Category Archives: Community

Community

Community

everainbowReprinted from The Great Speckled Bird, vol. 3 #27 July 10, 1970lifetoofine

 

Community

 It has been said that you have to understand the past to know the future. Freaks don’t necessarily believe that. We’ve seen how our parents have used the past as an excuse for standing still. In our lifestyle we are attempting an affirmation, not of the past, nor the  present, but the future.

Now though, after several years of growth, the hip community in Atlanta does have a past. There have been important struggles in Atlanta-struggles for the street, for the park, for store-fronts, for our own institutions, for unity against straight Atlanta’s rulers. This is our history and we can learn from it.

For years, the Midtown area of Atlanta has been the center of a small bohemian colony. It grew around the Atlanta Art School, located on Peachtree near 15th. In those days (late fifties) before the corporations decided that art was a necessary part of good business, the Art School was a pretty open, groovy place. One of the first coffeehouses, The Golden Horn, opened near the Art School during the folk music craze begun by the Kingston trio. At the time the only place you could see quality foreign films was at the Peachtree Art Theater, and near it were two of the best record shops in town. Grass was plentiful and if the cops busted a party for too much noise or something they didn’t know to look for it or know to recognize the wonderful sweet aroma.

Not all was peaches and cream, though. Before the Golden Horn, a coffeehouse had been opened on West Peachtree and busted on opening night. The owners were busted for operating a dive and for obscenity from Playboy pinups upstairs in a bedroom.

The economics of the neighborhood supported the colony. With the flight to the suburbs in the mid-fifties, the neighborhood had been surrendered to working class whites and rents were pretty cheap. Rentals of storefronts were relatively cheap since many merchants in the area moved to Ansley Mall when it opened about 1965.

In 1966 a student at the Art School, David Braden, opened an Art Gallery on the north side of l4th. That was Mandorla No. 1 and when he moved it to the corner of Peachtree and 14th it became Mandorla No. 2. In the basement Braden opened a coffeehouse-The Catacombs.

Braden was gay and was out front about it. People respected him for that and for the openness of his gallery  to new art. In the summer of 1967 when kids, mostly from metro Atlanta, began to come into the area, Mandorla was the natural place to go. A few hip people began to sit on the porch or on the wall across the street.

Summer of 1967 was the Haight-Ashbury summer, and news media across the country began looking around their towns for hippies. Atlanta was no exception; They found Braden and made him into the “leader of the hippie colony.” The cops got uptight, and Braden was busted for possession in November 1967. He got a year’s suspended sentence for that but in March 1968 he was busted for selling to a minors- a police frame-up. Braden had attempted suicide and when his lawyer pleaded him guilty, his charge was reduced to simple possession. He’s still in jail, one of many taking the rap for the rest of us.

Six hours after Braden’s second arrest, the vice squad raided the Morning Glory Seed, Atlanta’s first headshop, located on West Peachtree near North Avenue. The owner was a friend of Braden’s who had helped him with the defense in his bust. Two employees were busted and a warrant was issued for the owner. The Morning Glory Seed was closed.

But the police weren’t able to close the Middle Earth head shop on Eighth Street near Peachtree. They did try, though. The Middle Earth was opened in November 1967 by Bo and Linda Lozoff. They opened with a poetry reading by an Emory professor. The cops came that night and practically every night after that, hassling customers, hassling Bo about his cycle, threatening arrests for “obscene” posters in the shop. Bo fought back and kept his shop alive.

Spring 1968 came and the warm weather brought kids back into the area. The Catacombs had been reopened as a rock club and kids gathered around the corner of Peachtree and 14th creating Atlanta’s first real street scene. Lozoff opened a branch of the Middle Earth upstairs where the gallery had been. in March 1968 the Bird began operating from a house down 14th a half block from the corner.

The city saw what was happening and sent the cops to clean it out. Kids were arrested for loitering, jaywalking, vagrancy-anything the cops could think up. Sometimes 20 or 30 were arrested at a time. Bird sellers began getting arrested for “violation of pedestrian duties.” Lozoff, who was seeing his customers arrested in his 14th Street shop, wrote in the Bird, “The Atlanta Police Department is not a corrupt arm of democracy. It is a fascist branch of an increasingly fascist society based on violence, intolerance and oppression.” He was right.

Drug busts increased with increased use of undercover narcs. Then during the summer Lozoff was forced to close his branch because the police harassment was| driving away customers. The Twelfth Gate, a Methodist Church coffeehouse on 10th Street which had earlier opened a free clinic on 15th Street, opened the 14th Gate in the space. Logoff had used. Their idea was to provide a place for kids to get in off the street, away from the cops. They had a good jukebox and inexpensive food.  But the cops came in and busted kids for loitering and sleeping in a public place. Near the end of the summer the l4th Gate closed.

img238The first struggles for Piedmont Park began in July 1968.btKyn&the.spring.and summer, kids had been run out of the park by the cops. In July folks got together a Be-In. Eight hundred people showed-up. Some bands  were there but the electricity was turned off. A generator was on hand but the cops stopped it. The Be-In moved to the Bird’s back yard. No real protest was made made-the community was still weak then.

During the summer, at the trial of some kids who were busted at the corner of l4th and Peachtree. Municipal Court Judge Jones summed up what everyone by then knew was happening. In court he said, “I’ve never tried one of these cases before, but we’ve received complaint after complaint from business about people hanging around and taking over the area. Now these officers have their instructions, and if you’re brought into this courtroom on charges of loitering, the court is going to find you guilty.”

In fall of 68 the street scene slowed down as kids  went back to school and the weather grew colder. In October  a sit-in was held at the Pennant Restaurant near l4th and Peachtree after the restaurant began refusing freaks service. The Pennant returned to a policy of serving anyone.

Also in October, the Merry-Go- Round opened on what is now called the Strip. Opened by two guys who were shrewd enough to see that there was a lot of money to be made from hip culture in Atlanta, the Merry-Go-Round did well from the start. Previously the real estate interests had refused to open the strip to anything that looked hippish. Some real estate men saw that they too could make money off the hippies, and the strip was open with in most cases higher rents charged to the merchants of hip culture.

The winter of 68- 69 was pretty quiet. Drug busts continued, often concentrated in two apartment buildings on either side of the Bird office on 14th Street. In January another sit-in was held, this time at the Waffle House on Peachtree near Tenth. It too succeeded in opening the restaurant up at least for a time.

Spring 1969 opened with a Bird birthday party in the park on March 29. The Bird had discovered that there were no ordinances prohibiting the use of electric music in the park or regulating the use of the pavilion. So the celebration was held with the live, electric music of the Hampton Grease Band. The park was opened.

In April work was begun on She trade mart which was to become Atlantis Rising. The store was owned by two persons who thought of it as a cooperative in which “tradesmen” could lease space for their wares at overhead cost. For a time Atlantis became the focus for the community, with a lot of kids helping in the construction. As the street scene picked up again Atlantis became one of two places to hang around.

The other gathering place was the Middle Earth up on Eighth Street. At night kids began to gather, talk and deal on the parking lot across the street from Middle Earth. Again the city got uptight and sent the cops. Arrests on a large scale began for the same old charges jaywalking, vagrancy, etc. At times police would set up roadblocks on Eighth Street to conduct searches of cars.

On May 17 three kids were arrested at the Waffle House when they refused to leave after being refused service. Spontaneously a demonstration was held in front of the restaurant. The community was getting together. Things would be different in 1969.

Late in the winter, construction was begun on Colony Square, the office development that stands at Peachtree&14th. Older residents knew that area was slated or high-rise development but the Colony Square construction brought the news home to everybody. In the months before construction began, city housing inspectors were busy inspecting and condemning buildings to help pave the way for the developers. Housing became harder and harder for freaks to find, for their buildings were the first to be condemned.

1969 was an election year in Atlanta and the hip community soon became one of the political issues when Alderman Everett Millican, a mayoral candidate, began calling for action against the “sex deviates” and hippies in the parks and along Peachtree Street. Not to be out- hippie baited by Millican, Mayor Allen, who supported another candidate, said on June 30: “We arrest them by the hundreds for the slightest infraction of the law.” It was true: hundreds of arrests were being made on Eighth Street and throughout the community.

On July 4th, the first Atlanta Pop Festival was held near Atlanta. Afterwards more kids were on the streets. Harassment arrests continued. Bird sellers were arrested for jaywalking when they stepped off the curb.

On August 4 police conducted another large narcotics raid on 14th Street. Some of the kids were charged with occupying a dive. As the police led the kids into the paddy wagon, a crowd gathered and began chanting at the police. After ten or fifteen minutes of “Pigs Out of Our Community!” the police charged, maced, and started blasting. Three Bird staffers were charged with inciting to riot. The next week the Bird was give an eviction notice because the insurance was cancelled after someone planted Molotov cocktails in the bushes in front of several 14th Street buildings.

The community was uptight. Next week a community meeting was held behind Atlantis Rising but nothing was done. Later a community patrol was begun for a couple of weeks to try to protect freaks from police harassment.

Over the summer music had continued sporadically in the park. Late in August when tensions were highest, The Hampton Grease band gave a “Labor of Love” in the Park. It was a fine time.

Then in September, Atlantis Rising was firebombed. Although several witnesses gave police a description of the car, no one was caught. Atlantis stayed closed over the winter.

Next week the Atlanta people, with the cooperation of the community, got together a mini-Pop Festival which was to be a benefit for the rebuilding of the store. The city provided the showmobile stage and the music was held on the ball field in Piedmont Park. Several thousand people came during the weekend, but expenses were higher than contributions and nothing was raised for Atlantis.

The following weekend music was held again in the park. It was on a smaller scale, with the bands back on the stone steps. A plainclothes narc was in the crowd looking for a bust. George Nikas recognized, him and started telling people. The narc tried to arrest George, A crowd gathered. George split. Cops came back and arrested Bird photographer Bill Fibben, who had been taking pictures. The crowd was angry, shouting at the cops. The cops blew their cool and started lobbing tear gas. A professor’s wife was beaten. National TV carried close-up film of a kid being beaten in the face with a billy club. The following Saturday six to eight hundred freaks marched down Peachtree Street to the police station. The community was together, and the police retreated, staying out of the community for the most part until 1970. In October a three-day festival was held in the park to claim it once again as ours.

