1968 part 2 - McCarthy Lost His Y

I had been an early supporter of Gene McCarthy when he decided to challenge President Lyndon Johnson for the 1968 Presidential nomination. I opposed the war and while I supported Johnson’s significant and very progressive domestic accomplishments, I could not support him for another term as President. At the time, the war was the overriding factor.

I acquired a McCarthy bumper sticker which I stuck to the top of my guitar case (I still have the guitar and the guitar case but the sticker is long gone).

McCarthy, against all conventional wisdom, almost bested Johnson in the New Hampshire primary and the race was on.

Then Bobby Kennedy got in the race. There was tremendous animosity toward Kennedy from many McCarthy supporters. They felt that Kennedy had stood on the sidelines until it became clear that Johnson could be beaten in the primaries and then had jumped in.

I remained a McCarty supporter for the time being. Then there was the Johnson withdrawal.

It was a Sunday night, if I remember correctly. Steve, Rosemary, Ron Duce and I (The Happy Folk at the time) were playing a gig at Taco Sierra, a 3.2% beer and taco restaurant (I’ve played many sterling engagements and high-class joints in my time).

We watched Johnson on TV and then played our gig: A pretty dramatic night.

Through April I began to reassess my support for McCarthy. Not that I disagreed with him, but I began to see in Bobby an object of real change. A person in whom I not only believed but in whom I thought there might actually be the possibility of building the better world many of us were striving for. That capacity for change, in part was based on the fact that he had the best chance of winning and keeping Dick Nixon out of the White House. (I have a maxim I use in politics – You can’t govern if you don’t win, you won’t win if you don’t govern).

I became a Kennedy supporter. But the bumper sticker, which by that time was becoming a bit tattered, was still on my guitar case. Then one day, Steve looked at it and noticed that the ‘Y’ at the end of McCarthy’s name had been torn off.

Steve: “McCarthy’s lost his Y.”

Denny: “Yes he has.”

1968

A memorable year. A sitting President decides not to run for another term and a potential President is killed in Los Angeles. A memorable year. A watershed year. A year marked by death. Young Americans dying in southeast Asia. The murder of Martin Luther King. The murder of Robert Francis Kennedy. Violence and death in our urban centers as people take to the streets in anger and frustration. Violence in the streets of Chicago during the Democratic National Convention.

I have been thinking a lot about 1968 lately. As I posted earlier, my friend Steve is celebrating his 60th birthday with concert of family and friends. The friends include me.

Steve and I are referring to our part as Happy Folk Redux. In 1968, Steve and I along with Rosemary Doran were the Happy Folk, a trio bound for fame, fortune and success in the music business in Los Angeles. Preparing for the concert and rehearsing the songs is conjuring up many memories of that year and that trip.

1968.

We actually left Colorado in June of 1968, right after Bobby was assassinated. As I noted earlier, it was a bittersweet time. We were full of hope for our future but bereft of hope for the future of our country. We could not know that the events of March and June of that year were just the start of what would be a terrible year in our country.

The California primary was on June 4th that year. Bobby won and everyone was poised to, as Bobby said that fateful night, go ‘on to Chicago and lets win in November’.

Shortly after midnight, now June 5th, Bobby was shot.

Interestingly, Steve’s birthday is on June 4th. That will be the night of our concert. It will be celebratory, it will be fun; it will be full of hope. But for me, and I think Steve too, it will be bittersweet again. It will be hard not to think of that time, that year and that trip for us.

The music thing didn’t really work out for us, but we both gave our shot at ‘the big time’ in L.A. in the entertainment business. We both had some success, but perhaps not enough. We both waited for that ‘someday’ when the big break would come. We are both back here now.

Our concert closes, appropriately, with a song Steve wrote: "What If Someday Never Comes?"

