, relishing the quiet moment in the woods while I squatted over a hole, dozing through the first hour of Hendrix's concert, leaning over a pot of oats and stirring until it was warm.

There's a through line that connects these disparate flashes: the music. Some was transcendent, some was boring, and on the drive home I realized what made the difference. There were a lot of jams at this concert, not unusual for the live blues and rock scene, but often I found myself wishing for a song to end rather than enjoying its ride. Some would blame that on the sleep deprivation, but really, it's that long jams are flawed in two big ways.

First, a jam interrupts the flow of the song and diminishes the complexity of the experience. I don't mind the band free styling, but usually to keep together, they have to stay on one chord. This leads to a monotonous meandering of guitar notes and drum fields piled on top of a stagnant melody. The sound and the rhythm quickly lose their way, and any meaning built into the flow and structure of the original song are quickly dispersed.

The second problem is that jamming is a private experience. Songs are a story that reach from the musician to the listener. Jams can be like that if played with intention (Hendrix does this well), but otherwise it's a connection with one's band or even their own instrument. An audience can watch and appreciate technique, but cannot join the musician in their reverie without invitation.

Such is the art of performance, and what made both Janis Joplin and Sly and the Family Stone's shows so powerful. Both performers poured out their energy into the audience, giving themselves and their music to foster a bond. You could feel the passion like electricity in your bones. It multiplied, and you poured it out back to them, only making it stronger, looping until the music isn't just heard, but felt, like it's part of both of you. It creates a togetherness that you can't get anywhere else.


Me and Trini near the stage

Really, that's what Woodstock was all about: being together. Sometimes it was overwhelming, sometimes otherworldly, and mostly it was wet and loud.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything.





[August 24, 1969] Flying and dragging (September 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Flying

By the time this makes press, we'll already (hopefully) be on the flight back to San Diego.  As with most publications, though we try to hit the press as fresh as possible, there is a delay between writing and printing.  This is exceptionally unavoidable this time 'round because…

…we're off to Woodstock!

Specifically, the Woodstock Art & Music Fair, an "Aquarian Exposition" in White Lake, New York.  There's an art show and a craft bazaar and hundreds of acres of sprawl, but the main draw is the music: 27 bands, from Jimi Hendrix to Janis Joplin to Glen Beck to Sweetwater to Ritchie Havens, playing in 12-hour swathes, 1pm to 1am, every day (except the first—then, it's 4pm to 4am, apparently).

Well, we couldn't miss a chance to see something like this, so we booked tickets to Idlewild…er… JFK, chartered a bus, and we're headed for Max Yasgur's farm.  This isn't our first rodeo, so we've taken a few precautions:

1) We left early to avoid the rush.  With more than 100,000 expected to show up for this thing, there's going to be traffic jams;

2) We bought supplies in case we can't get what we want to eat;

3) We brought our own toilets!  A handy trick we developed camping up in Sequoia country: take a bucket, fill it a quarter way with Kitty Litter, and stick a toilet seat on top.  It works as well for people as it does for cats, and you don't have to dig latrines!

So, we're hopeful to get good seats and enjoy, as much as anyone can, three days of fun in the open air.  We'll have a full report when we get back!

Dragging


by Chesley Bonestell

Sweet Helen, by Charles W. Runyon

On a distant world, rich with export goods, yet another trader succumbs before his tour is up.  Two deserted.  One went native.  One shot himself.  The company sends a professional troubleshooter to find out what happened.

Somehow, the natives are the culprit.  The amphibian humanoids run twenty males to the female, and the female is in charge.  The men all compete for the honor of breeding with her; the rest die.  The females are humanoid and lovely… for a while.  They swell into enormous toads when it is time to become gravid. 

The troubleshooter is unable to determine the exact problem, until too late.

Of course, none of this would be an issue if they had sent a woman trader (probably).  And apparently women traders do exist in Runyon's universe, though they are rare enough to not be sent except by deliberate assignment.

Also, none of this would be an issue if the aliens weren't so uniquely humanoid and compelling to humans—a cliché I find tiresome these days.  Really, this is just a "women are dangerous" story in SF trappings, something done much better, and more creepily, in Matheson's "Lover When You're Near Me" almost two decades ago.

Two stars.

Bonita Egg, by Julian F. Grow

A riproarer of an adventure involving a middle-aged doctor, a young, East-Coast-educated Apache woman, and a dark-skinned alien named Mwando.  The last wants to abduct the former pair, but he is continually thwarted by his would-be captives' pluck, as well as the woman's outlaw uncle and tribal chief father.  Not to mention a platoon of Union artillerymen led by the bullheaded Winfield Scott Dimwiddie.

It's all rather silly and a bit long-winded, but it's not unreadable.  A low three stars.

Muse, by Dean R. Koontz

Leonard is a famed musician, or rather, he is when he's got Icky the symbiont alien on his back.  But anti-slug/human prejudice runs strong on old Earth, and his father wants Leonard to lose the connection for his own good.  Tragedy ensues.

Koontz is a pretty good writer, generally, but this story smacks of being an early, hitherto unsold work.  It's less artfully written, with repetitive phrasing in places.  The story is threadbare—if it's a metaphor for drugs, it's clumsy; if not, it needs a lot more development to be effective.

Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

The Patient, by Hoke Norris

This is the story of the first brain transplant, as told from the point of view of the doctors who performed it and the patient.  Much discussion of the ethics involved and the problems ensuing, particularly with regard to the families of the donor and donee.  The patient is unable to reconcile his past with his present and ultimately commits suicide.

Sorry to give things away, but this is really a tedious, stupid piece.  It is pedestrian and repetitive, a stark contrast to, say, Fiztpatrick and Richmond's Half a Loaf series, which covers the same ground.

Also, that the doctors performed their operation on a day's notice, and none of the legal or moral t's were crossed or i's dotted reminds me of how space travel used to be depicted: a guy would build a spaceship in his backyard and fly to the Moon.  You'd think a lot more infrastructure would be needed before such a thing could even be contemplated.

One star.

The Screwiest Job in the World, by Bill Pronzini

Phineas T. Fensterblau has an odd hobby: collecting unusual animals, particularly ones with the power of speech.  To this end, he has employed the resourceful Elroy, who travels the world, proving the veracity of the claims of those who would sell exotic beasts to the millionare eccentric.  In the course of his work, Elroy has uncovered ventriloquists, dwarfs in costumes, hidden transmitters, etc.  But when he is sent to the Alaskan wilderness on the trail of a talking Kodiak bear, Elroy finds something completely new.

This isn't a bad story, but since it is set up as a mystery, it would have been better if the reader had been filled in on the clues before their lumpy exposition near the end.  That could have raised the piece from three stars to higher.

The Man Who Massed the Earth, by Isaac Asimov

Dr. A continues his layman presentation of first semester physics, explaining what weight is and how Cavendish determined the gravitational constant "G".  It's actually pretty interesting, and there is an intuitive explanation as to why the weight of the Earth…is zero.

Four stars.

J-Line to Nowhere, by Zenna Henderson

In this non-The People story, Henderson tells the tale of a teen girl who gets an urge to see the world outside the crammed city-scraper she's lived her whole life in.  She succeeds, but can't figure out how to get back.

There's a lot of gushing thoughts, but not a lot of story to this one.  Three stars.

Finishing the trip

Well, that was dreary!  Remember the days when fiction took you to better places than reality?  Of course, I haven't gotten to Woodstock yet, so maybe it will be equally disappointing…but somehow I doubt it.

Stay tuned!

(and dig on what F&SF has got coming next month…I'm excited for the Niven, of course.)






[August 6, 1969] Gay Power! (The Stonewall Inn Protests)

[With folks like Chip Delaney and Ursula Le Guin pushing the boundaries of sex and gender, it's important to understand that they don't work in a vacuum.  Everything is contextual.  And late last month, the context lurched forward to catch up with the creative…]


by Erica Frank

A little over a month ago, the police in New York City decided they'd had enough of gay people (and probably hippies and activists too; you know all us freak-types stick together) and raided the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village. Stonewall is a gay bar that's been around since the 1930s, originally as a speakeasy. It's technically a private club — since it couldn't get a liquor license — and has faced frequent raids for no reason other than willingly hosting people considered outcasts. The warrants are usually based on "illegal sale of alcohol." But Stonewall is hardly the only establishment that slides past a liquor license; just one that faces frequent raids because the cops know most of the clientele can't fight back.

The raid on June 28th sparked unexpected resistance — and several days of protest, making national news. My local anti-cop paper, the Berkeley Barb, ran an article about it. 