Early in November a private social service agency, the Community Council of Atlanta, announced that it had received funds to pay the rent on a community center for six months. A community meeting was called. Kids. Bird people. Twelfth Gate folks, Harkey Kline-felter from the Street Ministry, and Universal Life Church ministers came together to form the Midtown Alliance to plan the community center. Late in December the center opened on Juniper Street providing a home for the free clinic, a place to took for crash sites, help with legal problems and jobs. For the first time lots of kids were in the community over the winter and the community center helped them stay.

In December the Laundromat opened on Peachtree near Tenth. By this time half a dozen hip stores had opened along the strip. Their merchandise was commercially manufactured, few community people worked in them, and the profits went to the owners. The Laundromat opened lo provide a non-profit outlet for community-produced goods. About twenty people opened the Laundromat as a cooperative in which all decisions would be made together. Community residents could sell their wares through the Laundromat with only a 10% charge for overhead.

Over the winter the Midtown. Alliance held weekly meetings at the 12th Gate. Other community projects developed out of the Alliance. Churches pledged money for a “Youth hostel” to provide temporary housing for freaks coming into town. The money became available in January but the churches have been unable to locate a real estate man or owner who will rent to them. A Catholic monk and a Georgia State student got together to develop a runaway program, The Bridge, to help young runaways work out some arrangements with their parents. In June they found a building but the city condemned it so they are now operating out of the community center. Hip Job Coop was opened on Tenth Street to help kids find jobs and provide an outlet for community goods. Jobs are hard to find, though. and although Hip Job has survived it hasn’t been able to get the store together enough to provide a real alternative to the straight hip merchants.

On the strip Atlantis reopened and two short order food establishments, Chili Dog Charlie’s and Tom Jones Fish&Chips, provided a focus for the street. Early in the Spring kids gathered along Peachtree to claim the street.

By the time Atlanta had elected a “liberal” mayor, Sam Massell. In February Massell had agreed to meet with the Midtown Alliance to work out ways of avoiding hassles in the coming Summer. He seemed to be committed to a different approach from the police enforcement policy  of his predecessor. Bu then city employees went on strike and Massell “friend of the poor” used everything in the book to screw the strikers. A number of hip community residents participated in activities during the strike and they began to wonder what kind of liberal Massell was.

Early   in the Spring things picked up on the strip. Large crowds

Gathered on Peachtree. But there were intimations of violence against freaks by outsiders. Girls being raped on side streets. The police would do nothing. The Alliance formed a community patrol to provide some protection. In late May, Chili Dog Charlie’s was bombed.

During May a young music promoter had planned a “Peace Festival” to be held the first weekend in June, was planned as a way for the community to come together to begin a summer of peace – a memorial service to those killed at Kent State, Jackson State, and Augusta. As the weekend approached the city refused to issue a permit for the park. Mayor Massell was going to make a policy statement about the “hippie problem”. Later it turned out that he feared riots from what he said he didn’t want two going on at once – one on the strip and one in the park.

He almost did have a riot. Because of the violence on the Strip, the rapes and attacks, most people at the time did not want police protection. But Massell after a rap about protecting people’s rights, announced that he was sending in 64 cops. And that night, he did. On the Strip kids freaked out and fled to the park for a community meeting. At the meeting I expected the same old phony hassles of “peace” freak vs. “violence” freaks, but the community was together. Everyone wanted the Strip back and three to four hundred marched back  to the strip to reclaim it.

At first the cops made few arrests, but that soon changed. For the third summer in a row, kids were arrested for loitering, jaywalking, etc. Bongo was arrested taking a cop’s badge number. He was convicted by the same judge Jones who had been so candid in 1968.

Early one Sunday  morning, after the Cosmic Carnival, police raided Fish&Chips and arrested 21 for loitering, including the manager and assistant manager.

This weekend  a kid was sitting on the sidewalk about a foot inside the property line of the Metro skinflick. The owner, who was president  of the Tenth Street Businessman’s Association, told him to move. He moved off the property line. A cop came up and said,” do you want him arrested?” The owner said yes. The kid was taken inside the theater and beaten when he protested his arrest. A crowd gathered in front of the theater. The glass on one of the doors was pushed  or kicked in. The owner came outside with a pistol and shot in the direction of one group of kids.

So there it is, the same   old story of harassment from the   city, police. Straight businessmen. But things are changing on the strip. Every time the cops begin to bust, the odds are that the community  will protest the arrest. During  one bust kids were freed from the cop car. In others bottles have been thrown. The  community is not going to tolerate police harassment.

Other things are changing too. The community is uptight about all the heroin on the Strip.  Kids have seen how smack destroys hip communities. This week a smack dealer was physically told  to stay out of the community. The Community Center is now located at 1013 Peachtree. It is working with lawyers who will represent kids in harassment arrests. The Clinic continues , helping kids with regular medical problems or kids who have bad trips  or want to try to get off smack. The twelfth Gate has become more of a community institution – the one place where community bands can play and even make a little bread. The Laundromat survives, supporting around 200 community craftmakers.

Many of the community’s struggles have been successful. Community institutions have been developed. The park is ours, although we still may have to fight to continue to have music there. The street is ours too, despite the constant fight to protect it. Most importantly the community is coming together in a real way – not just during a crisis as in the past. The future will be a struggle, but if we stay together we can make it. It really is just about that simple.

-gene guerrero jr.

Great Speckled Memories: Back when The Bird really was The Word

Bird People, The Bird

http://www.politicalaffairs.net/article/view/3403/1/167

Great Speckled Memories: Back when The Bird really was The Word

By Jonathan Springston

5-10-06, 9:16 am

(APN) ATLANTA – It’s difficult to talk about the leftist scene in Atlanta in the 1960’s and 70’s without someone bringing up The Great Speckled Bird, the leftist alternative newspaper which influenced so many minds of the time. But what was The Bird? Who ran it and how did it operate?

Atlanta Progressive News has conducted extensive interviews and uncovered vast archives of The Bird’s back issues, to explain this historical phenomenon to our progressive readers of today.

In the 1960s, there were 800 underground newspapers in the United States. Many lasted a short time, but for eight and a half years, The Great Speckled Bird told the other side that other Atlanta newspapers were afraid to touch.

In 1971, Mike Wallace of CBS’s “60 Minutes” called The Bird “The Wall Street Journal of the underground press.”

But, what does it mean?

First, the name, The Great Speckled Bird, comes from a country-gospel tune of the same name.

When the initial staff members, who were considering starting an alternative paper, heard this song in 1967, they knew they had a perfect title.

A history of controversy

The first issue came out March 15, 1968 and immediately generated controversy.

The first story was titled, “What’s It All About, Ralphie?,” a eulogy for Atlanta legend and then-publisher of the Atlanta Journal Constitution, Ralph McGill. The article was highly critical of McGill’s advocacy of dropping nuclear bombs on Vietnam.

 

This would not be the last controversy. On May 26, 1969, The Bird ran a cover that featured a muscular, bearded man holding a large weapon shouting, “C’mon and Get It Motherfuckers” against a Coca-Cola background.

A month later, Atlanta Police arrested then-Business Manager of The Bird Gene Guerrero and three paper vendors for selling obscene literature to minors and violating the city’s profanity ordinance. The charges were later dismissed. When The Bird ran the news, that they had clarified the freedom of the press in Atlanta for everyone, staffers added wittily, “I wondered what made the motherfuckers change their minds?”

The Bird had a habit of criticizing the local establishment, be it the police who harassed local hippies and Bird vendors, real estate developers, or City Hall, especially then-Mayor of Atlanta Sam Massell.

The 1972 Office Firebombing

In May 1972, an unknown assailant(s) firebombed The Bird office at 240 Westminster Drive in the middle of the night.

Most of the house was destroyed along with back issues of the paper and other artifacts. A police report was filed but no arrest was ever made in connection with the crime. Most Atlanta residents denounced the attack.

But like the Phoenix rising from the ashes, The Bird emerged from the fire and continued publishing without missing a beat. Benefit dinners were held and donations were made to help the paper recover.

A Volunteer and Freelance Staff

From 1968 through 1976, things went on this way. The work was hard, the pay was low, and the harassment constant. Staff members came and went, contributing what they could when they could. The Bird retained the sporadic services of various printers willing to print the paper.

Many staff members worked on and off for pay, depending on the financial situation. Those who were paid made between $40 and $60 per week, maybe less.

Bob Goodman and Krista Brewer took extra jobs to supplement their incomes. Goodman sold copies of The Atlanta Journal Constitution out of his Volkswagen Bug. Brewer worked as a waitress.

Ted Brodek earned a satisfying wage as a Professor at Emory University and was strictly a Bird volunteer.

One volunteer who asked for her name not to be used in this article was a volunteer who lived on 14th Street. Depending on the time period, this person worked as a college English teacher, a waitress, and sold The Bird on the street.

Howard Romaine worked on and off as a volunteer and was a staff member of the Southern Student Human Relations Project for a time.

Nan Orrock was a legal secretary for Maynard Jackson, who later became Atlanta’s Mayor, and was an office manager at the ACLU’s regional office.

The early days saw the paper produced at The Birdhouse, a 1920s era two-story house, on 187 14th Street in the heart of Midtown.

The Bird cost 15 cents (20 cents outside Atlanta) and came out bi-weekly. By the end of 1968, staffers produced the paper weekly. At its peak, The Bird produced 20,000 copies, 36 pages long with 2 and 3 color covers.

Vendors made a nickel for every copy they sold and later as much as 10 cents. Subscriptions proved a valuable revenue source throughout the life of The Bird as well.

There was no explicit leadership structure, though there might have been an unspoken, implied structure. Most decisions were made democratically.

The more psychedelic midtown that once in fact existed

In those days, Midtown was the hippy and artistic haven of Atlanta. Between 10th and 14th Streets, the counterculture held sway. Many free concerts and other gatherings were held in Piedmont Park, including an early performance by The Allman Brothers.

