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21 The New Journal I November 23, 1969

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Volume three, number five November 23, 1969

Tear gas and moustaches

Contents

Saturday felt, in so many ways, like a requieum for the peace movement. It was big, it was glorious, it was fun, it was cool.

You had to have a good time. But we'd all been through it before, and suddenly, at the height of Saturday's success, you could feel it all beginning to wear out.

Maybe this time it was too big, too glorious. Or maybe it was just too old. It was the same broken record, again and again, five years later.

Even Norman Mailer couldn't think of anything new to say. Riding in from the airport the night before, he talked idly of how violence would play right into Nixon's hands. He wasn't there to write another Armies of the Night; this time he was only along to march, perhaps as much out of momentum as anything else.

Friday night the scenario played itself further. I watched the cops confront the kids at DuPont Circle-tear gas and "Fuck the pigs" and sirens and moustaches-and it ended in a draw, with nobody convincing anybody of anything. I got more than a few whiffs of tear gas, so maybe I was a little partial to the demonstrators.

But it was still empty, and still predictable, and had all happened before.

Then dawned Saturday, crisp, cold and beautiful. It was-well, yes, it was a perfect day for the march. And the march complied, and was perfect.

No, make that spectacular, for it was.

It was a beautiful thing to straggle up the flagpole around the Washington Monument and see a quarter of a million people singing below. It was inspiring and ex-

3 A reporter's recollections of the Lindsay campaign.

by Steven Weisman 5 Yale Med: how long on top of the Hill?

by Jim Ross 9 A hippie runs for the Cambridge City Council.

by Richard Margolin 11 The Stones are rolling (and rocking) again.

by Patrick Lydon Editors: Herman Hong Paul Goldberger Business Manager: Stephen Thomas Art Director:

Nicki Kalish Copy Editors: Richard Caples Stuart Klawans Chief Photographer: Peter M. C. Choy Advertising Manager: Robert Kirkman Assistant Editors: Charles Draper Bryan Di Salvatore George Kannar Edward Landler David Meter Circulation Managers: John Callaway Thomas Davison Associate Business Manager: William Palmer Contributing Editors: Susan Braudy David Freeman Mopsy Strange Kennedy Lawrence Lasker Jonathan Lear Michael Lerner Leo Ribuflo Walter Wagoner Staff:

Jay Adkins, Charles Chapman, Richard Conniff, Jack Friedman, Joanne Lawless, Cathie Lutter, Gus Oliver, Pat O'Rourke, Manuel Perez, Barbara Rich, James Rosenzweig, Lynne Rutkin, Rosi Snipper, Anne Wagner, David Wilson, Michael Ziomco.

TI1IRD CLASS NON-PROFIT PERMIT: Third Class Non-Profit postage PAID in New Haven, Conn. The New Journal is published

by The New Journal at Yale, Inc. 3432 Yale Station, New Haven, Conn. 06520, and is printed at The Carl Purington Rollins Printing-Office of the Yale University Press in New Haven. Published bi-weekly during the academic year. Subscriptions for Yale students are $2.00 per year and for Yale faculty and staff, $4.50 per year. For all others, subscriptions are $7 .SO per year ($4.50 for students).

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The New JouTTUll © copyright 1969 by The New Journal at Yale, Inc., a non-profit corporation. No material from this publication may be used in any form without written consent from The New Journal at Yale, Inc.

Credits:

Peter M. C. Choy: Cover, pages 3, 4.

Herman Hong: page 10.

David March: pages 6, 7.

Letter from Cambridge It is that time of year again when all of usWeatherman and fat cat, tailgater and acid freak-John Lennon tells us, should "come together right now" in unity of spirit. Sure we had our little misunderstanding last week in Washington, but Saturday is the day of The Game, and even if it doesn't dawn clear and bright like it's supposed to, we are all Harvard men, we are all Yale men, to paraphrase somebody. So the Crimson take on the Bulldogs and everybody cheers for their team.

But things are a little different this year; they have to be. Not even one of us is undefeated, and gone are Hill and Dowling and Gatto, and even "Frank Merriwell" Champi got sick of football and quit. But that's not all. Looking back on it, last year's game reminds one of the last drunk before the Great Crash or the final blazing frenzy before our Byronic hero succumbs to tuberculosis.