Newspaper clipping of the start of an article about the Stonewall protests, by Leo E. Laurence
The article also has a mention of poet Alan Ginsberg saying, "We are one of the largest minorities in the country, ten per cent you know. It's about time we did something to assert ourselves."

The Village Voice also had some strong words. "Gay Power Comes to Sheridan Square," it announced: "The forces of faggotry, spurred on by a Friday night raid on one of the city's largest, most popular, and longest lived gay bars, the Stonewall Inn, rallied Saturday night in an unprecedented protest against the raid and continued Sunday night to assert presence, possibility, and pride until the early hours of Monday morning."

The raid began small — a few cops, trapping people in the bar and releasing them one at a time, deciding whether they were innocent customers or "instigators" of perverse crimes. The mood was festive and playful ("favorites would emerge from the door, strike a pose, and swish by the detectives") until the paddywagon arrived and arrested three of the queens in drag.

The police have a policy: Men "dressed as men" are released, even if they have heavy makeup; men dressed "partially" as women are sometimes released; men dressed "fully" as women are arrested — after being groped by a police woman to establish their identity. (If they can prove they have had a sex-change operation, they're released.)

At Stonewall, after the first few arrests and the subsequent harassment of a lesbian woman, the mood darkened. The crowd that had been ejected from the bar met with Friday night tourists and party-seekers and turned against the police.

End result: 13 arrests, charges ranging from "assault on an officer" (someone threw something in their direction) to selling alcohol without a license (the bar staff), and two cops injured. Saturday morning, Stonewall put up a sign that said they'd re-open that night — and they did.

The broken windows were boarded up — and covered with activist slogans and signs saying "Support Gay Power." Saturday night had a flamboyant protest in the street, with kissing and posing and chanting slogans. The police sent out their Tactical Patrol Force (TPF) to break up the crowd and keep the protest contained, pushing people around and refusing new entry to the area, until the activity dispersed at around 3 am. (I have to wonder if the cops take credit for that. It's a very rare party, no matter how sparkling, that continues that late.)

Sunday night had fewer chants but more "fag follies," as the Voice calls them. Alan Ginsberg visited, and called the crowd beautiful, and yelled "Defend the fairies!" as he departed.

Following the raid: The Village Voice faced a protest of its own for refusing to publish the word "gay" in an ad, but using the terms "dykes" and "faggots." Some gay men and lesbians proudly declare themselves to be "fags" or "dykes" — but others prefer more respectful terms, and the Voice does not consider their wishes.

An ad for "Cruise by Gay Computer" showing two sexy, naked men (with bent legs covering their private parts) on top of an archway.
This is not the ad the Voice refused to run, but as you can see, the Berkeley Barb has no such prejudice.

Several groups of people found each other or re-connected at the protests — the new Gay Liberation Front held its first march on July 27th but that certainly won't be its last. The GLF name was coined by Marsha P. Johnson, a drag queen formerly of the Daughters of Bilitis. It was designed to be provocative and loud, rather than quietly polite like of some "homophile" groups.


Marsha protesting in front of New York City Hall

The Gay Liberation Front has recently (this last week) published its statement of purpose:

"We are a revolutionary homosexual group of men and women formed with the realization that complete sexual liberation for all people cannot come about unless existing social institutions are abolished. We reject society’s attempt to impose sexual roles and definitions on our nature. We are stepping outside these roles and simplistic myths. We are going to be who we are. At the same time, we are creating new social forms and relations, that is, relations based upon brotherhood, cooperation, human love, and uninhibited sexuality. Babylon has forced us to commit to one thing … revolution."

And may it be a glorious, vibrant, and triumphant revolution, full of kissing in the street and ending with the right to express joyous love and pleasure without fear of violence.






[July 31, 1969] Stranger than fiction (August 1969 Analog)

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Dip in Road

A week has gone by since Mary Jo Kopechne, a 28 year-old worker on Robert F. Kennedy's campaign, lost her life.  Of course you've read the news.  She went to Martha's Vineyard for a reunion with other campaign workers, where she met the last surviving Kennedy brother, Teddy.  According to the Senator, Mary Jo was a bit tipsy, so he offered to drive her home.  His car ended up off a bridge.  He survived; she did not.

A tragedy.  Moreover, it is a far from clear-cut strategy.  Kennedy says he tried to save Kopechne, but that he was too exhausted to succeed—but he failed to call the police, who might have been able to help.  Indeed, he called his lawyer instead.  Last weekend, the Senator pled guilty to leaving the scene of the crime.

It's also unclear just what Kennedy and Kopechne were doing on the deserted dirt road that led to the scene of the accident.  It wasn't on the way home.  Was something clandestine in the works?  Was Teddy also sozzled?

There's a lot of talk about what this incident means for Kennedy's career, how he's not going to be able to run for President in '72, etc.  Perhaps this was all an innocent accident.  Maybe the only lesson we should get from all of this is that it's not smart to drive under the influence.

All we know at this time is that there as many questions as answers, as well as inconsistencies in the Senator's testimony.  I hope, for the Kopechne family's sake, if nothing else, that more is learned in the days to come.

In any event, once again, a Kennedy career has come to a sudden, unexpected halt.

Steady as she goes

If the political news is chaotic, such cannot be said for the latest issue of Analog, mostly composed of the plodding "problem" stories the magazine is known for.  However, amidst the tired tales is one standout that is definitely worth your time.


by Kelly Freas

The Teacher, by Colin Kapp


by N. Blakely

On a distant world, evolution is locked in the Jurassic—reptiles rule the globe.  Except these deadly dinosaurs are near intelligence, and quickly crowding out the race of sentient humanoids that shares the planet.  Enter "The Gaffer", a spaceman from Earth who walks the fine line between providing the skills and technology to defeat the reptiles, and avoiding becoming deified, unduly influencing the native culture.

Sounds a bit Star Trek, doesn't it?

The story is competently written, though Edgar Rice Burroughs was far better at pitting technological man vs. primeval monster.  I appreciated the acknowledgment that cultural and technical exchange is a dicey subject.  I'm not sure with some of the assumptions, particularly that any group exposed to Terran culture is doomed to adopt its worst qualities.

Anyway, three stars.

The Timesweepers, by Keith Laumer


by Vincent Di Fate

This one starts out as the tale of a time traveler whose job is to repair the past from the meddlings of earlier time travelers… and it sort of ends that way, too!  But in-between, it's a beautiful onion of adventure, moving at breakneck speed as the scope of the universe of time-lines expands into infinity.  It is both gripping adventure as well as the apotheosis of time travel stories, and Laumer manages it all in just thirty pages.  At first, I thought things were moving a bit quickly, but once I got to the end, I realized they'd taken just the time they needed.

I've often observed that there is "funny" Laumer and there is "serious" Laumer, and that the latter is the more worthy (though the ex-USAF officer makes a pretty good living on his endless parade of Retief stories, so what do I know?) The Timesweepers is serious Laumer, and it's seriously good.  It'd make a phenomenal movie someday.

Five stars.

Minds and Molecules, by Carl A. Larson

Somewhere in this turgid mass of verbosity are some interesting concepts: injectable "memory" RNA that teaches, or at least aids memory.  Drugs that stimulate enzymes to abet sanity and tranquility.

But man, this is just too hard to read to be a useful science article.

Two stars.

Chemistry … AD 1819, by William Henry, M.D., F.R.S.

Excerpts from a 150 year old chemical tome, illustrating how the useless powders of today might be the miracles of tomorrow.  And also a cautionary tale against sampling your own wares… lead is a poor flavor-additive!

Three stars.

Pressure, by Harry Harrison


by Peter Skirka

Three men descend in a bathyscape not to the bottom of the ocean, but to the surface of Saturn.  Their mission: to install a matter transmitter in the seething, cryogenic sea that comprises the sixth planet's lower atmosphere for scientific study.  Getting there's not the problem—it's getting back!

A decent technical tale with a lesson on morality and the role of the test pilot at the end.  Definitely a dash-off for cash rather than one of Harrison's more subtle, worthy tales.  Interestingly, Harry's time in England betrays itself; the name he chose for the base orbiting Saturn is the prosaic "Saturn One".

Three stars.

All Fall Down, by John T. Phillifent


by Vincent Di Fate

An interstellar transport suffers a malfunction and must make planetfall to effect repairs.  The problem: they make landing amidst the only civilized place on the planet, which proves to be an autocracy that immediately impounds the ship and enslaves the crew.  Worse yet, they're the second bunch from Terra to get this treatment; the first is a team of anthropologists who showed up a year before.