Suburban residents would come to Midtown on the weekends to see the “freaks.” In fact, the area would become so jam-packed that it was hard to travel in the area.

The police made a habit of harassing the residents of the area for various, often bogus, reasons. The Bird produced many accounts of these incidents in their pages and made it their habit to expose unwarranted police harassment to the public.

In 1969, a police riot broke out in Piedmont Park when officers clashed with “loiterers” and “trespassers.” Police clubbed and chased people through the park and out onto 14th Street, where some who were running were caught right in front of The Birdhouse. Some Bird staffers later took affidavits from some of the victims.

The late ‘60s and early ‘70s was a low period as far as development was concerned in Midtown. Residents had abandoned the homes in the area and The Bird staff was able to negotiate a cheap rent deal for The Birdhouse.

Later, real estate developers and other business interests snatched up the land at low prices.

During the eight and half years of The Bird’s prime existence, the city continued to rezone and raise rent in Midtown to the point where the colorful inhabitants increasingly could not afford to live there. When Colony Square appeared, it marked the beginning of the kind of development seen in Midtown today.

Today’s residents of Midtown would be unable to recognize their surroundings if they traveled back in time. Small businesses and homes have been replaced with towering skyscrapers, fancy residential complexes, and hotels.

The Bird shuffled locations several times, leaving The Birdhouse for other nearby Midtown locations, including 253 North Avenue in 1970 and 956 Juniper Street in 1973, before ending up on 449 and half Moreland Avenue in Little Five Points in 1976.

A spectrum of leftist writings

For a long time, The Bird was able to operate without competition from other local alternative newspapers, allowing them to make a full-throated defense of liberal, progressive, socialist, Marxist, and Leninist issues.

The degree of how far a story was to the left depended on what the issue was and who was writing it at what time. The early years saw more radical viewpoints than the later years. The diversity of the staff led to these varying editorial positions.

The early years saw many stories about anti-war and anti-draft rallies, tales of conscientious objectors’ struggles with the law, civil rights, accounts of police harassment, geopolitical and moral stories dealing with Vietnam, labor strikes, and so much more.

Unlike today’s Atlanta Progressive News, which is written in hard news format, Bird stories ran the gamut from rigid, traditional news style pieces, to stream-of-consciousness, poetry, and freeform.

Advertisements for clothing stores, bookstores, music stores, and music festivals splashed across the pages. There were arguments about whether to include advertisements early on but advertising was another valuable source of revenue.

There were pictures; letters to the editor, some more friendly than others; cartoons; and reviews.

The Bird volunteer who asked not to be named for this story said she had worked for The Bird from 1968 until 1973 covering student and political news, helped put together a calendar of events. She told Atlanta Progressive News the task was difficult because staff members had to pound the pavement, travel by foot to universities, and keep up with the mail to create the calendar.

The Bird would learn of lectures and antiwar marches, as well as other events, by looking at university bulletin boards. This was before Creative Loafing, the Internet, and other sources existed to provide that kind of information.

Many of the freakish but brilliant sketches and drawings adorning the pages from 1968 to 1972 were created by the talented late Ron Ausburn and were reminiscent of the macabre style of gonzo sketch artist Ralph Steadman.

Writers for The Bird were united by one thing: the search for truth. The Bird existed during perhaps the most chaotic period in American history. Production played out against the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights, Free Speech, and Women’s Rights Movements.

News and Activism as Overlapping Goals

For many staffers, involvement in progressive politics did not begin with work at The Bird. Many early staffers were already well trained in civil rights, anti-war demonstrations, and organizing.

Goodman, who wrote for The Bird for four years starting in 1968 covering transportation, labor, and anti-war issues, was opposed to the Vietnam War before reaching The Bird.

The time Goodman spent at the University of Missouri allowed him to work with the Congress of Racial Equality to organize sit-ins before moving to Atlanta in 1966 to teach at Morehouse College while doing graduate work. Goodman left before he could finish his doctoral degree.

Brewer, who wrote for The Bird in the early ‘70s covering local issues, came from “liberal, non-activist” parents and wrote some for her high school and college newspapers. She became interested in feminism and joined The Bird after seeing an advertisement.

Brodek was opposed to the Vietnam War strictly for geopolitical reasons. It was during the two years he spent in Germany before coming to Atlanta in 1967 that he heard about the atrocities happening in Vietnam that turned his opposition into a moral one.

Romaine, who also came to Atlanta in 1967 with his wife Anne after finishing his Master’s Degree in Philosophy, was interested in the Civil Rights Movement in the South and the electoral politics that grew out of that.

These issues were the main topics Romaine covered during his time at The Bird. Anne also wrote for The Bird, including a review of a Joan Baez book.M

Orrock became involved in progressive politics when she participated in 1963’s March on Washington, the site of Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech. That march “really changed my thinking” on racism and segregation, Orrock said.

In 1967, Orrock and her husband moved to Atlanta. Along with five others, including Anne and Howard Romaine, Orrock helped start The Bird with the goal of providing a different perspective on the issues. Orrock sold papers, set type, and wrote stories, particularly about labor and women’s issues, working on and off for pay.

The End of the Beginning

By late 1972, things began to change at The Bird. One office had been firebombed, leaving the paper and its staff in limbo for months. The cost of the paper had risen to 20 cents and would later climb to 25 cents per issue in March 1973.

1972 and 1973 marked the time some original staffers began leaving The Bird to pursue political activities full-time.

New members came on board and began toning down the paper, both in layout and content, putting more emphasis on local news and investigative pieces. Female staffers had also begun to demand equal pay and opportunities, as the feminist movement grew stronger.

The death of Ausburn in 1972 also contributed to a more basic format. Clever graphics and sketches gave way to simpler drawings and more photographs.

The Midtown community was changing too. The hippies and the rest of the artistic community slowly departed the area, leaving mainly winos and dope peddlers, thus leaving the paper with fewer vendors.

The Bird tried putting the paper in more stores and purchasing several vending boxes at $35 to $40 a pop to boost sagging sales. This method created some success but the move was not extensive enough.

Falling finances forced staffers to work for free again. Financial issues forced the paper back to biweekly publication in 1973 and finally to monthly in 1976.

The Atlanta Gazette and Creative Loafing both launched in the mid-1970s, drained advertising from The Bird, and proved to be formidable competition.

Ominous signs of closure began looming in 1973 when staffers kicked around the idea of folding the paper before a last ditch effort was made to save The Bird.

Throughout 1976, staffers held benefit dinners, rummage sales, and asked for money and resources to save the paper but to no avail. October 1976 saw the last issue of The Bird published with the caveat that production would be suspended “indefinitely.”

Several other factors contributed to The Bird’s demise in addition to those mentioned above. A lack of a political consensus and the heavy workload for little or no pay factored greatly in the decision. Staffers, after all, needed funds to eat and pay rent.

The Great Speckled Revival

In 1984, two separate groups tried to revive The Bird. One group was comprised of some original staffers while the other was comprised of newcomers. Lack of interest, misunderstandings, and lack of funding made for a short revival.

The third and latest reincarnation of The Bird was recently launched at the April 1, 2006, antiwar rally at Piedmont Park. This is the same day The Atlanta Progressive News print edition also debuted. In full disclosure, Barry Weinstock of The Bird currently does the printing for The Atlanta Progressive News.

Barry Weinstock, who helped print The Bird during the initial run and edited during the second run, is leading the latest charge to bring back the paper along with Tom Ferguson and Darlene Carra, both involved with the second Bird run.

Volunteers launched bird.thinkspeak.net to supplement the monthly publication.

Content includes international and national political news as well as some cartoons, letters, and stories from other writers who wish to send their work in to the paper for consideration.

They were wild. Where are they now?

Former staffers continue to work for progressive causes. Brodek does not participate in journalism anymore, instead working as a translator and a mediator. He is involved with the Georgia Peace and Justice Coalition and antiwar rallies.

Brewer left The Bird in early 1974 to pursue an opportunity to start a third political party in New York. Today she is a volunteer for a local chapter of the Women’s Action for New Direction.

Goodman participates in the antiwar rally at the CNN Center every Thursday and is involved with other antiwar efforts.

The Bird volunteer who asked not to be named said she left The Bird in 1973 to help Radio Free Georgia (WRFG-FM) get off the ground. “I really missed it when the paper folded,” she said. “It was an exciting time.”

Romaine organized George McGovern’s Georgia primary campaign in 1972 and helped deliver the state’s primary to the Democratic Party’s future nominee. After being involved in a serious accident that left him with a broken back in 1973, Romaine went on to attend law school at Louisiana State University in 1974.

His wife Anne passed away in 1995. He is now an attorney in Atlanta who writes poetry from time to time.

Orrock left the paper around 1971. She did attend some planning meetings of The Bird’s second revival but was not heavily involved in the reincarnation. In 1986, Orrock won a seat in the Georgia House and has been there ever since.

This year, she is running for an open state Senate seat that incorporates the area running south from Lennox Square to Clayton County and encompasses much of the east side of Atlanta. Orrock was featured in an Atlanta Progressive News article recently, “Georgia at a Crossroads, Orrock Says.”

APN could not interview all the people who contributed to The Bird over the years because their numbers are great. And there was certainly a lot of history that has gone uncovered here, so let this be not the end but the beginning of our journey down memory lane.

Weinstock hopes the newest incarnation of The Bird will become as successful as the original.

Issues of The Bird from 1968 through 1976 are archived on microfilm in the Woodruff Library at Emory University and some hard copies are available through Emory’s rare manuscript section. This is an excellent historical resource highly recommended by APN.

From Atlanta Progressive News

–About the author: Jonathan Springston is a Staff Writer covering local issues for Atlanta Progressive News and may be reached at jonathan@atlantaprogressivenews.com

stomp rights

Community, feed your head, history

by Louis Clata

The New York Times – April 10, 1970

The world rights to “Stomp”, the multimedia protest musical environment entertainment, have been acquired by Michael Butler, producer of Hair.

Mr. Butler plans to present the show, now playing at Joseph Papp’s Public theater, on the West Coast next fall and then bring it to Broadway next season.  “Stomp” is the creation of a group of young, disaffected Southerners who met and developed the musical at the University of Texas and then came north with it.

