Once a week I’m part of a "blogging boomers" blog carnival. It’s always interesting and diverse. Take a look at this week’s set of posts. at the home of the spectacular Cafe Glam.
Category: Aging
OBAMA, CLINTON, NEW HAMPSHIRE AND PRIMARIES – 1968 AND 2008
In the 1968 New Hampshire primary, 40 years ago, Senator Eugene McCarthy got 42% of the vote running against Lyndon Johnson .
That was enough to be viewed as a win, since no one thought he’d get anywhere close to those numbers. That victory by the only national politician with the guts to run against the Vietnam War sent a shock through the Democratic Party.
McCarthy’s effort, often called “The Children’s Crusade,” was comprised largely of college students (including me) who abandoned their studies to come to New Hampshire and work to help to stop the war. Now, as I watch Barack Obama, and see the the numbers of young people propelling his success, I know just how they feel — and what awaits them if they fail.
Then too, win or lose, things will be tough for Senator Clinton. Obama, seen not only as a change agent but also as someone who offers the hope and optimism of a JFK, has captured the imaginations not only of young people but also of many journalists, most notorious of whom is the conservative New York Times columnist David Brooks. That means that anyone who wrests the nomination away from him will be perceived as the breaker of young hearts, standing in the way of idealism and the candidate who brought young people fully in to the system.*
That’s exactly what happened in 1968. The New Hampshire victory brought Robert Kennedy into the race – establishing, until his tragic death, a three-way battle – two dissidents against the juggernaut of the Democratic establishment. Then later, Hubert Humphrey, candidate of that establishment and for years, as Vice President, public and energetic supporter of Johnson’s war, won the nomination.
To all of us, he had stolen the nomination. Many (not me) were so bitter that they refused to vote for him. Remember, for most of us, as for many of Obama’s young supporters, this was our first presidential campaign. Hillary Clinton, should she prevail further down the line, will face the same broken-hearted campaigners. Once the anti-establishment, anti-war student and Watergate hearing staffer, in the eyes of these young people she’ll be cast as the villain.
For evidence of how long that bitterness lasts, take a look at this quote from the American Journalism Review, from the 1968 Chicago Convention, riot and Hum prey coronation recollections of veteran Washington Post columnist David Broder. It’s about me – but it’s also about any young American who takes a stand and loses .
He recalls coming into the hotel lobby from the park where demonstrations were underway and spotting a woman he had first met during the Eugene McCarthy campaign in New Hampshire. “Her name was Cindy Samuels,” Broder still remembers. “She was seated on a bench crying. She had been gassed. I went over and I put my arm around her and I said: ‘Cindy. What can I do for you?’ She looked up at me with tears on her face and said: ‘Change things.’
NOTE: As I searched for links for this post I found a David Corn piece saying much the same thing. I want to take note of it since the ideas came to me independently but I didn’t want it to seem that I drew from his.
EVERYONE LOVES JUNO – AND THEY’RE RIGHT
You’re probably sick of hype about Juno, a movie that deserves every ounce of praise heaped upon it now and in the future (and that will happen – and happen… and happen!) One of our sons called to insist that we go, then, in San Francisco, the other walked in to lunch and said "Forget Atonement, you have to go see Juno. It’s the best movie in so long!" Inertia, and the chaos of the holidays, plus that fact that everyone we were with over the holidays except Rick and me had seen it, intervened. Then, when we got home I ran into a sixteen year old friend with whom I share Harry Potter pleasures, and she urged us to go.
So last Saturday night I invited two friends of ours, close to 80 and major movie maniacs, to go with us. They came, although nobody but me wanted to see it. It was raining. The online ticket thingy didn’t work and we had to wait in line in the rain. THEN the line to get into the theater itself snaked all the way back past the concession stand. I was in big trouble. You of course can imagine the outcome: despite all the drama – everyone loved it. I can now tell you with some authority that be you sixteen or thirty or sixty or eighty, male or female, cynic, cerebral, romantic, adolescent, child psychiatrist, game designer, law professor or young parent, unless you have a heart of stone or no sense of humor, you will love this film!