But Lennox, a bright young man with a computer-augmented brain, knows how to sell the local autocrat on a scheme that looks promising, but will ultimately be his undoing, affording the Terrans a chance to escape.

Phillifent, who also writes as John Rackham, is rarely brilliant, and he isn't here.  Once again, we have entirely human aliens.  I don't mind so much when Mack Reynolds uses his interstellar federation as a setting for interesting geopolitical stories—in that case, the planets are all human colonies with latitude to develop any societies they like.  But when the aliens are just people, the whole thing seems contrived.

There is also never an explanation for why the stranded ship had to interact with the planetary civilization at all, which was restricted to a small peninsula.  The indigenes could not help with repairs, so why not park in the woods and leave the natives alone?

But most of all, the story just isn't particularly interesting.

Two stars.

Androtomy and the Scion, by Jack Wodhams


by Vincent Di Fate

A spy is subject to a new torture, one that leaves his body completely at the mercy of his captors.  It involves the insertion and cultivation of…something…inside the spy's brain.

Now that they have complete control over him through the judicious incitement of pain, they expect him to become the perfect double-agent.  But the technique they use has a blind spot—and some hidden advantages.

Tolerable, though not particularly plausible, adventure.  Three stars.

Womb to Tomb, by Joseph Wesley


by Leo Summers

In the far future, human combatants are shielded from the shock of high G space maneuvers by being encased within and filled with something akin to amniotic fluid.  Since liquid is not compressible, they suffer no ill physical effects (once the requisite hookups are installed).  The only problem—the soldiers sent out to fight revert to infancy, so seductive is the prospect of being returned to even a virtual womb.

This story is a reasonably placed mystery, and the proposed technology is pretty neat.  It's just the stupid Twilight Zoney ending that kills it.  Someone will probably nick the idea for their own piece, just dumping the dopey conclusion.

Three stars (because the innovation is nifty, even if the end is dumb).

Starved for choice

If not for the Laumer, this would be a thoroughly disposable issue.  But that Laumer…

All told, we end up just north of three stars, putting us akin with Fantasy and Science Fiction (3.1) and New Worlds (3), ahead of Galaxy (2.8) and Venture (2.8), and behind New Writings 15 (4.3) and Fantastic (3.4)

On the plus side, the four and five star works would fill nearly three digests.  This is, however, largely due to the superlative New Writings and the serial that takes up most of Fantastic, so if you're looking for bang for your buck, those are the places to go.

Oh—the Hugo nominees have been announced.  I can't say I much fancy the choices, but there's at least one in each category that isn't too bad.  We'll, of course, have the results after Labor Day.

Until then… excelsior!






[July 12, 1969] Paco Rabanne and the Theater of War

Be sure to join us today (July 13) at 9:15 AM PDT (5:15 in London) for BBC's broadcast of the first episode of Star Trek!


by Gwyn Conaway


Paco Rabanne posing with the circular chainmail that has swept Futurist fashion. The style needs no label as it's immediately recognizable as his revolutionary work.

NASA has set its sights on the moon, and their journey is mere days away.

The dead heat of summer has fallen upon us like a humid hug. We fan our sun-kissed skin and drink iced tea from sweating glassware. We crave the artificial breeze of a car ride and press damp rags into our necks. And despite our discomfort, our American breath is frozen in our lungs. Our conversations of anything else have dwindled to distracted murmurs and canceled plans.

I find myself preoccupied with broadcasts and newspapers, my mind muddied with what-ifs and what-thens. It all circles back–one revolution after another–to a single designer and how his first couture line managed to change the course of fashion from the runway to the street. How will he view the coming weeks?

Paco Rabanne.


From Rabanne's "Twelve Unwearable Dresses," 1966.


This first couture collection borrows heavily from the Byzantine period with plate mail and lamellar armor elements, giving his mail dresses an Athenian allure.

Rabanne created his first couture line only three years ago. “Manifesto: Twelve Unwearable Dresses in Contemporary Materials” showed in Paris in 1966, and forever changed the fashion landscape for women. Until that moment on his runway, industrial materials had been relegated to the theatre of war in the forms of chainmail and lamellar armor, among other notable defensive garments.

These days, though, I wonder… Is fashion not also part of the theater of war? Propaganda is considered so, which suggests public perception is a weighty tool of any nation. What better way to proclaim the perfection of one’s ideals than through beauty?


Rabanne designed this in spring of 1969. Note how it mirrors much of the shape language of the height of the Crusades from the 11th to 13th centuries, and Bedouin niqab. This speaks both to the Crusades and the recent Six-Day War in the Middle East.


An example of German hauberk chainmail in the eleventh century.


A Bedouin woman in Sinai, Egypt wearing a niqab adorned with coins sometime between 1900-1920.

Paco Rabanne seems to have reached the same conclusion as me. Though his mother was a chief seamstress for Balenciaga and followed the designer to Paris when he was five, his father was executed during the Spanish Civil War. Of course, I can’t imagine the impact of violence at such a tender age, but politics and doom are common themes of Rabanne’s public statements regarding his own reincarnation and prophecies. Both he and Salvador Dali–who run in the same circles, so I’m told–explore the idea of utter destruction in intimate artistic detail. A political endeavor in and of itself.

So it’s no surprise to me that Paco Rabanne’s construction techniques rely heavily on pliers rather than sewing needles. His unforgiving poeticism armors the modern Cold War woman as if she herself were not just a prize of war, but an active participant.


Francoise Hardy in Rabanne, 1960s. She walks with an air of severity through stately rooms flanked by officers, signaling her authority and power. The untouchable quality of Rabanne's models enhanced their otherworldly power, emulating godly women of history such as Athena, Cleopatra, and Joan of Arc.

Which brings me to one of his most recent masterpieces. Le 69, affectionately known as the Moon Bag, is constructed in the same fashion as his metal and plastic mail dresses with heavy steel. Supposedly inspired by a French butcher’s apron that dates back to the medieval period with a strap made from a toilet-flushing chain, I wonder terribly what his personal feelings are on this accessory. Given our current moment in history, I can’t help but equate it with the covetous nature of the Space Race. Who will get there first? What happens when someone wins the race?

The answer to the first question is imminent. Women will now and for many years carry the “Moon” in their hands as if we have the right to possess it.


Rabanne's "Le 69" Moon Bag.

Paco Rabanne is aware of the inherent violence of his design language. In fact, he has explicitly stated it. “My clothes are like weapons. When they are fastened they make a sound like the trigger of a revolver.” And though many critics cite his architectural background as the reason for his exceptional choices in material and technique, his motivations seem to go deeper than that.

As the Apollo 11 launch approaches, perhaps Rabanne is asking the same questions. What happens when our adversaries see the Moon in our hands?

My only hope is that the doom he feels looming in his prophecies remains there.






[July 6, 1969] Everybody's talking about Revolution, Evolution… (The Making of a Counter Culture by Theodore Roszak)

If the title for this article sounds familiar, it's because you've heard the (just released) single from John Lennon and Yoko Ono's "bed in".  The Beatle and his new bride are living examples of Counter Culture.  But just what is "Counter Culture"?  Theodore Roszak has thoughts…and Kris has thoughts on those thoughts!


By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society & Its Youthful Opposition by Theodore Roszak Hardback Cover

All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned…

The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx

Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'

The Times They Are A-Changin', Bob Dylan

A spectre is haunting the campuses of the West, the spectre of the counter culture. All the powers of the Technocrats have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre.

Wait, you may well ask, I thought this was a contemporary review, not a poor pastiche of a 120-year-old piece of political economy? However, this is the central speculation of Theodor Roszak in his latest book: that these are the core oppositional forces of our time.

But what is the Technocratic Society and what is the Counter Culture?

Everything you think, do and say, is in the pill you took today

In the case of the former, Roszak sees Technocracy as the governing by experts from a certain class with the aim of a routinised control over human interaction. This can be observed in our democratic political system where the two main parties in most Western nations usually are not concerned with creating vastly different Utopian systems. More often, it is a competition of seeming the most competent to deliver state run social services, defence and economic growth. Even in the Soviet Union, there is not much talk these days of instituting a worldwide proletarian revolution, compared with speeches on improving the efficiency of grain harvests or increasing housing stocks.