The producer says that he is contemplating some changes in “Stomp” and will work on them in conjunction with Douglas Dyer.

The sale of the world rights to “Stomp” will not affect the show’s commitment to a four month festival tour in Europe under the auspices of the New York Shakespeare Festival.  The tour begins May 21 in Paris, where it will be presented for nine days as the American entry at the Festival of Nations.

Copyright The New York Times Company.  All rights reserved

Showdown on 11th

history, Rights

The Great Speckled Bird Vol3#8pg.4

 Showdown on 11th

showdownon11th People are putting the paper to bed Tuesday night when that old familiar call comes: “Pigs are busting people on 11th Street.” So our crack riot-trained team of reporters and photogs converge on the scene, to find: a big red fire truck, brandishing its fire hoses at a still (slightly) smoldering can of garbage; a Journal/Constitution, paper-box (Right On!) blocking the Peachtree entrance onto 11th; a small scattering of freaks (“Community People” we call them) hustling and bustling about in customary gaiety, exclaiming on the near riot; and the familiar voice of Harky (The Rev. Klinefelter)’first far away, then nearing and finally turning the corner of Peachtree onto llth.

 

The entire scene converges to a spot about a third of the way down the street, and the rap continues, Harky’s words about what you do when you get busted and who you should call and write all this down on the back of your hands so you won’t lose it but nobody has a pen, words punctuated by an occasional pop bottle thrown at random into the street, and Harky talks paranoid about “outsiders” throwing things to provoke the cops, maybe even paid outsiders, to give them the chance to bust heads (but they weren’t).

 

So, all things being normal, I begin asking individuals what happened prior to this happy time, and quickly piece together the basics: three plainclothesmen slipped into 127 11th Street and busted two people, presumably for grass though no one knew for sure. Curious folk gathered across the street to see what was going on, and the bluecoats started coming, hassling people to move on, to clear the streets before they got busted. No one seemed to know what started the arrests, but suddenly people were being grabbed and hustled into a waiting paddy wagon—thirteen in all, held on $100-200 bond for Stopping the Flow of Pedestrian Traffic, one of those bullshit charges trotted out once in a while to Take Care of Contingencies.

 

But meanwhile I am eyeballing about a dozen pigs snorting up on their three-wheelers (Whoopee!) and four black paddy wagons congregating with an equal number of cars kittycorner across Peachtree and everybody getting out and stretching their legs and flexing their arms and hitching up pants and things like that. So I walk down to where Harky is holding forth about how important it is to get badge numbers, because we can’t indict the Whole Force, we gotta get the bad eggs in the basket and I interrupt and say that this dark spot ain’t no good for a riot, how about folks going up on Peachtree, give the Cadillacs and curious Oldsmobiles a chance at a piece of the action in case there was to be some.

 

But the action is apparently over for the night, and instead we are treated to a display of the latest hippie-cooling-off tactics: congregate in a massive show of force, station a paddy wagon at every corner, then start patrolling the area in groups of five—two white cops in motorcycle helmets brandishing nightsticks and three black Task Force cops in soft headgear, just playing it cool, responding with a smile at any taunts. Five down this way, five down that way, five over there and the rest of you guys wait here.

 

Soon it is again Christmas calm on Peaehtree, and the Task Force captain is walking down the street, doling out popcorn from a blue box, and a narc in a blue suit and yellow tie is arguing with kids that, no he ain’t never been to Haight Street ’cause he don’t like California and no, he ain’t about to go to the East Village ’cause there’s too much snow in New York, and I am being offered purchase of various and sundry chemicals much like any other Tuesday night. Folks at the Community Center are receiving calls from the jail, taking down names and charges, arranging with lawyers and Detective Pate comes in and tries to buy some stamps and a girl bleeding from the mouth and crying stumbles through the door and say’s “Cass and Marty beat me up” and J. tells Pate about a friend of his who was busted for 100 pounds of grass and his buddies had to quick unload the other 200 pounds to get him out of jail.

All in all I analyze it as virtually a dry run for the summer. Better get it together, my friends.

-t.c.

Hassles

history, Lifestyles

Great Speckled Bird  June 22, 1970 Vol3#25pg2

There may still be a few folks around who believe that the cops in the hip community are our friends who are trying as best they can to protect us. If you still believe that, look carefully at what happened this week- end.

 On Friday night a group of kids had a good vibes gathering in the park. Some swam in the lake, others played drums. The gathering continued late into the night. Harkey Klinefelter, the “street minister” and Clarence Green the Mayor’s liaison man to hips, left at 3:30 a.m. About 4:30 a cop car came into the park, called for assistance, and began busting people. Eight freaks were busted for “creating a turmoil” and “use of profane language.”

 

Monday morning four of the eight showed up in Municipal Court. Two testified that they were leaving the park when a patrol car pulled up. They explained that they were on their way home. Cool. Then a few minutes later they were busted. Municipal Court Judge R. E. Jones found all four guilty and told them, “Y’all get this out of your system in the daytime.”

 

On Saturday night the management of Tom Jones’ Fish and Chips on the strip decided to give away free watermelon and stay open all night because of the kids in town for the Cosmic Carnival. A crowd of kids gathered inside the store and in front of it having a good time.

 

About 1:00 am Officer Snowden arrested High Pocket’s brother, Charley, for dancing in the store. That’s right — dancing. Last week the Fish & Chips folks asked for and received a permit for dancing. The permit itself hadn’t come in she mail yet, but the store manager had posted the minutes of the Police Alder- manic Committee showing the request on the wall next to the business license. When Charley was arrested manager John Wynn called the owner of the store Mr. Crenshaw. Crenshaw came and talked to Sgt. Bell who was in charge of the precinct station.

 

Bell refused to look at the minutes of the meeting posted on the wall. Although Charley was in jail, things seemed to have quieted down so Crenshaw went back home.

 

About 3:00 a.m. Snowden came back in with a number of cops and said that anyone dancing would be arrested. It looked like the shit was about to hit the fan so Wynn called Crenshaw again. Crenshaw came and was told to go to the precinct station to talk to Bell. The cops left but were back in ten minutes with a paddy wagon. Bongo was arrested. Charley who had just returned from the jail was arrested again. The store’s assistant manager, George Jones, was arrested in front where he had been picking up litter. Manager Wynn was arrested in the doorway of his store. A customer was arrested at the counter where he was buying a coke.. All the kids in front of the store were behind the line police had previously respected as the part of the side- walk kids could safely stand behind. In all, 21 arrests were made for loitering at 3:30 am on a deserted side- walk devoid of anyone who’s passage on the sidewalk could have possibly been blocked by the kids. One excuse of the cops was that the door to the store was blocked. No complaint was made by the management of Fish & Chips—on the contrary they were arrested.

 

The men were piled into one wagon, women in another. The door on the men’s wagon was shut and locked. Officer J.E. Witcher, badge number 2036, came up to the back window of the wagon and said, “Hey you motherfuckers, we’re going to really screw you.” He held up an aerosol can. Someone in the wagon said, “Is that a can of mace?” “No”, he replied, “I’ve got a nine foot dick full of piss,” and he emptied the entire can of mace into the wagon. The night before, the community patrol had complained to the precinct station that 2036 was harassing kids on the street. Capt. Baugh, head of the precinct, says that 2036 was assigned to paddy wagon duty in South Atlanta Saturday night. He promises an “investigation”. You bet!

 

In court Monday, Fish & Chips attorney, Stanley Nylen, defended all those arrested. The cops testified that they warned the kids that they would be arrested if they didn’t move. All the defendants agree that no such warning was given. One cop was asked by Nylen if he knew whether mace was used or not. He said he didn’t, that he had only heard some of the kids claim it had been sprayed. Those in the wagon remember that cop asking them as he leaned into the wagon at the precinct station to write the tickets, “What’s this that’s making my eyes water.”

 

Lunch time approached and only store manager Wynn had been able to testify for the defense. Judge Jones said that if all the defendants were going to testify he would postpone the case until the next day. With 21 people involved and knowing what the verdict would be anyway. Attorney Nylen felt he could not wait. Jones declared a recess to talk with Nylen and the cops. In recess Jones talked to the cops who said that Wynn and Jones had encouraged the kids in the store. In court they had said that they didn’t know Wynn and Jones were store employees. More lies. Jones came back and found everybody guilty. He suspended the fine of all except Wynn, Jones, Bongo, High Pockets (who’s black), Charley, and Fang. Fang was charged with four offenses. The cops tried to blame the whole thing on Fang, who protested the arrests. Nylen and the Fish & Chips people are appealing the convictions of Wynn, Jones and Fang.

 

According to Crenshaw, the Fish & Chips has been harassed by the police since it opened April 2. At various times of the day four or five cops will come in and hang around. There has never been trouble at the Fish & Chips, and they’ve never had to call the cops. Crenshaw charges the police with conspiring to put him out of business. At a press conference Tuesday, Crenshaw announced that he is filing suit against the city for interfering with his right to operate a business. Wynn and Jones intend to file criminal charges against Witcher for the assault with the mace.

 

 

 

Sunday night I was in the Fish & Chips talking With Bongo about the previous night’s big bust. After a while I left. A little later a girl came up to Bongo and said that five cops had been hassling her with talk like, “Where did you get those clothes?” and “Why don’t you wear a bra?” Bongo picked up his pad and pencil and said, “Let’s go get their badge numbers.” They first found Officer W. D. Osborne, who was standing in front of the Metro skin flick. Bongo went over and wrote down the badge number. Bongo said, “It’s people like you, brother, who give us trouble down here. I’ve got a press conference tomorrow, and I’d like to tell them about this and tell Mr. Green.” Gilbert Hinson, owner of the skin flick and head of the 10th Street Businessmen’s Association, was out front and he demanded that Bongo get off his private sidewalk property. Bongo left and went to take another cop’s badge number. Osborne came up and said very softly, “Don’t let me catch you off the strip.” Bongo, who has a way of remaining cooled out, said, “Did you hear that, people? He told me, ‘Don’t let me catch you off the strip.” Then Osborne motioned for Bongo to come over to him. That brought Bongo over the property line of the skin flick Henson shouted, “Arrest him for creating a turmoil.” Osborne grabbed Bongo and took him away through the theater. As they left Bongo shouted, “They’re arresting me for carrying a concealed weapon and it’s only a Boy Scout knife.” Apparently the cops found that the Scout knife was too short to be covered by that ordinance so they charged him with Hinson’s “creating turmoil.” At the jail. Bongo paid a collateral bond and was out of jail but still in the station. A call came saying “Hold Jenkins (Bongo) for additional charge; ” The additional charge was “criminal defamation, a state charge and Bongo spent Sunday night and Monday in jail.