There’s no reason to describe the story; it’s appeared everywhere. But here’s the trailer.
Let me add only that calling Juno a movie about a girl who gets pregnant is like calling Atonement a war movie. The characters and the script they inhabit*, the acting, the wonderful production decisions from opening credits to casting to sound track (so so great) to transitions, were spot-on. So stop reading this and go see it! And if you feel like it, let me know what you thought.
*written by Diablo Cody, who was a stripper/blogger who was recruited to write the film by someone who frequented her blog on the sex trade.
REDS, WARREN BEATTY, REVOLUTIONS AND HISTORY
Yesterday I promised to write regularly about that infamous year, 1968, from the perspective of the forty years that have passed. I was there for so much of it and have wanted to re-think it for some time but could never seem to face it in its entirety. Among other things, it’s the year I graduated from college. And worked in the McCarthy campaign. And was present at the Chicago "police riot" at the Democratic Convention. I’m going to do it – I promise.
But last night’s insomnia led to the two of us watching Reds, Warren Beatty’s remarkable film about John Reed, Louise Bryant, Greenwich Village radicals, Eugene O’Neill, Emma Goldman and left wing intellectual life before and during World War I.
At the end of what was, in the theaters, the first act, there’s a wonderful montage. John Reed (Warren Beatty) gives an impassioned speech, revolutionaries begin to sing the "Internationale" and the film cuts between scenes of political passions and those of the passions, both physical and intellectual, between Reed and Louise Bryant. To me, it’s the perfect metaphor for our lives in 1968 — shared political passions even with the most intense of lovers – inextricably combined with personal passions intensified by the sadness, rage and sense of mission brought on by events – in their case the attempt to build a "workers paradise" in Russia, on ours, the war in Vietnam. The YouTube clip of this beautiful five minutes won’t post outside YouTube – it’s been blocked, but you can see it here. In the meantime, watch the trailer and think about what it’s like when life, love and politics intersect with such precision.
Reds – Reds
Posted Apr 30, 2002
Warren Beatty’s award winning epic mixes drama and interviews with major social radicals of the period. "Reds" tells the story of the love affair between activists Louise Bryant and John Reed. Set against the backdrop of the tumultuous start of the twentieth century, the two journalists’ on-again off-again romance is punctuated by the outbreak of WWI and the Bolshevik Revolution. Louise’s assignment in France at the outbreak of the war puts an end to their affair. John Reed’s subsequent trip to Russia
1968 WAS FORTY YEARS AGO — SO MANY STORIES — AND A PROMISE
That’s me in 1968. As everybody knows, it was a remarkable, scary, thrilling, transforming year to alive and young; even more, to be part of the struggle to end the war in Vietnam and, generally, change the world. The outcomes are known, and the journey endlessly chronicled, but I think I’m going to spend this year – right here – as anniversaries pass, writing about what I felt and meant to be, what I hoped for, what I remember. Just as we did in Nablopomo, I’m announcing it here… just to be sure I do it….
Happy New Year.
CITY LIGHTS BOOKS, SAN FRANCISCO AND MY LOVELY SONS
When I was in high school this was one of the places I dreamed of coming: San Francisco’s City Lights Bookstore. Far from my home in Pittsburgh, arty, intellectual and free. Ironic then that all these years later I’m here, usually, to visit sons ten years older than I was when I set my sights on Greenwich Village or Bloomsbury. . . or San Francisco.
One lives here; the other’s girlfriend lives here so he pretty much commutes here from Seattle. It’s a perfect place to meet and spend the holidays. We came out for Thanksgiving and are here again, this time since Christmas day.
It’s been lovely, if a bit stressful: a new girlfriend for our younger one – we had dinner with her – and the pressure that comes from wanting infrequent visits to go well. At best we see one another every couple of months; both boys wish we lived closer which makes me feel good but it’s tough that we don’t — and have not much prospect of ever moving this direction.