Black and White photo of Robert McNamara behind a set of microphones and in front of a map of Vietnam
Robert McNamara, Technocrat Extraordinaire

The technocrats themselves are rarely the presidents or prime ministers; they are merely the salesmen. Roszak sees them as the upper-level bureaucrats or the studious quiet men of the cabinets. Robert McNamara is a prime example of this tendency, moving between running Ford Motor Company, the World Bank and the US Defence Department and applying the same philosophy, one he outlined in his recent book, The Essence of Security:

…the real threat to democracy comes, not from overmanagement, but from undermanagement. To undermanage reality is not to keep it free. It is simply to let some other than reason shape reality…Vital decision making, particularly in policy matters. This is partly, though not completely, what the top is for.

You may well ask, what is the problem with this? Well, Roszak outlines the tecnocratic viewpoint thusly:
1. All problems are purely technical in nature, and, therefore, if it is not technical, it cannot be a problem. Depression -> More Pills. Rioting in the cities -> More police.
2. Their end is always the right end and any friction against this is a lack of communication. This can be solved by the Marketplace of Ideas.
3. However, the only people who can truly understand these principles and implement them are this technocratic elite. And, it just so happens, that a good sign that you are one of those qualified to understand these issues is that you are already a part of the governmental or corporate structure.

Ad for Playboy with the tagline "Waht sort of man reads Playboy", with a photo showing a man on a boat reading Playboy whilst he is surrounded by women in bikinis
Want Sexual Promiscuity? Buy A Boat!

And he does not see New Authoritarianism as only occurring in government business but creeping into all aspects of life. Take the example of Playboy, which appears at first to be approving of sexual permissiveness; but, in reality, the articles and photos create an association between sex and wealth for men, whilst reducing women to men’s playthings: making half the population repress themselves whilst striving to reach these elite heights, whilst the other half become accepting of this attitude by the rich and powerful. This viewpoint can be seen again in the trial of Lady Chatterly’s Lover where the argument of the prosecution was:

Is it a book you would even wish your wife or your servants to read?

In fact, Roszak goes further, to state there is a mystification that has happened in the technocracy. Where, in the best Orwellian manner, language is used to obfuscate reality. Where the bombing in Vietnam is referred to as an “escalation” or dictatorial communist regimes refer to themselves as “democratic republics”. If an individual challenges this, the technocrats will merely dismiss them as not understanding the complexity of the issue.

So, what is the solution for this? Well that comes in its opposition.

God is Alive, Magic is Afoot

Black and white photo of a protest to legalise marijuana, at the front is Allen Ginsberg holding a sign that says "Pot is a reality kick"
Allen Ginsberg protesting to legalise marijuana

Counter Culture appears to be derived from the term “contraculture”, defined by Yinger in 1960 as:

wherever the normative system of a group contains, as a primary element, a theme of conflict with the values of the total society, where personality variables are directly involved in the development and maintenance of the group's values, and wherever its norms can be understood only by reference to the relationships of the group to a surrounding dominant culture.

This, though, is almost a decade older and could be seen as merely a standard part of society, like the Bright Young People of the Jazz Age. And the young have usually been the radicals. For example, in 17th Century England, many of the radical protests were led by the London Apprentice Boys, the militant student movement of the day. So what is the difference between the rebellions of yesteryear and the counter culture of today?

The difference is two-fold. First off, the traditional left-right axis does not really create an opposition to technocracy but a support of it. The communist, the fascist and the liberal all accept the need for rational efficiency and control of life by an elite, whether that be the bureaucrat, the camp commandant or the head of a Fortune 500 company. So even the most aggressive of demagogues are no longer opposing the technocracy, merely wishing to be a part of it.

Painting: The Disquieting Duckling by Asger Jorn
Showing a pastoral watecolour which has, on top of the picture, been painted a giant duckling in children's style in a manner of rainbow colours
The Disquieting Duckling by Asger Jorn

Secondly, the theories behind the opposition are not predominantly coming down from the elite but up from artists. Early examples include Situationists like Asger Jorn or Beat Poets like Allen Ginsberg, who themselves draw more from the tradition of Blake and Children’s Art than Joyce and Van Gogh. See for example Ginsberg’s Howl:

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Black and White photo of a protest by Students For A Democratic Society, holding up signs saying:
"Refuse to pay taxes for Vietnam"
"Liberalism in the pursuit of fascism is no virtue"
"End Johnson's war on peasantry"
"LBJ, the lesser Evil?"
"End All Foreign Intervention in Vietnam"
"LBJ: The Myth of American Liberalism"
"Escalation Means Nuclear War"
Protest by Students For A Democratic Society

The reason, Roszak claims, this opposition is taking root within the youth movements is also a feature of the technocracy. As the bureaucracy of business has grown bigger and the need for rigid routine labour has diminished, intellectual thought is more valuable among workers. Therefore, experts like Dr. Spock have pushed parents away from regimented childcare towards exploration, and governments have moved children away from the factory floor to longer and longer periods of education. When this kind of student is suddenly ordered to cut his hair and put on a uniform to join the army or the corporation, he naturally rebels against it.

Whilst Roszak acknowledges there is no manifesto of the nebulous group but that what is required is:

…the subversion of the scientific world view, with its entrenched commitment to an egocentric and cerebral mode of consciousness. In its place, there must be a new culture in which the non-intellective capacities of the personalities – those capacities that take fire from visionary splendor and the experience of human communion – become the arbiters of the good, the true and the beautiful.

How will this be achieved? One area Roszack has little time for is the overuse of psychedelics. Whilst he acknowledges they may have use for skilled practitioners:

There is nothing whatever in common between a man of…experience and intellectual discipline sampling mescaline, and a fifteen-year-old tripper whiffing airplane glue.

In fact, he sees the current expansion of psychotropic drugs as having more in common with the technocracy, promising a quick granting of insight that is only superficial and built on a few getting rich whilst causing unhappiness to the many. No different to the barbiturates or alcoholic beverages marketed to the masses.

The actual means for this "subversion" to come about are nebulous. Rather, he sees that this will be developed over time through such concepts as the “Politics of No-Politics” and the de-centralised Utopian thought of Paul Goodman.

The Armies of the Night

Protestors putting flowers in the guns of military police
Protestors putting flowers in the guns of military police

Roszak goes through a number of different facets of the counter culture and their opposition to the technocratic rationality, from anti-schools to trying to levitate the Pentagon. I have to wonder sometimes if the free-wheeling rejection of rationality extends to his writing. I consider myself reasonably well-read and knowledgeable, but I found myself reaching for dictionaries and other reference material (or just plain scratching my head) trying to understand what he was talking about. He tends to work best in generalities, when he is (to steal a phrase for Kant) critiquing pure reason. When he goes into specifics, such as an entire chapter looking at how Marcuse and Brown attempt to reconcile Marx and Freud, Roszak moves away from insightful investigation to navel-gazing.

He spends some time comparing this movement to nascent Christianity and, by extension, suggesting how this movement over time could change the mode of Western thought. There is one problem I have with this, one he even acknowledges in passing: the fact that people enter and depart with ease and that there are a lot of tourists involved. This is not just the more egregious examples, like Burberry selling expensive imitations of Chinese Communist Army uniforms. Mick Jagger, an LSE drop-out with a public drug bust under his belt seems like the perfect candidate for the Counter Culture. But, whilst he may sing that “the time is right for violent revolution” or “my name is a number, a piece of plastic film”, the group is reportedly planning to tour the US with major venues and able to charge high ticket prices, and he seems just as at home among the accoutrements of wealth as any banker.

Overall, "The Making of a Counter Culture" is interesting as polemic and critique, for, as Roszak puts it:

What is of supreme importance is that each of us should become a person, a whole and integrated person in whom there is manifested a sense of human variety genuinely experienced, a sense of having come to terms with a reality that is awesomely vast.

But as prophecy? That is for the young to show us.

Four Stars






[July 4, 1969] When Joey goes over the top… (Avalon Hill's Anzio)

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

It's kind of a funny thing.  There are two feelings about war these days.  On the one hand, you've got the war in Vietnam raging without end despite LBJ resigning and Nixon running ostensibly to end the thing.  Now National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger is pleading for patience from those who say peace is taking to long.  "Come back in a year," he says.  It's no surprise that, in addition to innumerable protests and chart-topping songs, we've even got a wargame devoted to dissent: Up Against the Wall Motherfucker.

But "war" also conjures up other, less controversial, memories.  The veterans of World War 2 are my age—affluent and nostalgic.  We recently celebrated the centennial of the Civil War, which while bloody, shaped these United States we know today.  It's no surprise that the bulk of commercial wargames have been set in these two eras…with WW2 the big favorite: Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, D-Day, Stalingrad, Guadalcanal, Battle of the Bulge, Afrika Korps, Midway.