Steve and Denny: Happy Folk Redux

Fall, 1967. I was attending Southern Colorado State College as a Theatre Major and struggling folk singer. I met Steve. He too was a Theatre major and had just started at SCSC. He played guitar and sang. So naturally he and I and Rosemary Doran formed The Happy Folk (okay, dopey name). We played all the hot spots (okay, some were pretty marginal), but in the summer of 1968 we loaded – crammed - all our instruments and ourselves into Steve’s VW bug and headed for the big time in LA…….It was a memorable summer. Unfortunately it was partly memorable because that was also the summer that Bobby Kennedy died – in LA.

We drove to LA just after Bobby’s death. Our hopes for our future severely tempered by the significant loss of hope that Bobby’s murder engendered. I still grieve the loss and the unanswerable question, what might have been?

Forty years later, Steve and I are back in Denver. That folksinger thing didn’t quite work out, at least from a remunerative stand point but we still do some work together in other ways and on Steve’s 60th birthday (June 4) we will sing together again. Steve and Denny: Happy Folk Redux

Steve (now Steef, which means I think that I must now be Deef) has organized a bit of a concert featuring songs he has written, in contemplation of turning 60 and assessing life. The concert features family and friends (that’s where I come in).

The concert will be in Denver at the Bug Theatre on Navajo street in north Denver, Thursday, June 4 at 8pm.

I can’t wait.

Jack Wrangler died

I just read the obituary in the paper. I knew Jack, not well but I worked with him in San Francisco in the late 70s but hadn't seen him since then. Jack had come up from LA to do a play titled “Rusty”. He played the title character. Reading the obituary had that time and circumstance come flooding back to me.

I had been engaged to build the set, and design and run the lights for the show. It had been written by a teacher at what had been Lone Mountain College in San Francisco. It was about an aging college teacher and his relationship with one of his students – Rusty. Frankly it was a bit of a soap opera. Rusty has affair with other young men; aging teacher is jealous; Rusty goes off on an odyssey; returns and is diagnosed with some unnamed but fatal disease (no it was not aids, at that time aids was not really on anyone’s radar screen and was just beginning to have an impact on homosexual men).

If you think if sounds a bit like Camille, you’re right. In the end Rusty is responsible for reconciling with the aging teacher and gathering around him on his death bed all those who were important to him: aging teacher, his mother, and one of the young men he had had a relationship with. Then he dies.

The author, of course took this all very seriously. Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for the box office) the audience did not. The gay community flocked to the show. It was a hoot. For them it was too campy for words and every night they just howled. Word of mouth was great and we were a financial success. Author was not happy.

What really made this ironic is that the play was being staged in what had been a legendary burlesque house on Broadway in North Beach, the Chi Chi. Up until the play opened at the Chi Chi (managed by a Japanese Fan Dancer named Miss Keiko) it was continuing to do traditional burlesque strip tease, complete with a runway down through the center of the audience. The girls would come out and do their striptease vignette (one girl had a roll-on bathtub in which she pretended to run water and then strip to get in the tub). They only stripped down to a g-string – bare breasts but no full nudity.

At any rate, the runway remained and at every opportunity, the script called for Rusty to become completely naked and work his way up and down the runway while doing his dialogue. As I said it was a hoot.

This all came back when I read of Jack’s death.

P.S. Miss Keiko also managed the Chez Paris just south of Geary off Union Square. It to was a strip club but not in the traditional sense as was the Chi Chi. Girls did the standard pole dances, etc. What was always interesting to me about this club is that in an earlier incarnation it was a traditional night club and was the location for some of the night club scenes in Frank Sinatra’s “Pal Joey”.

Spade & Archer & San Francisco

Other than re-reading The Maltese Falcon, what better book to read over a long weekend in San Francisco than Joe Gore’s Spade & Archer?. Atmospheric and entertaining, Spade & Archer is a ‘prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon.

I am a long-time fan of Hammett and Sam Spade. And also as a long-time – though now former – resident of San Francisco I have always seen the three – Hammett, Spade and the City - as of a piece Gore’s tale of Sam Spade, told in the style of Hammett, fits nicely in that piece.