 

In court Bongo told his story of what had happened. Father Gregory Santos of the runaway program, who was with Bongo, testified and corroborated his story. But the cops and Hinson testified that Bongo had accused Osborne of making improper remarks to a woman and had threatened him with, “We have ways of taking care of people like you.” The judge, Jones again, ignored the testimony of Santos and that of Bongo. Accusing Bongo of “attempting to intimidate, the officer and threatening him,” Jones found him guilty on the turmoil charge and bound him over to state court on the defamation charge. Jones said that Bongo should have made a complaint about the cop to the police and the city instead of exposing the cop to “hate and ridicule.” Attorney Al Horn pointed out that that was precisely what Bongo was trying to do in getting the badge numbers, but Jones would not listen.

 

Three harassment busts, three sets of convictions in municipal court where simple justice is never found. Cop 2036 will at most be simply suspended from the force for a few days and I’ll lay bets even that won’t happen.

 

Nobody’s talking peace and love on the strip anymore. No one should. Instead kids are trying to figure out ways to protect themselves from the cops. Apparently somebody began on Friday night. According to rumors on the strip (I was unable to locate any eyewitnesses), a couple of guys were stopped for a grass bust. Apparently one shouted to some passersby, “Hey, can’t you help a brother?” Some did and in the next few minutes one cop was knocked out and the other cop had shot in the leg a guy who was crossing the street. One story says that the cop was knocked out when he hit his head trying to tackle somebody. At any rate, it seems that some freaks helped their brothers resist an illegitimate arrest. Expect more.

 —gene guerrero, jr.

 

Piedmont Park history

Community, history, Politics

The Great Speckled Bird Oct 19, 1970 vol3 #47 pg. 12-13

piedmontoldThe Piedmont Park of today began with the “Cotton States International Exposition of 1895.” The land, purchased from the Gentlemen’s (now Piedmont) Driving Club, was first used for a local event. “The Piedmont Exposition” in 1887 prepared the way for what became a world’s fair of its day.

The Exposition was a project of the South’s young white men-on-the-go who were working to industrialize the South in the North’s image. Many of today’s native white Atlantans look back nostalgically on the Exposition as an example of how Atlanta used to be able to get things done even in the most difficult times.

Atlanta and the South did overcome the effects construction with some bootstrap-tugging and a lot of help from Northern capitalists, particularly the railroad interests. The removal of the remaining Northern troops from the South in 1877 had sealed the fate of the newly “emancipated” blacks. The Exposition announces to the world that the South had made it. The Exposition was basically a trade fair ushering in heavy Northern capital like the textile industry, which for years would exploit Southern workers.

But not everything had been smoothed out by 1895. The Exposition needed financial support. To hold the Exposition it was essential that the U.S. Government make an investment. To convince a still northern Republican Congress to appropriate $200,000 for the Exposition and a Government Building, a committee of Blacks was formed and plans for a Negro Building were made. Congress was not hard to convince by that time and the money was appropriated..

So on opening day, in the auditorium at the top of the steps leading down to the Grand Plaza (now the athletic field), Booker T. Washington made his “Five Fingers” address, arguing that blacks and whites should remain socially as separate as the fingers on a hand, laying the basis for his later differences with a militant professor at Atlanta University, W.E.B. DuBois. The Exposition’s report describes how “a veritable era of good feeling between the white and black was ushered in by the Exposition.”It didn’t work out that way. Jim Crow laws were instituted throughout the South during this period, and Atlanta had “race riots” in the early 1900’s.

The Exposition was a grand affair. Gondolas and “electric launches” plied the waters of the lake. John Philip Sousa’s band played every day in the auditorium. The Liberty Bed was brought down from Philadelphia and placed on exhibit. In the Midway the first motion picture theater in this country did business as “living pictures” and Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show performed in the southeast corner of the park.

The Exposition defined the park to come. The contours of today’s park were shaped by the chain gangs that labored for months preparing for Expo-95. The Grand Plaza became the athletic field, the foundation of the Manufactures Building became the tennis courts. Midway Heights and the Wild West area became the golf course, and the central terrace became the steps by the pavilion.

The City purchased the grounds in 1904 over the objections of some who argued that it was too far from town. By extending the city boundaries in the same year, the city fathers effectively silenced those opponents. During the years 1909-1910 the Exposition grounds were converted into the park, which today remains pretty much the same as it was then.

Now the Atlanta Parks Department has developed a master plan for the renovation of she park in keeping with its “Atlanta Parks and Recreation Plan-Projection 1983” recommendations.

The staff of the parks department has good intentions. Trouble is that Atlanta over the years has fallen far behind national park standards. Based on minimal standards, Atlanta has less than half the park acreage it needs. Over the past few years the Parks Department has been shaping up. A greenhouse complex was built in Piedmont Park, an arborist came on staff, the staff worked hard.

Then came Ivan Allen’s dream-The Atlanta Stadium. To obtain financing for the project the City agreed to guarantee the stadium bonds. The money to guarantee the bonds was taken from the Parks Improvement Fund. One half the fund-about $480,000 has been taken every year except fiscal 1969 and the chances are that it will continue to be lost to the Parks Department.

 Jack Delius. General Manager of Parks, has appealed to the Aldermanic Ordinance and Legislation Committee to request that the State Legislature increase Parks Improvement Fund, but so far nothing done. So the Parks department dues the best it can with limited resources to implement its vision of 1983.

So that means that the Piedmont Park Master Plan does not really fall in line with its 1983 projections. The report describes Piedmont Park as the only park in the city which “offers a large land area for unstructured leisure time use.” The report recognizes that one of the more common uses of a park is “simply the pleasure of getting away from traffic, buildings and others characteristics to enjoy strolling along wooded walks among trees and in fields or rowing a boat across a pond.” In fact the plan calls for the creation of four other large parks in the city to provide open space for “unstructured leisure time.”

But if the City’s Master Plan is put into effect as it stands, most of Piedmont Park’s usable “leisure time” space will be destroyed. The plan will create a central zone full of structures, parking lots, and program activities, areas bounded on the south by a pretty golf course, inaccessible to all but a few golfers, and a beautiful forest to the north, untouched by the plan but still used by a relatively few persons.

piedmonttoday Two of the main features of the plan should be implemented immediately. The Parks Department would like to close the park to cars and provide inexpensive bicycle rental to those who prefer wheels to foot. Boat rental is planned on the lakes, which are eventually to be connected with a bridge.

The problem is that the plan calls for lots of parking when the streets are closed. Land adjacent to the park is regarded as too expensive; another idea, to build underground parking under the tennis courts was rejected for the same reason. So parking is planned for the eastern and northern shores of the swimming lake, the area between the Legion Post and the 14th Street Gate, and the area around the greenhouses. That’s a hell of a lot of the park’s best “leisure time” space.

Is it wise to plan extensive parking in a central park along major traffic arteries in a city which must develop effective mass transportation? Is parking needed when office parking lots along nearby Peachtree Street stand empty over the weekends? What’s the sense of closing the park streets to cars if they are going to be sitting on parking lots inside the park?

The free and open athletic field will be lost in the plan. A new $387,000 softball tournament facility was to have been built this year in the southern end of the field. The city has an extensive softball program which serves many people. More lighted diamonds are needed. But tournament facilities are used for tournaments only one week out of the year and the complex will fence in over half of the athletic field. Perhaps the softball teams could get by with lights on all the diamonds and portable grandstands which would allow for other uses than just softball? Maybe the softball complex is one thing which could easily be located on other city property? In fact, the Atlanta Civic Design Commission, an advisory group, has come out against the complex, suggesting that it might be located at Lakewood Park. Apparently work on the complex (if it stays in the park) would probably not begin until next winter.

Also on the athletic field is to be a large swimming pool facility to replace the swimming lake. The Health Department says that the present facilities do not meet its requirements because there is no continuous filtration or automatic chlorination. The combination of the pool and softball facilities will mean little or no space for kite flying, informal sports, or music concerts.

To replace the present swimming facilities a waterside concert area is planned with a shell stage out over the water and seating for 1500—2000 where the present concession building stands. A smaller amphitheater is projected for the west end of the fishing lake near the 12th Street entrance.

 A restaurant and sidewalk cafe will be located along the north shore of the fishing lake. If they were reasonably priced that might not be too bad, except that very nice free space is destroyed. Then at the 14th Street entrance a gym and recreation center will be built. Both should be established in this community, both are needed-but perhaps not in the park.

The master plan is preliminary, subject to change. But three projects—softball complex, gym, and pool have been approved by the Aldermanic Parks Committee, although only funds for the softball complex have been allocated. No community or public hearings have been held on either the master plan or the three approved projects. According to Delius, hearings of some sort are planned this winter. The Bird will keep you informed of developments in the Park. When hearings are held we’ll let you know so you can attend. If they are not held we’ll let you know so you can raise hell. The park should not be lost to this community. It’s too important.

—gene guerrero

Universal Life Piedmont Park Music Festival

Community, Festivals

The Great Speckled Bird Vol 2, #  oct 27, 1969

thebirdback

FRIDAY AFTERNOON was almost frightening all those big names, the abruptness of the pop festival’s appearance, the overall speculative nature of this ambitious musical venture and when we got over to the park, there was only a small crowd and some folk singer type running through a Dylan (new) imitation of “Lay Lady Lay.” The portable toilets on the ball field looked desolate in their isolation. Nothing looked good about the scene, and Frank Hughes of the Electric Collage light show was saying over and over, “Everybody’s wrecked!”