Okay. Joe Namath represents the Spock Generation and the Mets are the Charlie Browns of the world, so who's this guy who dies ofT.B., John Yovicsin? No, but you might say he's Harvard--or at least Nathan Pusey. Things are going to get worse before they get better, so in time of strife it might be comforting to play the record of last year's forty-two seconds or flip it over to be inspired by the Harvard Band. It is unlikely that another such triumphant moment-on whatever field of battle-is soon in coming.

For it is not only Harvard's football team that is in trouble, but the institution itself, and as its alumni stream into New

citing to hear Reverend Coffin-whose short, humble invocation was a masterpiece of graceful strength-and Dick Gregory and Arlo Gutherie and Pete Seeger. When they spoke, the day flashed full with meaning. But the others-so many of them, so well intentioned, so political.

How few had the honesty of Leonard Bernstein, who greeted the crowd simply with a wave of his hand and a happy, "I'm glad to be here!" Instead they talked on and on, with rhetoric better than anything else said in politics, but political rhetoric just the same.

Last Saturday was the peace movement's first major effort since the October Moratorium, since the movement had made it big. It had been shooting for the big time since the days of Gene McCarthy -no, really since its very beginning. Now it has made it, and wonderful though Saturday's march was, it wasn't the same.

Success bas taken its toll-in people who realized that the peace movement can mean political success, and jumped on its bandwagon for that reason, or in people who have been along for years, and are getting tired, for they have had to say the same things to the same people for a longtime.

In the end, though, Saturday wasn't the same because we'd all bad enough. After five years we have come to expect days like Saturday. We had nothing new to say because we'd been through it all so many times before. What was really unique about Saturday's march was that by now it had become so much a part of our routine. continued on page 14

Haven to cheer it on, they should perhaps stop for a moment and consider its achievements in some rather more important respects. It is a truism in football that you don't win games on your reputationYale discovered that last year-but it seems that Harvard learned nothing from its own team. It might be interesting at this point to make a few comparisons between Saturday's opponents in something other than total offense.

The most obvious difference is that a violent and disruptive confrontation took place here that bas no parallel in New Haven. Some might say this was due to differences among the two student bodies, but ultimately the burden of responsibility rests with those in power, namely the president of the university. It might be argued that this is merely a question of who is more adept at the art of cooptation, but events, it would seem clear, speak for themselves. It is no coincidence that Kingman Brewster has spared Yale from the dangers of polarization as Nathan Pusey could not at Harvard. Change seems to come slowly in Cambridge, and problems seem to remain covered over. A few examples: The curriculum remains static. Despite the widespread changes at places such as Yale and Brown, Harvard retains the letter grading system and at the end of every semester ranks every undergraduate into one of five groups. Concentration and General Education requirements remain strict.

Course offerings can be sparse. Last year Harvard offered no introductory American continued on page 14

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3 I The New Journal! November 23, 1969

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The reporter who came in from the cold: Recollections of the Lindsay campaign.

by Steven Weisman

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Years ago, when decentralization was a synonym for states' rights in the South, and when borough presidents in New York did more than cut ribbons and run for re-election, John T. (Pat) Clancy met with reporters in his office the day after his election as President of the Borough of Queens.

The newsmen asked for Clancy's vision of his new job, now that he bad been elected, and at the very least for some kind of outline of his plans. ''The first thing I'm going to do," said Clancy, "is fix the potholes in the streets."

Come on, the reporters said. Trivial matters aside, what was he really going to do as borough president?

"I'm serious," Clancy said. "You can talk all you want about the issues. But when a guy in my district drives out of the driveway and on to a bunch of gaping potholes every morning on the way to work, and his car lurches and shakes, that guy curses the name of the man who's supposed to fix the streets, and that's me.

Each day it happens, that guy curses the name-my name. That's plenty of reinforcement. And that's why I'm going to fix those potholes."

I wasn't there, but I'm sure this story is true. Clancy's point was conveyed vividly to me during the mayoral campaign, when I was riding with John Marchi in his blue Pontiac stationwagon-"my limousine,•• he wou1d say-racing through the traffic one weekday evening on the way to one of the endless engagements he made this fall in his bid for the mayoralty.

Having appeared at a raucous annual Steven Weisman, Yale'68,isaformer Contributing Editor of The New Journal.

He helped cover the New York mayoral campaign for the New York Times.

dinner-dance of the Bronx Liquor Dealers' Association, Marchi was now speeding to a Republican gathering in Queens.