The novel follows Sam Spade over a number of years in the 1920’s as he moves from working for Continental Ops in Washington State to setting up his own detective agency in San Francisco. As it is a ‘prequel’ and as the title suggests, it culminates just at the point that The Maltese Falcon begins.

Along the way Spade is involved in a series of investigations, each in its own way leading to the books conclusion. We also meet characters that will populate The Maltese Falcon: Spade's secretary Effie Perrine and San Francisco cops Dundy and Tom Polhous. We learn much about the relationship among Spade and Miles and Iva Archer and how the Spade & Archer partnership came to be. We learn more about Sam Spade and the picture of the character we see in The Maltese Falcon becomes fuller.

But then there is that wonderful character, the city of San Francisco. Gores puts us on the streets, in the neighborhoods. He evokes the essence of the City. We feel the chill of the fog, we hear the the sound of the harbor and the bay, we taste the food.

I read the book while in San Francisco and as I noted that was so appropriate. But you don't have to be there to enjoy the read. Pick up the book, it will take you there.

Sunday in San Francisco

Watching the sun come up on Coit Tower again this morning. We are on the 24th floor and have a great view of Telegraph Hill, Alcatraz, Angel Island and the rest of the bay. Another spectacular day in San Francisco. Unfortunately, we are leaving today. It has been a short but wonderful weekend. I miss this city very much.

In our wandering around, Terry and I looked at flats and houses. A lot of open houses, so it was easy to check them out – of course Terry loves doing this everywhere including our neighborhood in Denver – and we saw some that would work well for us. If we only had the money.

One we particularly liked, in Russian Hill, was a property originally owned by the photographer Imogen Cunningham. As such it had particular appeal to me. Wonderful garden patio, three floors and views of the Golden Gate and Marin Headlands. It would do quite nicely for us, though we discussed how we would remodel to make it really fit our needs. It was, however, $2 Million. Ah, well.

Dinner Saturday night was at the Hyde Street Seafood and Raw bar. One of our favorites here (there are actually a lot of favorites). Sunday night we had planned on Yabbies on Polk, but after a full day walking, shopping (another birthday present for Lila among other things) and a full lunch at Rose Pistola, we opted for Brandy Ho's: closer, simpler and hotter (Hunan).

Lunch/Brunch at Rose Pistola's in North Beach was great fun. 2 hours of people watching and food. I had egg pizza which I had never had before. Very good. I will probably make it at home sometime. I know it sounds odd, but it is really quite good. Oh, and did I mention that to pass the time people watching I had a Bloody Mary, followed by a bottle of Prosecco (we shared) and finished with 2 Grappa and Espressos. What a way to spend a Sunday.

Hat etiquette

The Stock Show is in town and as is traditional, the day of the parade down 17th street is declared 'western wear' day by the Mayor. A lot of 'cowboy paraphernalia' was in evidence around town, particularly in the City and County Building and the Webb Building. Lots of Cowboy hats. The Mayor was even sporting one.

I don't often wear a hat to work (on very cold days to keep my head warm) but have been wearing a cowboy hat for years. In my younger (rodeo and roping) days I wore one all the time. I wore one today: 20X Beaver.

As I got into the elevator I, as I always do, took my hat off. It is a matter of good manners to remove a hat indoors, but particularly in an elevator: a gentleman always removes his hat in an elevator.

It got me thinking about hat etiquette. That etiquette was commonplace when men wore hats regularly but once Jack Kennedy made going bare headed acceptable the etiquette went away (for the most part) as well - though the hat has made a comeback, it is the ubiquitous 'baseball cap'' which I am not sure counts.

At any rate, as I took my hat off in the elevator, I was reminded of long-time Dallas Cowboy football coach Tom Landry. Tom was old school. Always dressed in a jacket and tie on the sidelines and always wore a hat: a short brim fedora, if I remember correctly. The only time he did not wear his hat was when they played in a domed stadium. He noted that hat etiquette had always taught him that a gentleman did not wear his hat indoors and since a domed stadium was 'indoors' he would not wear his hat.

I guess I am old school, as well.