Avalon Hill is currently the leading publisher of wargames, generally coming out with one or two new ones every year (along with a handful of "family" titles).  Their latest, just released in April, is Anzio, and it's something of a revolution.

In 1943, flush with victory after kicking the Nazis and Fascists out of Africa, and having conquered the island of Sicily, it was pretty obvious where the Western Allies (mostly the United States and the Commonwealth) would attack next.  After all, France was still well guarded as Festung Europa, so a cross-channel invasion was not yet in the cards.  And so, Operation Avalanche was born: an amphibious invasion of the southwest Italian city of Salerno. 


U.S. Army engineers haul a roll of wire mesh into position to make a beach roadway at Salerno, September 1943. USS LST-1 is in the center background (USA C-276).

In short order, southern Italy had been liberated, and the Germans had arrayed themselves along an unbreakable "Volturno Line". That's when the Allies tried to break the stalemate with a landing near Rome at Anzio beach.  That beachhead stalled for months until May 1944, when, accompanied by a big aerial push, the Allies managed to take the Italian capital.  That didn't end the war, though—the Germans just installed a puppet government in northern Italy and fought a delaying action until the Nazi surrender in May 1945.

As a result, the bloody Italian campaign is kind of an historical footnote.  Did it shorten the war by tying up troops?  Or was it just a meatgrinder for GI Joes and Tommies? 

Anzio doesn't answer these questions, but it does an excellent job of recreating the experience!

On the surface, it's just another WW2 wargame.  We've gotten strategic games covering the Eastern Front (Stalingrad) and the Western Front (D-Day) and the African Front (Afrika Korps), so it is only natural that the next one would cover the Italian Front.  Anzio even follows the Stalingrad pattern—using a key battle as the label for a multi-year, theater-wide conflict.  And if you just play the basic game rules, it's pretty much every other Avalon Hill wargame, with a hex grid for movement rather than the traditional squares, little chits representing military units, a combat results table, and dice for determining said results.

But it's in the advanced rules that the differences really come out.

The biggest is the new way in which combat is resolved.  In previous games, when units moved up next to each other, they had to fight.  You totaled up the combat strengths of the opposing sides, figured out the odds ratio, rolled a die, and determined the result using the Combat Results Table.  The result would be a retreat (one side or the other had to back away a certain number of spaces), or elimination of one or more units, or an exchange: smaller side destroyed, and an equal number of strength points removed from the larger side.

But now*, instead of a binary Alive/Dead situation, each unit has several diminished states.  Each adverse combat results in a "step-loss", where a unit loses some, but not all, of its strength.  This is much more realistic.  Reinforcement is done realistically, too, represented by actual raw troop units with no attack strength of their own, but which can be added to depleted units to restore strength.

*It has been pointed out that the step-loss system was actually introduced in Blitzkrieg, which I had forgotten, and also appears in last year's 1914, which I never played. But, in any wise, Anzio is the first game to really implement it in a meaningful way, I think.

This means that you get realistic situations—attackers rail against a line, slowly diminishing the defenders' strength, until they become too weak to hold, and then they must fall back to regroup.

Where Anzio isn't innovating, it's adopting the best features of its predecessors: from D-Day—the Allies get to choose from a number of invasion beaches, which keeps the Germans guessing; from Blitzkrieg (and Afrika Korps)—units can be moved en masse by sea from place to place; and of course, similar movement and combat rules to most of its ancestors so that picking up the basics of the game is a snap.

Indeed, I was surprised at just how easy it was to pick up this game, despite it having the longest rules set to date—even longer than Blitzkrieg's, I think.  There are some confusing bits, like it took us a while to realize that combatants suffer double losses when attacking defenders on favorable terrain, which makes attacks even more difficult.  But on the whole, despite the dizzying array of rules, it's not bad at all.

To be fair, we didn't play with the really gritty rules like Italian troops (who fight for both sides, natch) and really finicky stacking rules (every member of the Commonwealth seems to have a different size!) but they don't seem to change gameplay much.

Which leads us to the eternal question (paraphrasing the fellow from the Folger's Crystals commercial) "How does it play?!"


"Well, play it!"

Pretty well!  The Young Traveler and Trini played the Axis, conferring each turn on the best defensive strategy.  Trini noted that, of all the games she's played to date, this one felt the most immersive—that she was really a general taking all sorts of considerations into account.

Janice and I teamed up as the Allies, and it was rough.  There really is no quick way to do anything, and we had quite a lot of bad rolls at the beginning.  We weren't even able to take Naples in the many hours we played, which is the linchpin to success in southern Italy as it frees up forces to make another amphibious invasion.

Ultimately, it's a slow slog of a game.  The Allies must be patient, but also master the art of threatening multiple invasions at any given time.  As for the Axis, there are no daring Rommel or Manstein thrusts to undertake.  It's all about skillful retreats; if you're attacking, you're probably making a mistake…or the Allies have pulled quite the boner.

But it's definitely a beautiful game with a lot of fascinating new developments.  Certainly, there's nothing like it on the market, in style or subject.  If you've played out D-Day, and you've got a long weekend…or a string of short ones, this is a great game to take out for a spin.






[June 14, 1969] Boys and Girls From The North Country (The Conflict in Northern Ireland)


By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

I was asked by our esteemed editor to explain the issues going on in Northern Ireland today, having seen it reported in the American Press. He noted:

If I'm getting it in my podunk local rag several days in a row, it's news.

And, honestly, it is even surprising to see the Six Counties mentioned in the UK press. Although most people are vaguely aware it is part of the country, and may have heard of the discrimination going on from such documentaries as The Orange and The Green, it probably occupies no more daily thought than the situation in South Texas occurs to the average Seattle housewife. In fact, the only discussion of the region I can recall from the first half of 1968 was whether any of the new coinage was going to have an Ulster logo on it.

Blown up bridge of a large water pipe
Water supplies have been disrupted by explosions near Belfast

So, try to imagine one day turning on Walter Conkrite to see him telling you that barricades had been erected across San Antonio to keep the police out, bombs had gone off in Houston, Mexico had gone to the UN to ask for a peacekeeping force to be sent in and house representatives from the region were asking for the entire local government to be shut down.

That's an analogy. I am going to do my best to explain what is happening in specific. Whilst I will attempt to balance both sides’ views in this situation, even the basic choice of words is liable to inflame some people.  As an example, my mother (English-born but from an Irish family and has lived in the Republic for many years) recently had her flight forced to land in Belfast rather than Shannon. She opined to the man in the seat next to her “you'd think they could get us an airport in the same country”. The man’s angry response was “I think you will find Belfast is in the same country!”

All this to say, apologies for any offence caused to readers.

A Pre-History

Black and White Illustration of the Battle of the Boyne, with William of Orange riding into battle on a horse
Illustration of the Battle of the Boyne, which cemented Protestant rule in Ireland.

The roots of the current issues weave incredibly far back, but I will attempt to be brief. Since the Middle Ages, the English crown had attempted to gain control of its neighboring Island. This process was slow and the Hiberno-Norman Lords operated with a largely free hand, meaning that 400 years after the start of the process the majority of Ireland was still nominally independent.

During the Tudor and Stuart periods, the Anglo-Scottish governments attempted to gain more centralised control over Ireland. However, this was regularly rejected by many of the Irish inhabitants and was met with violence. A solution was seen in plantations, the giving of land to settlers at the expense of the native Irish farmers.

The biggest of these was James I’s plantation of Ulster. Following the Nine Years War and the subsequent fleeing of many Irish nobles, James gave land to new protestant British landholders, who were also banned from using any native labour and had to import British workers, predominantly Scottish Presbyterians and English Anglicans.

Via a combination of conflicts around religion in Britain (e.g. The Gunpowder Plot, The Civil War, The Glorious Revolution) and rebellions against these settlements in Ireland, the Catholic Irish’s landholding and political power was almost completely removed. As such, there ended up a situation of minority rule, somewhat equivalent to British colonies in the Caribbean.

With the removal of legal restrictions on Catholics in Britain in the 19th Century, steps were taken to attempt to ameliorate the situation in Ireland but it was slow going and regularly blocked by Unionist supporters, both through laws and with extra-legal violence. By the time the UK parliament finally passed a bill on the subject in 1920 the sides had become hardened.