Then, miraculously, it happened. The Allman Brothers appeared on stage and began their set a familiar set of blues pieces, long, hard improvisations worked on a tight rhythmic foundation. “I’m Gonna Move To The Outskirts Of Town,” Donovan’s “There Is A Mountain,” one from their new album on Atco which might be called “I Feel Like I’m Dyin’,” some fantastic slide guitar from Duane Aliman on an excel lent arrangement of “Statesboro Blues,” and much more. One of the best exponents of where young pop music is at today, the Allman Brothers got the audience moving and initiated the festival atmosphere that had been absent up until that time.

The crowd was still small by sundown, but it was grooving and becoming larger all the time. We had just begun to realize that the night would be quite cold, but the idea of a pop festival in winter weather seemed oddly appealing (for once a tightly packed audience made some sense). The hippie/freak audience was there, a few straights, some familiar community winos, plus many, many new faces. One short fat fannie dug the music and the people; she thrust her dancing figure up front whenever possible and moved in and around the crowd with a beautiful smile on her face. A wonderful old wino with the face of a leprechaun put down his weather beaten suitcase and umbrella and asked her to dance with him, proceeding to demonstrate his own talents in a Wonderlandish dervish. Soon, everyone was in good spirits.

The band that followed included The Second Coming guitarist from Florida, plus the brilliant, beautiful bass work of John Ivey, and vocals and harp by Atlanta’s Wayne Lackidisi. The lead guitarist was into an erotic contortion bit (he turned in a better performance Sunday), and while Lackidisi’s screaming vocals sum up what is either the best or “the worst of white blues singing (depending on whether you like it or not), some of his harmonica contributions were exciting indeed.

The performance by Joe South in Piedmont Park should have been a major musical event; instead it was a fiasco. South appeared on stage with a trio of accompanists that looked like a Southern Velvet Underground (the suit South was wearing looked like silver velvet). There was an immediate reaction from the audience, one of suspiciousness and distaste from some, amusement from others. To say that a threat to the communal spirit did not exist for a moment would be a lie. South does not relate to the immediate experience of the Atlanta left/hip community in the same way that, for example, the Hampton Grease Band does, and the shiny, luxuriant exterior of the studio talent was perhaps too much in evidence, and with no conditioning for the audience. At the same time, Joe South is unquestionably one of the finest songwriters in all of pop music. We don’t think of him as a performer (though he is a brilliant one), but we are all familiar with his songs through the Top 40. Teenybopper purists who label his three minute pop songs “commercial” and relate to the twenty minute blues extravaganzas of the Allman Brothers as anything other than commercial simply create a false dichotomy between a business oriented around 45 rpm singles and a business built on the 33 1 /3 rpm album. Joe South and the Allman  Brothers are merely extensions of the same pop music experience, and they both make some fantastic music in their own areas.

Unfortunately, the sound system was fucked up throughout South’s entire set, and in the middle of one song, the power cut off altogether. South’s excellent vocal style was lost, some of the best lyrics ever to come out of modern country could hardly be heard, and what could have been some exciting guitar work by South was wasted on electronic distortion and noise. South was trying his best to get through “Hush,” “Redneck” (on the new Pacific Gas & Electric album), “Don’t You Wanna Go Home?” a hymn to the Atlanta community called “Gabriel,” and one of the best pop songs ever “Games People Play.” Aside from some attempts at humor that were often misdirected, a female vocalist whose raucous, out of tune shouting al most ruined what little music the South group managed to force through the faulty sound system, and a certain lack of acceptance from some in the crowd, it was good to hear this musical genius in our own park, and it is hoped that the event can happen again under better circumstances.

Considering the formidable musical achievements of Joe South, his last words “Thanks for putting up with us” seemed incredibly ironic. At this time in our development of a youth culture, we need all the bridges we can get, and Joe South may very well be the most important bridge between white country music and black blues and pop that we have. Certainly if one listens to his album Intercept, he will get one of the most all inclusive statements of the Southern hip youth experience available anywhere.

 Mother Earth followed South, and again the sound hassles seemed insurmountable. Tracy Nelson was there guzzling bourbon and turning what were probably exciting vocals on “Wait,” “You Win Again,” and a couple of others. She didn’t sing often enough for me in any of the sets in which Mother Earth performed. Boz Scaggs, an excellent guitarist but a largely uninspired vocalist, did some bluesy numbers and an “I Shall Be Released” that didn’t stir up anybody too much. The bassist was featured on a song that he wrote, and the pianist/ organist was the dominant voice on the closing number by Bobby Blue Bland. All in all not very heavy, but the things they did on Saturday with a functioning sound system were a more accurate demonstration of how good this band can be.

Frank Hughes’ Electric Collage light show, one of the finest anywhere, was in operation during the ill-fated Joe South performance, and even though the temperature went way down into the forties, people were grooving, and the loud applause that followed South’s exit from the stage showed that we were prepared to be patient and understanding while the hassles were being worked out.

Dope was everywhere. Various people made announcements (including some absurd compliments on our “peacefulness”), pleas for donations of $1, and at one point Robin Conant asked if we wanted a ballroom in Atlanta. Friday was filled with intimations that much more is going on at these musical events than can be confined within the boundaries

Of Piedmont Park. One hell of a lot of work was put into this park music festival; a lot of people deserve a lot of credit; and just as in the past, the community must support the developing music scene in Atlanta by its involvement. Whether we have a music of community, or end up as merely another link in a capitalist chain of “music” entrepreneurs is up to us.

-miller francisJr.

Saturday

Once more into the tentative temple of Atlanta Aquarians, to the ritual womb of the New Age, to get together, to let our music pour over and through us, hopefully like bonding cement same thing churches sometimes still pretend to be about to weld a communist whole, energized to sustain the struggle to smash the atomizing force working to pry us apart. To dig, that is, some music with the Family.

Crystal-blue day, throbbing (not baking) warmth, folks lolling around on the grass. Hand Band just finishing up (“Apologize for doing other people’s stuff, but it’s a fine tune.” Right on.) Comes now from Macon, GA, the Boogie Chillun, setting up their paste-on flower bedecked drums, testing their l-2s, then Thh-wanng! Into their opening/warm-up number like they knew what they were doing. They did. (Their bass man too far into it to perform “intelligently” he just let his fingers follow the rest of his body, which made the axe a supportive appendage of his total investment in his music. Fine.) Much excited appreciation of their vocalist’s copy of Led Zeppelin’s “I Can’t Quit You, Baby.” A copy is a copy, but Boogie Chillun‘s a young band, still putting it together, still, I felt, trying to “prove” something, still “performing” “for” an “audience,” instead of working with us to get off a tribal celebration. But. That’s how bands grow together.

Like Lee Moses. Four black bluesmen who both presented and built upon that genre. Lee Moses on lead guided all of us on a guided tour of the mysteries of the guitar, excitement modulator: advancing and retarding the frenzy building across the grass, until one incendiary riff jerked us to our feet, there to remain until the set concluded, we reluctant, but also relieved from concentration of energy that might have spilled us over our permit-bordered reservation (that’s a no-no). Nor was Lee Moses THE show never having seen the group before, we were several minutes into the set before I knew for sure who Lee Moses was one sign of a together group. Because the denimmed rhythm man toured his own force with a rendition of Tony Bennett’s classic (just-named-that-city’s-official-song) “I Left My Heart In San Francisco.” Not a song, though, not a performance, but an invitation to take a trip. (“If you wanna go, clap your hands, clap your hands now, clap!” We did.) Chanting the intro (Bennett never thwumped a crowd the way this guy did), and then rocketing into an improvised delivery of the (same old, but not really) lyrics, and we were there (that may have been what yanked us off our collective ass). Yeah, fine group-let’s hear’em s’more.

Then 1 split for dinner, despite Hampton Grease Band, who were, I understand, extreeeeeemely greezy, thwacking the skulls of the straight voyeurs with “Gimme an E G G S: EGGS!” (Whaduzitmean, whaduzitwmean?? Suck you ), and putting the Mobe leaflets distributed on the fringe of the park (dig?) to fine functional use the airplanes still filling the air long after I returned just in time to hear the Allman Brothers launch their own airplane.

Which circled for about forty-five minutes before coming down for a landing, hearing occasional reports from the control tower about topographical conditions (“First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is”), and cooking up a fine in-flight meal of intricate interplay, lead bass-rhythm organ, spiced occasionally with individual riffs. Hard number to top, but the rest of the set demonstrated what has been known and said well: the Allmans lay down fine, solid, gimmick-free sounds that do indeed work on you, if not as evocatively as Lee Moses (or the Hampton Grease Band), certainly as thoroughly Before Mother Earth the day’s last rap for funds (how to solve the dilemma: either admission charges or sugar daddies. The festival itself an attempt at synthesis: $1 donation, but when I dropped my buck into the box the attendant responded with “Far out,” like maybe not too many dollars were dropping the final balance sheet on the festival will be most instructive, and, I fear, sad) and a check to make sure most of us had got off (on?). ‘Feared we had.

Then an improvised Mother Earth, short I  understand, some personnel with Boz Scaggs added. Interesting-combination, creating a multi- focus group like Crosby et. al. or Blind Faith. Scaggs, and Toad Andrews traded off the lead, and the group changed coloration accordingly. As it also did, understandably, when Tracy Nelson, sang, the sound pouring from her mouth caked with clay, and oozing the richness of a stout young taproot. They were about the  transcendence of atomized clouds, the building of  power that occasionally thundered over us Saturday in sheets of undifferentiated energy. And when it all came down to borrow from the group’s title song), it was about the basics of life: love, sound health (“I Don’t Need No Doctor”), and making do.

The festival ended Saturday night at 10; permit ran out. But suppose it had not. Then why end at all?