Now it’s our last day and the usual burgeoning lump in the throat has appeared. Both boys have been genuinely happy to be with us and have ditched their calendars to spend the week with us. I’m very grateful for their attention – they think I’m nuts and say of course they want to be with us. For some reason this astonishes me. We do have fun – jabbering about everything from Benazir Bhutto to series television. Lots of laughter and the additional delight of seeing the boys and Josh’s friend Amy laughing and enjoying one another’s company. But as the time comes to leave, board the plane and fly back to our DC lives, a determined sadness permeates even the happiest of moments. I once interviewed Naomi Foner, mother to Maggie and Jake Gyllenhaal and the woman who wrote Running on Empty, a film about children leaving home in a particularly profound and complete way. "Parenthood is the only job" she told me, "where you measure success by how well you say goodbye."
Manifestly, we’ve done that well. Our boys are strong, self-sufficient, productive men who are friends to one another and love their parents. They know we’re here but know too that they can take care of themselves. In that way, we’d be defined as successful. But. But. No matter how proud I am, how grateful for their strength and wisdom, humor and goodness, I miss them.
They are the treasures of my days and will always be, and the physical distance that prevents an easy Sunday afternoon movie or Chinese dinner and makes every visit an event is always a painful reality.
I’ll deal with it and so will they. It’s the way things are – and it’s certainly better to want them more than we see them than to have them sigh with relief when we leave for the airport. And whether we’re there or not, their lives are rich and often joyful. And so, I tell myself, at least when I’m missing them, I know they’ve become the men I would have wished them to be – for their sakes, not ours. And that’s a lot. It doesn’t put them here next to me — but it does send with me a quiet peace amid the sadness. That’s really all I can – or should – travel with. The rest — working toward and achieving what they want from their lives and moving forward in the world — belongs, as it should, to them.
Happy New Year.
CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ – SAN FRANCISCO SCENES YOU MIGHT HAVE MISSED
We’re here to visit our remarkable,wonderful sons and having a lovely time – hence the virtual radio silence here. Some things though, you need to share – even during a family vacation.
First of all, you always know when you come to San Francisco that you’ll see things that might elude you elsewhere, but this one is spectacular even for the capital of Blue State America. This little guy is wearing a shirt that says "Don’t pat me, I’m working." He’s apparently an assistance animal but we were damned if we could figure out what he was assisting in doing… besides wheeling through Chinatown making friends.
Lucky Revolution Vegan Chinese Restaurant (outside of which the Monkey rolled past us.) Great combination fried rice and hotpot eggplant, too
This is the site of Dave Eggars‘ tutorial project 826 Valencia, now expanding to other cities. Author of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, founder of McSweeney’s publishing and The Believer magazine, he’s built a place to effectively teach writing and communication to underserved kids. It’s embarrassing to wander in, thinking oneself fairly cool for knowing to come here — and to discover — a gift shop! Clearly Eggars and his crew have built something very attractive — and become a tourist attraction.
One block from 826 Valencia and across the street, this blast from the past — windows jammed with anti-war and other political messages. This is not, of course, limited to San Francisco, especially these days, but it just seems so at home here.
Yesterday my husband announced that he had a surprise for me – and dragged me out of the hotel for breakfast. Next thing I knew, we were aboard a cable car for the first time since somewhere around 1971, right after we got married and came to Stanford for him to finish school. It was a great ride on a rainy morning.
We passed this – the top of Lombard Street, San Francisco’s zig-zaggiest.
And ended up here – at the famous Buena Vista Cafe. Famous as the place that invented Irish Coffee, across the street from the end of the cable car line and just above Fishermen’s Wharf, it’s a true landmark a place we used to love. It was so great to return and sit by the window watching this city’s every-changing tourist scene. On this corner, it could still have been 1971 when we first came here. There’s something lovely about a return like this especially when it’s a gift. My sweet husband triumphant once again… 36 years after our first visit!
More pix soon. Goodnight for now.
KUNG PAO COMEDY SAN FRANCISCO STYLE: CHRISTMAS WITH SHELLEY BERMAN
Of course there’s only one way to celebrate Christmas in San Francisco if you’re Jewish – tear over to the New Asia Restaurant for a little Kung Pao Kosher Comedy. Now in its fifteenth year, this nutty evening is a great way to spend Christmas night – even if you’re not Jewish. Founder Lisa Geduldig invented King Pao for lonely and/or bored San Francisco Jews with nothing to do on Christmas and it’s now a beloved tradition and sells out 8 shows, filling a huge Chinese banquet hall and dispensing audience members to 10-person tables with names like Matzo Brei and Joan Rivers. You can see how big it is just below.