Map of Ireland showing the six counties that made up Northern Ireland
Map of Partition

The solution devised was for a partition of the Island, with most of Ireland being made the independent Irish Free State (now Republic) and the majority Protestant Six Counties of Ulster remaining part of the United Kingdom with a devolved parliament in Belfast. Whilst Sinn Fein took 97% of seats in the Irish parliament unopposed, the Ulster Unionists under James Craig won 77% of the seats in the North in election under STV (the Single Transferable Vote, a system by which a voter can rank their choices).

The early years of this new situation were not peaceful, with Civil War in the South and tit-for-tat sectarian killings in the North. Craig was determined to crack down on dissent and have “a Protestant Government for a Protestant People.” The police force was militarized, the electoral system changed, seats gerrymandered, and many other measures were put in place to keep what was already a Protestant controlled region firmly in that state.

The Silence Breaks

Whilst things still remained fraught for the Catholic population, the level of violence from before the Second World War was not as visible under Craig’s successor Basil Brooke. He was a hardliner allowing for little dissent, and the Irish Republican Army (IRA)’s border campaign in the late 50s did not gain much support in either region. (More on the IRA shortly.)

Instead, it was bigger world events that began to foment change. With the Civil Rights movement in America gaining publicity, organisations were formed in Northern Ireland to highlight anti-Catholic discrimination, such as the Campaign for Social Justice and Homeless Citizen’s League. At the same time an economic downturn in the region and Brooke’s ill health led to him resigning the premiership in 1963. He was succeeded by the more moderate Captain Terence O’Neill.

Northern Irish Prime Minister Capt. Terrence O'Neill

Now, it should not be thought O’Neill is some sort of radical republican. However, he did want to improve relations between the Catholic and Protestant communities of Ulster, and between the Northern and Southern parts of the island of Ireland. He encouraged twinning between organizations of both denominations and met the Irish Taoiseachs on multiple occasions.

Civil Rights protest in Northern Ireland

Following on from the CSJ’s publicising of wide-spread discrimination, a number of more active campaign organisations formed. Two of the most important are The Northern Irish Civil Rights Association (NICRA) and The Derry Housing Action Committee (DHAC). The former has been organising large scale marches calling for political reform, anti-discrimination legislation and demilitarisation of the police. DHAC is more particularly focussed on housing discrimination, taking part in sit-down protests and disrupting public meetings to get this message across.

Finally, all this took place against the backdrop of a change of British government, from Conservative to Labour. Whilst the Ulster Unionists caucus with the Conservatives in Westminster, Labour draws a significant share of its support from Catholics in Scotland and England. As such, it is much more in the interest of Wilson to encourage reform in Northern Ireland than it was for Macmillan. And with the passing of the Race Relation Acts in Britain it gave further impetus for change.

These factors have put the need for reform on the agenda, with O’Neill promising a move to one-man one vote, an ombudsman to address complaints of discrimination and the withdrawal of special police powers.

And overall, the vast majority of people had been happy with current progress. A pre-election survey at the start of the year showed 52% of Ulster voters thought improvements were being made at about the right pace (57% of Catholics and 49% of Protestants) with 62% supporting the principle of one man-one vote (92% Catholics and 48% of Protestants, with 20% in the latter group being unsure).

So, who could possibly be upset by these changes? Well, to start with, Home Affairs Minister William Craig and Rev. Ian Paisley.

The Policeman and The Priest

Photo of William Craig

William Craig was a rising star in the Ulster Unionist government. Nicknamed ‘the battering ram’, he played a big part in the election of O’Neill to the post of Prime Minister, and had been a significant ally to him, in particular in the PM’s attempts at modernization of the Irish economy. After criticism from UUP colleagues of Craig’s cavalier attitude to planning policy and the need for O’Neill to take a stronger line against Republicanism, Craig was moved to Home Affairs, making him in charge of policing Northern Ireland.

Whilst not being totally opposed to some reform, Craig’s position is that discrimination claims and the civil rights movement are actually covers for radical republican activity. Their demands are purely designed to make them seem reasonable people, whilst they secretly seek a united republic of Ireland.

Iain Paisley leading a protest rally against Catholicism including signs that say things like: "Through Christ to Glory Through Rome to Purgatory"

Outside of government, opposition to Civil Rights primarily centers around Reverend Iain Paisley. The leader of the fundamentalist Free Presbyterian Church of Ulster and close friend of Bob Jones, Jr., Paisley believes the Pope to be the Antichrist, with services commonly including the Hymn “Our Father Knew The Rome of Old and Evil is Thy Name”. Even though the actual congregation size of the Free Presbyterian Church is estimated to be small, Paisley has an outsized influence, regularly holding stunts such as heckling bishops who meet with Catholic counterparts and encouraging police to pull down Irish flags.

Paisley is no stranger to being in trouble with the law. In 1966 he was first arrested when, after contributing to a riot with a march he made through a Catholic area, he refused to be bound over to keep the peace. Then, in the same year, he was successfully sued for libel when he claimed the arresting police had committed perjury against him.

In November of last year, Craig banned all protest marches except for “customary marches”. By customary he was referring to those by Protestants like the Orange Lodge, making it seem like a discriminatory measure to stop Catholic Civil Rights marches. When DHAC and NICRA defied these orders, Paisley and his supporters showed up with counter-protestors and riots ensued. Even though Paisley was arrested for his part in this, Craig squarely put the blame on the Civil Rights movement, claiming the IRA were involved, and used special powers to call up police reinforcements. Following this and other public disagreements on policy, O’Neill called for his resignation.

What is their main problem? It is largely a slippery slope argument. They believe that Civil Rights will lead to Nationalist involvement in Government. This along with the growth of the Catholic population in recent years, may lead to one day a union of the North and South. This they see as both being a challenge to their own personal identity (as they see themselves as British rather than Irish, loyal to the Queen rather than a republic in Dublin) and a fear that they will be subject to Catholic law.

The Irish constitution states in Article 44 that the Catholic church has a “special position” in Ireland. Whilst this was an attempt to keep things secular whilst appeasing the Catholic majority, unionist critics point to the influence of the Catholic Church on policies in the republic such as the ban on divorce and birth-control. And whilst the situation is not as bad as in the North there have been cases of anti-Protestant discrimination in the South, such as the Mayo librarian controversy and the Fethard-On-Sea boycott.

But what do those on the other side want? Let us have a look at two of these groups, People’s Democracy and the Irish Republican Army.

The Grass Is Always Greener

People's Democracy sit down protest in Belfast
People's Democracy sit-down protest

Following the attacks on NICRA marches by the RUC and loyalists, People’s Democracy formed at Queen’s University Belfast at the end of last year. Whilst having a 5 point programme containing similar demands to the larger Civil Rights organizations, they believe that these can only be achieved in a united socialist republic of Ireland.

Whilst not engaging in violent activity, PD are also much less willing to back down in the face of political pressure. Whilst other civil rights agreed to a one month halting of marching in January in order to calm things down, People’s Democracy organized large scale marches throughout the North and refused to be rerouted away from Protestant areas by the police. These marches were ambushed throughout their routes by Loyalists, resulting in many injuries from protestors.

4 IRA members in 1922 in front of a tent around a camp fire.
IRA members in 1922

Of course, People’s Democracy are not even close to the level of the IRA. This force began its existence just after World War I as a guerilla force fighting the British for Irish independence. During the Civil War the organization split between the pro-treaty Irish Free-State Army and the anti-treaty group who retained the IRA monicker.

In spite of their defeat in the Civil War and the later declaration of the Irish Republic, the organization has continued to exist up to the present day and ran an armed attempt to overthrow the government of Northern Ireland at the start of the decade. And, whilst the Border Campaign failed, they do not appear to be vanishing any time soon.

As an outlawed organization, details of IRA activities are hard to come by. However, there have been reports of recruitment drives for a “new IRA”, including bomb threats being called into the London Press Association by a purported member. One thing that seems sure, they have not lost any of their radicalism, as a member said to Ulster TV recently:

“I believe the British occupation can only be terminated by physical force”

This kind of statement underlines one of the real points of tension.

Yes, much of the population considers themselves British but they have been in the country for centuries. O’Neill can trace his family line back to the medieval kings of Northern Ireland and the Paisley name has been common in the region since the 17th Century. When Republicans regularly talk about ‘getting the British out’, many unionists fear they do not just mean a change of governmental administration, but want the wholesale expulsion or murder of people whose families were living in the region before the Mayflower crossed the Atlantic.

Things Fall Apart; The Centre Cannot Hold

5 RUC officers surrounding a single protestor and beating him with truncheons.
RUC dealing with a NICRA protester

In spite of opposition from left and right, O’Neill must have felt pretty confident at the start of the year. With Craig out of Government and Paisley heading to prison, it seemed the more reactionary voices were losing ground, whilst the biggest Civil Rights groups had agreed to suspend activity temporarily, and his reforms were proceeding through the Northern Irish parliament.