(Concluding park-generated fantasy: how to make revolution. Suppose, I dreamed, enough groups got together to maintain continuous music beyond the saturation point. Two, three, four solid days. So that people could leave satiated, not fearing that they would miss anything/too tired to care. But leaving with the desire to keep it going, for what is more worthwhile, fulfilling, rewarding fuck it, FUN, than a festival? Not, of course, simply for the music, but for the communal consciousness: the shared joint, the freely given and received) food, the common caring for each other. And so people leave just to re- turn, but with sustenance for the festival. Bring back food, or dope, or bread for the generator. Take a job for two days, rap (automatically, unconsciously) on the job about the festival, come back, bringing three new freaks from work. Extrapolate extend the vision, so that ever more complex tasks are perceived and done to keep it going. So that the tribal existence is carried beyond the festival site; all life is viewed through the lens of the festival; all tasks are performed in order to get back to the festival, bringing something with you: food for ten folks, dope for 20, $40 for the electricity. Then it gets too big, so groups break off, start a new tribal campground, and it builds and grows organically, as revolution must in a country which is controlled in no one place, simplistic “Marxist” analysis to the contrary not withstanding. Until the old folks disappear bemusedly, and nobody wants to be PresidentGovernorSenator- MayorPig, and the whole world is a rock festival.

But.)

The permit did expire.

 -Greg Gregory

 Sunday

SUNDAY: after almost two entire days of a fucked up sound system, Sunday’s concert was a pleasure to listen to. The crowd, although sparse early in the day grew to several thousand by nightfall, and still exhibited its beautiful spirit of sharing, with much free grass and fruit circulating.

The old “star” system prevailed, and the local groups played during the afternoon. First to play was Radar, who sounded good for two reasons: one, the sound system was functioning properly, and two (more important), their material was enjoyable. After two days of almost all blues, good old rock and roll was a welcome relief. And they played it well, seeming to enjoy it as much as the crowd did. Only fault of this popular local group was a drum solo which seemed to be added on as an after-thought, especially because no other members of the group did soloes.

Following Radar came an unimpressive, but nice jam session, with the lead guitarist of The Second Coming, the bassist and drummer of the Allman Brothers, and organist and harmonica player of Mother Earth.

Next, the incredible Hampton Grease Band. Saturday they had destroyed the audience with their playing, and Sunday was no different. Playing a great version of “Wolverton Mountain” among their numbers, they again finished up only to have the audience bring them back for an encore with chants of “More, More!” After a set by an unknown Black group, came The Sweet Younguns. Unfortunately this group has been hung up playing too many high school and college dances, with the resulting Top 40 commercial sound demanded by these events. But Sunday night they proved that they have great potential, and given the proper environment to explore this potential, they could become a really first-class group. Their excellent singing and playing are already quite evident. Also they possessed some of the finest equipment seen and heard during the festival, and they used it effectively.

 Lee Moses returned to play again, after a really exciting performance Saturday. Their fine blues playing was one of the most popular acts of the weekend, and included an incredible version of “Love Is Blue” as well as “Hey, Joe” and some other more traditional blues numbers in the style of B. B. King. Real blues, and really singing the blues as well! And a real mind-blower for a finish a young boy about 10 or so came out on stage to play drums on Moses’ last number, and quite well, too!

Finally nighttime, but sadly no light show. Especially sad because Friday night’s show was the Electric Collage at their best. But the Allman Brothers made up for it. Little more can be said about them, other than the fact that only The Grateful Dead in Piedmont Park have generated the same energy that was created Sunday night. The whole experience was highlighted by a lovely girl dancing beautifully on stage.

And so ended Sunday night, but not before two couples were married on stage by a minister of the Universal Life Church, as a finishing touch to the Piedmont Park Music Festival.

-Charlie Cushing

Cultural stomp

Community, feed your head, history

The Great Speckled Bird Sept 8,1969 vol. 2 #26 pg. 15

Cultural stomp

stompAtlanta theater has been dying a painful death for the past several years. And Atlanta audiences have been suffering from cultural deprivation. But Michael Howard, director of the Alliance Theater is taking a step to improve the situation.

On September 6, a group of young people from Austin, Texas, is giving Atlanta an opportunity to witness what may be part of the rebirth of theater.

Mixed media-a live rock band, film, song, audience-actor participation—is combined with the story of a kind of Everykid in the new and exciting way of communicating what these young people are trying to say.stomp

“Stomp” is an experiment in communal Theater. Under the direction of Douglas Dyer, the “Stomp” cast has been living and working together since the play was first created. Although it uses a tightly structured plotline, it is also an experiment in breaking down the antiquated isolationism of the audience and drawing the audience into participation. It is an experiment in speaking with eyes, hands, minds—not just stage voices. It is an experiment in which Atlanta audiences must participate in order to understand.

If this new, relevant, real theater is to survive, people must open their minds and support it by involving themselves in the experiment and remembering it.

Opening Saturday, September 6, at 8:30 p.m. Be there and be open.

—Pam gwin

Bucky Wetherell was with STOMP.  Listen to his interview.

stompad

STOMP!, written and directed by Douglas Dyer, in the crypt of the Mausoleum for the Arts.

Nothing is so flaccid as an idea whose time has come and gone. The idea for Hair was timely conceived, executed, and fully realized. Stomp! is an almost-frank attempt to exploit the concept of Hair, to resonate to its sounds, and to reproduce the responses to it. Stomp! is too tiny in conception and too weak in execution: it is almost a tiptoe.

The performers are young, from the University of Texas, where the show started as a campus production. They try hard and are almost enthusiastic most of the time. I, too, tried hard. I really worked to believe. In the end 1 could not believe; the show said nothing to me. 1 kept the beat of the music even when (most of the time) I could not hear the words. The words I heard eddied around in an intellectual circle, in the service of no central conception.

The message of the show is purportedly revolution, but it is an all-purpose revolution, one uniting or deceiving everyone and no-one: the clichés of brotherhood, war-resistance, sexual liberation, and left liberalism. In the end you stand on the lawn outside, the Experience past and quite meaningless to you.

Some of the media things come off; some of the people are obviously very good people; some of the ideas were very good ideas and now entitled to a dignified old age. These do not make a play. Go. It only costs $3. Try very hard, and see how hard you can work, without direction, to accomplish nothing.

– Morris brown

stompheldThe Bird wails: “Atlanta theater has been dying a  painful death for the past several years.” But hail the new hero: Michael Howard comes. Stomp in hand. offering a mixed-media novelty.

But that is all wrong. Theater has been dying/not in Atlanta but in the West, the same painful death that all culture must undergo before revolutionary rejuvenation or eternal mummification. The best of it, the Living Theatre, Che, are merely crumbs from the grand repast of the future at best or a safety-valve offering moments of escape from an eternity of perversity.

Nor did the theater ever die in Atlanta: it was never alive here to begin with! Not, at least, in the grand sense, but only in the form of a few experimental fragments most notably at the Academy Theater and, lest we forget, Arthur Burghardt’s efforts in Dutchman. True, Atlanta has built an imposing mausoleum for a never-was theater as part of the High Museum, ranking just below Rich’s as an architectural wonder. Stomp, then, may he fine despite the company it keeps. But the real theater cannot be reborn where it never lived, certainly not in the High Museum. Theater must be now where the people are: there, out there, at work, at play, at war, at death, at hunger. In the streets: guerilla to date, not too successful here, despite tremendous success elsewhere, but that’s where it’s at or got to be at. Not the Atlanta Pop Festival, but the aftermath in Piedmont Park was the real. Not what the people from Austin can do on the stage, but what we all do here: that’s real. Possible scenarios: Riot on Fourteenth Street, Layout on Bird Night, Park Scene on Sunday, County Jail, etc. In fact, they’re all being staged, again and again, nor is there any danger of a future takeover alienating the spontaneous culture from the community by the activities of culture sharks a la [Steve] Cole. It’s ours, because we live it.

Ted Brodek

Stomp Vamped!

Community, history

The Great Speckled Bird May 3, 1971 Vol. 4 #18 pg. 5

Stomp Vamped! 

stompburnIt appears that artists in Atlanta will have to look to the State for approval of their creations or else subject their work to later censorship.

Stomp, a rock musical with social and political content, has been threatened with mass and repeated prosecutions if certain scenes were not taken out of the production.

The people involved in Stomp, known as The Combine, decided to perform two nude scenes in the show with clothes on until they could, along with  their ACLU attorney, Morris Brown, decide on an action to take against the Georgia law being used to censor their production.

Jack C. McEntire, Captain of the Atlanta Police Department and William Baer Endictor, Esq., Assistant Solicitor General of the Criminal Court of Fulton County, told Alex Cooley, producer of Stomp, that if an objectionable scene was restored to the show, the Atlanta police would arrest everyone connected with the show, including “the man who cuts the grass,” and all would be prosecuted.

One of the nude scenes in the unadulterated show is “the birth” in which a woman is naked from the waste up. The other scene is “the river.” An actor described the scene as being involved with nature as closely and purely as possible which requires removing clothes. Neither scene is obscene or lewd.

The law threatening Stomp is S26-2105, enacted July 1. It states:

(a) Every person who, during the course of a play, night club act, motion picture, television production or other exhibition, or mechanical reproduction of ^human conduct, engages in conduct which would be public indecency under Code section 26-2011 if performed in a public place, shall be guilty of participation in indecent exposure and upon conviction, shall be punished as for a misdemeanor.

b) Every person who procures, counsels or assists any person to engage in such conduct or who knowingly exhibits or procures, counsels or assists in the exhibition of a motion picture, television production or other mechanical reproduction containing such conduct shall be guilty of a misdemeanor. ” (thus the grass cutter)

The vagueness of this law threatens everyone’s participation in the creation and exhibition of art.

The Combine, believing this law to be unconstitutional and one in a series of political harassments, has begun a class action to enjoin local law enforcement officials from enforcing this law until its constitutionality can be tested. The plaintiffs are: Alex Cooley, producer, Elizabeth Herring, Ronnie MacKey, representing the Combine, and M.E.Johnson, Jr., a private citizen who feels his rights are being denied by the censoring of the play. No hearing date has been set.

Although The Combine performed the nude scenes clothed on Friday night, they had decided to do the scenes naked on Tuesday night. The Combine could be protected temporarily from arrest if they performed the nude scenes by a restraining order or temporary injunction. If they failed to get a permanent injunction, The Combine could be busted on past shows performed with the nude scenes.