Beyond all this, there’s also a full balcony. The crowd is interesting – kids from Berkeley Hillel, families, couples, groups of pals and random strays. Unfortunately, this "kosher comedy" night isn’t kosher so we went to the "cocktail" show and didn’t eat but it was really fun. The other three acts were good, but really amazing was to see Shelley Berman, celebrating his 50th year in comedy so close to where he began at The Hungry i all those years ago.
He now, in addition to his comedy appearances, plays Larry David’s father on Curb Your Enthusiasm and a judge on Boston Legal so he’s not exactly unknown, but last night was an introduction for many clearly enchanted young people in the audience. And he does it all with a gentle humor devoid of cruelty or crassness. It’s interesting to me what we can forget about what’s possible not only between one another but also between a performer and an audience when there is high regard — real respect — going both directions.
What that meant was that, amid the hilarity, I, as usual, landed in a philosophical and somewhat political frame of mind. How have we come to a place where this sort of performance is so rare? Surely we can’t be without excellent, respectful performers. Clearly, in this hip, modern audience, there was no sense that this style was antiquated or tired. But it’s a long way between evenings like this. I guess a live Springsteen show is another true exchange between performer and audience. But in entertainment, and sadly, in politics, there sure isn’t much that leaves everyone knowing they’re valuable, worthy people who’ve shared laughter and even moments of emotional connection with those in a position to "address" them. And yeah I know this is pretty much to stand on the shoulders of a stand-up comic but I’m kind of following my head this morning and that’s where it took me.
Oh – one more thing. Just before the show started my son pointed across the room and found one of his brother’s oldest friends – also a friend of his – a musician who’s been living across the country in Stockbridge MA, waving at us. Each delighted – and impressed — at the other’s presence, we were very glad to see one another but, despite differences in age, geography and lifestyle, not at all surprised that each would choose to be there.
NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY: ROBERT FROST, YEAR’S END, AND FAMILIES
Nothing ever stays still, does it? I remember a Robert Frost poem we read in high school – Nothing Gold Can Stay:
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower,
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
As this year draws to a close, I’m so aware of the rocky ride between joy and pain that life brings us. Children succeed and are happy; suffer, argue, question and, as adults, make huge decisions whose consequences are no longer our business. Others we love face illness, work stresses and moments of spiritual angst. And we ourselves struggle. With our own pain. With the knowledge that the best times — the gold — never last and must be cherished for the time we have them. And with the realization that the job of parent includes a form of built-in obsolescence, that rescuing, even those we love, is not always a gift to those we try to help.
I’m still learning how to be the mother of grown men. They have been and continue to be a joy to me but the best gift I can give them, struggle to give them, is to be available but never more than that. I’ve done pretty well, but in moments when I worry – health issues, love issues, work issues, life-changing issues – I have to hold my breath and hope. To remember that over the years we’ve provided one another with many moments of "something gold" and that now, as their parents have, they must pass through their own moments of sublime and ridiculous, gold and dross.
There’s an old saying that "you’re never happier than your least happy child." I struggle not to allow that to be true. The best gift I can give our boys – and for that matter my husband as well – is to separate, to trust them in their journeys and crises, joys and troubles. To love them, listen to them, and respect them enough to allow them to live their own golden moments and mourn their loss – hopefully with enough experience over the years to understand that even as a moment of joy departs, another is forming just around the bend.
EVERYBODY LOVES A CARNIVAL – BLOG OR OTHERWISE (BLOG CARNIVAL #49)
I’m now part of this week’s Boomer Blog Carnival – my first. I was invited by the indomitable Wendy Spiegel of GenPlus; it’s a way to get to know new bloggers and enjoy the work of others we might not remember to check often enough. The entries are fun and varied. I’m privileged to be a member. Stop by – you’ll enjoy it.