The problems started coming after the aforementioned clashes during the PD marches. The RUC made a heavy-handed attempt to keep the peace in the predominantly Catholic Bogside area of Londonderry. Community activists actually managed to drive the police out and erected barricades to control the area themselves. Even a radio station was established claiming to be the voice of “Free Derry.”

With this being seen by the Unionist authorities as a direct challenge to the Ulster government, crackdowns came swiftly. The plans to end the special powers act were reversed, calling up the paramilitary b-specials and O’Neill stated that there needs to be "less talk about Civil Rights and more talk about Civil Responsibility". Needless to say, this did not go down well with many in the movement.

However, the decline in social order happening at the same time as O’Neill was pushing through reforms was seen as rewarding the mob by some in his own party. Following two high-profile resignations and some calls from many of his other MPs to resign, the NI PM decided to call an election and take his mission to the voters. Pro-O’Neill candidates were the largest winners, taking 44% of the vote and allowing him to continue as Prime Minister. But, in a sign of things to come, Anti-O’Neill Unionists and Nationalists both got around 23% of the vote each.

During the negotiations for the passing of one-man one-vote, a series of bomb explosions took place around Northern Ireland taking out a church, water, and electricity supplies. In addition, firebombs destroyed nine post offices. No one has claimed responsibility for the attacks, with the RUC blaming the IRA, and the IRA claiming it is the Stormont authorities trying to:

“copy Hitler’s Reichstag fire stunt to…extend coercion and suppress free speech.”

A group of ordinary people standing with homemade weapons ready to police their community
The community police in “Free Derry”

In response the government called up over 1000 B-specials and asked for British troops already stationed in Northern Ireland to guard key installations. The RUC came down heavily on anything they saw as disorder with the predictable response of barricades once again going up in Derry. Even with Paisley in prison, the loyalist response continued, with his wife declaring she was organizing loyalist volunteers to “assist” the police.

As newly elected Unity MP Bernadette Devilin told the House of Commons, it appears that Northern Ireland is at the start of a civil war. Discontent has moved past the point where it is purely about civil rights; now each side feels the other is untrustworthy and violent.

Some have posited the best solution would be to shut down the Northern Irish parliament and RUC, instead instituting a period of temporary rule from Westminster, with the British Army patrolling the streets instead. However, the lessons of fifty years ago are still foremost in many politicians’ minds, and they would no more wish to get involved directly on the island of Ireland again than they would like to send troops to Vietnam.

Another suggestion was made by the Irish government to the United Nations, to send in a peacekeeping force to administer the region. This did not get passed and probably did more harm than good. The Republic has never officially recognized the North as a separate country, and them trying to send in foreign soldiers reinforces the fears of Unionists that there is a conspiracy to annex Ulster.

And whilst O’Neill managed to get the one-man one-vote bill through the Northern Irish parliament, he was forced to resign by his party a few days later. His successor has promised to honour the former PM’s reforms, but, so far, the only response to the current crisis has been tighter laws and more police crackdowns.

The Calm, Preceding The Storm?

Chichester-Clark, the new Prime Minister of Northern Ireland
Change of direction, or just changing the drapes?

Although things have been quiet over the last month, this seems to be both sides assessing the new government. Simply replacing O’Neill with the mild-mannered Chichester-Clark is not actually resolving the underlying issues. One-Man, One Vote was only one part of the demanded reforms of the Civil Rights movement, but we see that any attempt to move further is likely to lead to strong reaction in some quarters.

Ulster Unionist MP Samuel Knox Cunningham recently told The Times that working with Nationalists was equivalent to:

“Hitler[‘s decision] to absorb Austria, the same solution was adopted and the coalition brought about the takeover of Austria. Let it be clear that the Unionists are determined to keep Ulster part of the United Kingdom and there will be no coalition with Republicans, Nationalists or another party with aims at overthrowing the constitution.”

Whilst Frank Gogharty, chairman of NICRA, stated at a recent meeting that Stormont reforms were:

“just a clever ploy by Unionists to split the movement…I expect the mailed fist to clampdown in six months…Stormont will move in and take most of the powers from local councils.”

At the same time, no measures have been put in place to placate any other underlying issues, unemployment sits a 7% in Northern Ireland, compared with 3.5% in the UK as a whole, with some predominantly Catholic areas like Derry seeing 1 in 5 working men without a job. Housing stock continues to be alarmingly short in the region. But the new regime has yet to announce any new economic schemes.

Album cover for Phil Ochs, I ain't marching anymore
Unfortunately, this looks to only be temporary

As the marching season begins, attitudes harden and the economic situation looks to be worsening, I cannot see how the sunny weather can continue. Clouds are forming on the horizon and I worry that what happened in March will look like a playground scrap when the storm breaks.






[May 22, 1969] News / Beginnings (Review of Ubik) / My Book (Preview)


by Victoria Lucas

!NEWS BULLETIN!

Since those of you reading this might not be familiar with events in Berkeley, California, I thought I should report here the death of James Rector, a 25-year-old man shot by a sheriff deputy while on a roof watching the protest against the destruction of community improvements to a vacant lot belonging to the University of California, otherwise known as "People's Park."

Shot on May 15, he died on the 19th after several surgical attempts to repair vital abdominal organs damaged by the load of buckshot. A similar volley blinded another man, Alan Blanchard, on the same roof on the same day. If you have an urge to climb onto a roof to view a protest, suppress it. Law enforcement authorities do not recognize buckshot as lethal and are allergic to perceived threats from above. (I am quite opinionated about events like this. You may wish to seek other reports to obtain other views of the same events.) Below is a poem printed as a flyer, circulating on the streets now.


Michael McClure, "For James Rector"

We now return you to your regularly scheduled article


Cover of Ubik by Philip K. Dick

A Marathon Start

Beginning to read Philip K. Dick’s new book Ubik (1969, Doubleday) is like starting a marathon in the middle. Seeing other runners rushing by, you try to keep up, faster and faster, fearing to trip up. Not only does the book start in the middle of a crisis in what appears to be an important US company, but it also has a vocabulary full of made up words of which the meaning can only be inferred: “psis,” “teeps,” “bichannel circuits”; and the dead (if their relatives can afford it) are kept in “moratoriums” instead of crematoria or cemetaries. How can you keep up with things you can’t understand in a future you can only glimpse as felt by unfamiliar characters?


Author Philip K. Dick

Wondering if all Dick’s books are like this, I picked up library copies of his Eye in the Sky and The Cosmic Puppets (both 1957). The latter begins with a quiet, bucolic scene of children playing beside a porch. No rush. The former begins with an accident that causes injury, involving something called a “bevatron” and a “proton beam deflector.” No rush even there. For the most part, the vocabulary is ordinary in at least the beginning of these two. A little research turns up the fact that Dick first used the word “teep” (for telepath), for instance, in his story “The Hood Maker,” said to have been written in 1953, published in 1955, a year in which he used the same invented abbreviation in Solar Lottery.

Why is Ubik so different from other s-f books, even his own? Well, I had to persist to find out, and maybe you will too. I bet you’ll never guess where I found this book. I did not buy it. I found myself in a hand made hippie pad in the woods, dropped off by my husband Mel while he and one of the owners of the place went off to (I think) get wood for the winter. The other owner left with them or for some other errand, and I was alone in their kerosene-smelling dwelling, without anything to do. Wandering upstairs, I found bedding and pillows, and this book.


Not the actual house, but close

Since I hadn’t finished it by the time they returned, I borrowed it. This was the first really “science-fictiony” book I ever read. (I don’t count Flowers for Algernon, which I reviewed here on January 28, 1966, because that book has no assumptions out of the ordinary save one: that an experimental drug exists that can increase intelligence—no rocket ships, no bug-eyed monsters, no “vidphones.”)

Maybe Science Fiction Is Experimental Writing?

Anyway, persisting, I find myself in a future in which all the paranormal phenomena we humans have imagined are real and the foundation of industrial espionage and security, and the dead have a “half-life,” their brains wired into "consultation rooms" as their frozen bodies stand in caskets in a “moratorium," as above. The head of Runciter Associates, the company in crisis as above, must consult his dead wife Ella about the crisis. The “half-life” phenomenon, it is stated, “was real and it had made theologians out of” everyone. The citizens of this future are understandably prone to panic, to anxiety, to uncertainty.