The Combine started out in Feb., 1969 at the University of Texas in Austin. They traveled with the show (then Now The Revolution) to Houston, Atlanta, New York and 16 performances in Europe, including the Dubrovnik Festival in Yugoslavia and the Edinburgh Festival in England. The show was televised in Scotland, Amsterdam, and taped in Munich for European distribution. All this without political or social hassle.

After returning to the U.S., the Combine chose to return to the south and play in Atlanta.

On Friday night the main concern of the Combine ‘ was whether or not to do the nude scenes. On Sunday, everything was changed. At 4:57 am, a fire alarm was called in for 3156 Peachtree Rd.—the site of Stomp’s theatre. In about an hour, the building was destroyed. Lieutenant Lester who handled the fire said: it “burned so completely that I can’t tell (how the fire started)—we don’t even know if the fire was lit.” –

Alex Cooley, however, believes that the fire was set. He said that the building was wired by electrical contractors, inspected by the city and approved by a master electrician. He added that the electricity was turned off each night at a master switch; there was no gas in the building. In fact, there was no utility going into the building except water.

He said that the last person left the building at 10:45 pm and it was unlikely that the fire started by spontaneous combustion.

On Monday afternoon, the gutted church was being torn down because it was a “dangerous construction,” Lester said. “It may help us really, when the building gets torn down. . .we will look into it as it’s being torn down.”

Since coming to Atlanta, the Combine has been hassled with dog complaints, health complaints, nudity complaints, the threat of losing children, and have now lost their stage!

All was destroyed in the fire—props, music and instruments, and lighting. And the Combine had no insurance. But they are looking for a place to perform again and will improvise whatever they have to; Then they will take up the fight with the state again.

—Lucia droby

Allman Brothers meet Atlanta!

history, The Allman Brothers Band

 

A Personal story of May 11, 1969.

Upon first seeing the Allman Brothers Band, an interracial rock and roll band from the heart of segregated, reactionary Georgia not only calling themselves brothers, but acting like it, Miller Francis of The Great Speckled Bird put Duane on the cover with the words: “There are times when it’s easy to think that the rock and roll musician is the most militant, subversive, effective, whole, together, powerful force for radical change on this planet; other times you know it’s true. “

Georgia State University’s Library has this issue of the Bird available as a pdf. here.

The Great Speckled Bird

Vol 2 # 11 April 19, 1969

by Miller Francis

duane

The Allman Brothers play a form of what some might want to call “hard blues” but that term merely relates their music to what we already recognize and accept as valid; it says nothing of their real achievements. What informs their creation is not black music but the experience of young white tribesmen in experiencing black music. After all. Ray Charles, and what he means, is a crucial part of the lives of this new generation of non-blacks. Thus black music can be approached creatively by our musicians if the jumping off place is our experience of that music rather than the music itself.

 

EPSON scanner imageQuote of the Week:

Policeman, after complimenting Barry for getting together such a pleasant, orderly crowd, “You can stay in the park all night for all we care.”

A leaflet drawn up by our “leader” says “Last week we were attacked. Some of us were shot. We were jailed, the culprits have not been caught The police did not and have never protected us” yet the same self-appointed “leader” personally takes it upon himself to represent the community by asking “permission” from the same power structure which exploits us, permission to listen to music which belongs to us, permission to meet together in a park which also belongs to us! The Man can’t bust our music. -don’t count on it.

Definition of MUSIC AS POWER. A perfectly straight middle-aged man stood near the band in the park Sunday, mesmerized for two hours at sounds which took him places he never knew existed. After the band took a break, his remark, more than a little unconvincing even to him as he said it, was, “That’s just a lot of noise. ” He knows things he doesn’t know he knows, and the character of our generation is determined by just those things.

 EPSON scanner imageRock & Roll, our New Music, is sound for the head and body, orchestrated, electric, cosmic music that will rip you up by your corporate America roots and set you down just inside the Gates of Eden outside of which, we’ve known for some time now, there are no truths. You don’t, can’t, “listen” to the Allman Brothers; you feel it, hear it, move with it, absorb it, you “let it out and let it in” (the Beatles) and enter into an experience through which you are changed. You catch a glimpse of the kind of world we are becoming and you know more than ever the horrendous load of bullshit we’ll have to drop off on the way in order to give birth to that kind of world.

 A rampant fear of the mythical dragon of “Communism” (a la J. Edgar), nourished and fed by the power structure, flows throughout the hip community of Atlanta like a poison fragmenting us, blocking any efforts at organization, and our self-appointed “leader” holds up an SDS button, and says, “I transcend this.”

EPSON scanner imageTHE ALLMAN BROTHERS

Duane Allman-Guitar & Vocal

Gregg Allman-Lead Vocal & Organ

Berry Oakley-Bassist

Butch Trucks-Drums

Dickey Betts-Guitar

Jai Johnny Johnson-Drums

 Class prejudice the whole “redneck” concept—destroys the community from within, rendering it impotent, and our “leader” organizes us around contempt for the working man.EPSON scanner image

The Colony 400 monster rises in our very midst, attempting to determine how we will live our lives, and our self-appointed “leader” tell us hat “fear” and “paranoia” are our only enemies.

 

The Allman Brothers from Macon, Georgia, are a fantastically together group of young rock and roll musicians whose music draws as heavily from the blues: as the experience of young white tribesmen can without exploiting its source—a few steps farther and you get a merely talented farce like Johnny Winter. Since our generation is tribal, totally unlike our parents and grandparents and their parents, it is only natural that we would turn to the black man, whose tribal roots go so much deeper and do not have thousands of years of bullshit “civilization” to cut them off from these roots, for forms with which to relate to the new world. image020The history of the black man in America is the history of tribal man in an alienated, fragmented, capitalistic, literate, industrial, “I”-oriented culture; young people are simply showing good sense when they attempt to co-opt black culture (just as the dying order desperately attempts to put its stamp on the culture of its youth)—but creating and redefining our own culture in terms of the new space-age tribalism is the crucial struggle and follows as naturally from where we are at now as Grace Slick follows Patti Page. The blues, the entire complex of music which has come out of the experience of the black man in America, belongs to forms and patterns and relationships to experience of which we now have only the tiniest fraction of an inkling (even that is a hell of a lot). The black man’s blues (whether manifested in Lightnin’ Hopkins or Smokey Robinson and the Miracles) flows out of him while our “blues” is wrenched out bloody like a prematurely pulled tooth. image022Contrast the shouting subtleties and the rock- like soul of a Mahalia Jackson with the strained histrionics of a Janis Joplin (who, somewhere down under her package, probably does have some soul of her own). Art is not a product, it is a process: the blues—whether country or urban, acoustic or electric, raw or commercial -cannot be copied from records or concerts or books on black culture. The musical language of the black man cannot be co-opted simply because it happens to be powerful and sings of things we are just now recognizing as more valid than what we have been hung up in for centuries. Our music must develop its own power, its own forms, its own patterns of relationship with our tribal roots and our space-age technology in an unbroken line all the way down into our preliterate origins and all the way out into unknown galaxies.EPSON scanner image

The Allman Brothers know all this, and a lot more.

 

What we find in Piedmont Park on Sundays is a celebration of the awareness of the tribal experience. It in no way resembles the mass media bullshit image of the Haight-Ashbury community of “hippies” living like stoned zombie children off the sweat of others; it is an integrated collectivity of many different kinds of people intermeshed in an unbroken psychic web that transcends class, color, age and sex, and makes all of these things meaningful only within the context of the struggle to crush the power structure that stifles all of us.

 image014The “political” manifestation of the Sunday Piedmont Park experience undid everything the music had built up. The sounds produced a together, militant, upright, powerful group of people involved in a psychic community struggling to become physical, to become “political” in the largest sense of the term. The politics of the “open” microphone is the equivalent of a band in which only a “lead” guitarist is amplified-it belongs to the past along with “teachers” and “employers” and “managers” and “leaders.” If we must have raps with our music, let them be unamplified groups planning whatever action they deem necessary. If hundreds of tribalists get sufficiently turned on, each one on be his own open microphone.

image016

 The Merry-Go-Round exudes an odor of capitalist shit that you can smell all the way down in the park, and we are told by our self-appointed “leader” that our enemy is “violence.”image018

Capitalism the logical extension of the word “I” exploits the life style of our movement and our current self-appointed “leader” attempts to organize his own ego trip.

The only happening at the park Sunday which approached the power and the glory of the music was the waving red flag, another nonverbal experience which colored the events of the entire day and night.

 

 UPS:  The tribal altar of Piedmont Park-stone pillars on either side of a two-stage stairway, level after level of people, sitting on the grass, on the steps, on the pillars, with the band, behind, in front, on all sides, across the top outlined by sun and sky, milling around, surrounding and enveloping and being enveloped by the music in an unbroken web of tribal psyche, sun, trees, grass, grass, music, animals, man woman and child all vibrating as one out of tune with die seats of established power and in tune with other communities wherever our music is being played

 One together person reading Cummings’ “I sing of Olaf” to an overwhelmed audience unused to hearing those most militant statements—

“I will not kiss your fucking flag”

“There is some shit I will not eat”

 Black saxophonist coming out of the crowd to jam with the band

New tribesmen passing their own version of the peace pipe

Phil Weldon rapping gently but forcibly about the red flag blazing above the stone pillar

Angry interchanges between Barry Weinstock and members of the community at midnight Sunday when it became obvious to everyone that spending the night in the park would accomplish not one fucking thing for anyone except those who dig spending the night in the park with the blessing, approval and “permission” of their city “fathers”

 The power structure takes policemen out of our community and sends them into black neighborhoods to do their rotten thing and gives us our very own detective to soothe our ruffled white middle class beautiful gentle people (i.e. non- violent) feathers, and our self-appointed “leader” leads us to believe that we have won a great victory.

image024

DOWN OF THE DAY-Barry Weinstock asking the band to stop playing so he could go into his rap!

 

 

The most subversive manifestation of the power of our music is its ability to weld an entire park full of every type of person from all walks of life into one, throbbing pulsation of experience.

image026

 

 

 

 

 

 

Georgia State University’s Library has this issue of the Bird available as a pdf. here.