Epigraphs for each chapter appear to be advertising for Ubik, which is variously represented as a “silent, electric” vehicle, a beer, a type of coffee, a salad dressing, a plastic wrap, etc. What is Ubik and where does it come from? No one knows. (Read the last epigraph in which it reveals its own nature to the extent it can.) Soon Runciter’s employees run into Pat, an “anti-precog.” It seems that she is an unusual practitioner of anti-precog[nition] in that she neither time-travels nor appears to do anything at all. But she changes the present and future by changing the past, leaving the affected people with little but (only sometimes) a trace memory of any previous present they have just experienced. Is all that strange enough for you? Wait! There's more.

There's Jory, dead at 15 years of age, who is on the wrong side of the struggle in the book between light, intelligence, and kindness, and greed, ignorance, and darkness. Keep an eye on him. His parents pay to keep his casket in the same areas as other "half-lifers," although his strong "hetero-psychic infusion" is clearly disturbing Ella Runciter and others.


Science-fiction satire?

Also keep in mind that in the previous year Kurt Vonnegut Jr.’s book God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater was published with a helmeted pig riding a unicycle on the cover and has been described as satire. Satire is seldom funny-ha-ha, but it is often funny. This book is occasionally funny-ha-ha, especially in the ridiculous clothing that appears to be popular in this dystopian future (1992).

For instance take this passage, in which an important space mogul enters wearing ”fuscia pedal-pushers, pink yakfur slippers, a snakeskin sleeveless blouse, and a ribbon in his waist-length dyed white hair.” OK, maybe that isn’t so far from what you might see now on Haight Street. But if this book were made into a movie, retaining Dick’s careful costuming would ensure it would be laughed off the screen.

The Cryonics Connections


Robert Ettinger in World War II uniform

Also notice that in 1967 the first person had been frozen, Professor James Bedford, preceded in 1962 by Robert Ettinger's book The Prospect of Immortality, in which he introduces the idea of cryonic suspension. Attempted cryopreservation of human beings was a real thing from then on. Which is part of what suggests that this book is satire as well as science fiction. And compare the plot of this book with that of Robert A. Heinlein's A Door into Summer, serialized in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction in October, November, and December of 1956 (published as a book a year later). In Heinlein's book a company executive is outmaneuvered and winds up in "cold sleep," waking up in the year 2000.

Mum's the Word

But anything more I write about the plot beyond what I’ve already written could well give away the plot. I can give you this hint, though, asked by the above-mentioned anti-precog (Pat) after most of the characters have experienced a bomb blast on Earth's moon: “Are we dead, or aren’t we?” And this one: the book makes it clear that human beings are so constituted that we can only know what our brains tell us (and, by the way, who is "us"?), which interpret what our senses (or in this book also our extra senses) send to it.

Oh, and one more thing. Oddly enough the last sentence in the book does not give anything away: "This was just the beginning." In any case I give it 5 stars out of 5 and recommend that you at least peek into it and see if it makes you crazy.

And Now for Something Completely Different

I'm going to tell you the truth about why my husband Mel and I spend so much time commuting between Humboldt County and San Francisco/Berkeley. It's The Book.


Good thing I've got a Selectric

The Book is dominating my life right now. I've spent many nights, holidays, any days I'm not working as a temp for Humboldt County, transcribing and writing as well as interviewing. For perhaps a year now I have been working with John Jefferson Poland, Jr., otherwise known (by his preference) as "F**k" Poland (or "Jeff"). After founding a sexual freedom "league" in New York City, he moved to Berkeley and founded similar groups there and in San Francisco, but insisting that a woman take up the cause and run the San Francisco group.

He wanted to produce a book on women in the sexual freedom movement–every variety from those who were brought all unwary to an SFL ("Sexual Freedom League") meeting or party to those who were/are leaders and spokeswomen for the cause.

I had done both interviewing and transcribing (the latter for a living), so it was mainly a matter of pointing me in the right direction and saying something like "go to it!" Jeff has been present at some of the interviews, in some cases commanded to be quiet so the women could speak for themselves.

"Meetings" are informational affairs in which leaders of the movement talk about the politics behind the parties and how they are conducted. "Parties" are what might be called orgies, with cheap red wine, a raised thermostat, and mattresses almost covering the floor of a Berkeley house. No man or men who seek entry without female companion(s) are admitted. It's heterosexual couples or single women only allowed. (Gays are excluded because two men could couple up and then only reveal themselves as straight predators of women when they are inside in the semi-dark and difficult to roust.)

And then there's me with my tape recorder, microphone, notebook, and voice, talking with women, making dates for interviews elsewhere and elsewhen. Real names are not used, except for one leader of the movement, Ina Saslow, who was arrested with Jeff during a nude demonstration on a public beach, then jailed, has her own chapter in her own words.


Empty theater, full stage

One night in San Francisco recently there was a party in an empty auditorium. The only celebrity attending was Paul Krassner, and he must have come with a woman, given the rules. Did he come with me? I'm so tired and busy right now I can't pull up the full memory. I mainly recollect standing with him behind a phalanx of mostly empty seats and watching the stage, on which were at least a dozen writhing couples. We agreed that it was an extraordinary sight. Oddly, I do not remember specifically whether he or I was wearing a full set of clothes at the time, but I think we were.

The Book is still in process. I will report progress when there is any, if desired. By the way, the book bears Jeff's name and my pseudonym as authors and is due to be published by The Olympia Press, Inc. (New York). Initial plans are to publish a hardback book with pictures of both authors/editors. Who wants to review my book when it comes out?

Ubik – A Second View


by Jason Sacks

Our dear editor has asked me to tack on a small response to Vicki’s review of Ubik, because I’m a huge fan of Mr. Dick’s work. I’ve read nearly everything he has written, and I feel that Martian Time-Slip, Dr. Bloodmoney and especially Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? are some of the finest science fiction novels of the '60s thus far.

On display in Ubik are all the elements which make Dick's work so transcendent and meaningful for me. We get miserable lead characters and subjective takes on reality; we get petulant children and time shifts and a weird, uncanny type of emotional resonance which only PKD can deliver.

I’m not going to dwell on the plot here, partially because my brilliant colleague has already done a great job summarizing this singular novel. And I’m also not going to dwell on plot because, well, this book has a plot, yeah it has a plot, but Ubik also has many plots, or no plots, or subtle plots, or infinitely recursive plots, or just some plotting that’s very particularly Phil Dick.

Am I making sense? I don't think I’m making sense….

And my lack of real coherence at this point is kind of appropriate, too. Because, like so many of Dick’s novels, Ubik has an incredible density of story; he presents layers and layers of events which build character and environment and plot and perceptions and problems, all tumbling and cascading upon itself in a kind of shambolic construction which constantly threatens to fall down upon itself. But all the while, as he seemingly casually is creating these seeming arbitrary events and twists, Dick gives readers these incredible moments, these flashes of insight, which reveal he has been managing his story well all along, until we amble to an ending which feels tremendously satisfying.

Ubik has a lot to do with psychics and psychic warfare between corporations who all aim to dominate each other. An attentive reader of Dick is well aware of his passion for both psychics and bizarre faceless corporations, but in Ubik he has created an elaborate, complex idea structure around the psychics – there are scales of precogs, and people who can cancel out precogs, and the literal rewriting of reality based on the work of the precogs, and a constant sense that nothing, absolutely nothing we see, is real — at the same time all of it is real.

Image from the back cover of the new hardback.

Again Mr. Dick’s writings always make me sound like a madman when I try to describe them. The reviewer’s dilemma!

But that’s the transcendent mindset the author puts you in with Ubik. He grounds readers in reality and then just as quickly yanks reality away from readers. One minute he’s depicting home appliances which demand dimes to open a fridge and 50 cents to use the bathroom faucet. The next he’s describing a prosaic journey to the moon, no big deal just a regular day at the office. The next minute we are following the results of a human-shaped bomb and tracking survival, and we suddenly start seeing entropy appearing everywhere, and the whole thing just moves at the speed of an SST, though perhaps the pilot of the plane is going from New York to London by way of Shanghai.

Is this review vague enough? I apologize, reader. As Vicki points out, I could be more specific, but seriously, if this sounds at all up your alley, Ubik will be a tremendously memorable read for you.

Which leaves the very tough question of a rating for this book. If Androids Dream is the absolute apex of science fiction (and I think it is), this book is one rung slightly below that level – if only because no character is quite as vivid as that book’s complicated and completely memorable Rick Deckard. That is a five star book, which means I give Ubik…

4½ stars