Behind time, the wagon weaved in and out of traffic and then, not far from the Triborough Bridge, thumped jarringly over a pothole. The car's frame shook and two of the Senator's aides literally hit the ceiling.

"You all right? Are you all right?"

Marchi asked.

"Ok, I'm ole Just a little shook up," came the reply.

"You know," Marchi said to me, smiling, "you know, I guess sometimes it is just those little things .... " A week before the election, the last time I saw Mayor Lindsay campaign, he was speaking to a Jewish synagogue in Fresh Meadows, Queens. The Rabbi began his introduction with an anecdote.

A few days before, the Rabbi said, be was driving to the synagogue when be noticed that several lamps in a nearby park had been vandalized and broken. He contacted the mayor's office that day, be recalled, and the following morning the lamps had been repaired.

"Mayor Lindsay bas made some mistakes," said the Rabbi, "but he's admitted them, and he seems now to be on the road to correcting at least some of them."

Then, noting that in a Jewish service, anyone who gives a sermon has to be a rabbi, the spiritual leader of the Fresh Meadows Jewish Center introduced the Mayor of New York City-"Rabbi Lindsay."

1969, of course, proved to be a very trying year for Rabbi Lindsay, who last winter was the subject of so much scorn and vilification, it was hard to believe that be wou1dn't be tarred, feathered and

run out of town before the election, let alone suffer the greatest defeat any incumbent ever cou1d have in New York.

Maybe the turning point came when the Mets woo, as some have suggested.

Lindsay is bored by baseball-it's much too passive a sport for him-and the night before the final game of the World Series, which several million of his constituents on the street would have given an arm and a leg to see, Lindsay was handed his schedu1e for the next day. "Christ," the mayor said angrily, "do I have to go out to the goddarno ballpark again tomorrow?"

But there he was, nonetheless, grinning stiffly as champagne flowed down his broad shou1ders and over his modishly tailored suit. Someone came up to him to have him meet Ralph Kiner, the Mets' radio announcer.

"Kiner ... Kiner ... ," Lindsay said, snapping his fingers, groping for the identity of the name. "Ob, yes-I know Rabbi Kiner. Where is he?"

On the bulletin board back at Lindsay headquarters, campaign workers in miniskirts and Bill Blass ties with "Lindsay Lindsay Lindsay" written all over them moved colored pins across a map of Queens County. The pins were colored red (for pro-Lindsay), blue Oeaoing to Lindsay), green Oeaoing away) and white (anti).

Thus, it was the green Jews that Lindsay needed to win over. He already had the loyalty of blacks, who were generally red, except when they owned propertythen they were blue. Most Jews in Man-. hattan were blue. In the "outer boroughs" the Jews were green, except when they had low incomes and lived near blacks.

Then they were white, as were most Italians and Irish.

Thus, the Mayor attended a lifetime of

Sabbath Services and carried, in the glove compartment of his black limousine, a yarmu1ke monogrammed with the letters "JVL." Four years ago, a person who merely caught a glimpse of candidate Lindsay was a probable voter. "He's gorgeous," women would say. This ye.a r, they looked and said: "He looks so tired.

He should get some rest."

Lindsay did look tired-his face was gaunt. I saw him frequently when he looked ashen and skeletal. The mayor never seemed to sleep. After final latenight speeches, he went home for several meetings with aides. Retiring at close to 2:00A.M., he was awake by 6:45A.M. preparing for another day that would keep him churning past midnight.

By contrast, there were many days when Mario Angelo Procaccino made no public appearances at all. This, I think, tended to irk some reporters, who were frequently told only at the last minute to rush out to Brooklyn or the Bronx with the Controller for, say, a hurried look at a desecrated synagogue. Very often, the campaign organization neglected to provide transportation, and when they assembled enough newsmen to watch Mario strut up and down a street, the candidate said nothing of substance. You cou1d always get a couple of photographs of his bussing an Italian matron or slapoping truck drivers on the back, but cou1d such stuff last for a long, long campaign?

I'm told that Procaecino infuriated the TV stations when he accepted the New York Tinus debate after ignoring invitations from all the networks. He said he did it because be wanted Lindsay's statements to appear "in black and white," which to this day makes no sense at all. He also didn't want Lindsay to "emote" before the cameras, Mario said. This,

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too, was at least ironic for a man who wept openly at his first campaign press conference.

As far as I could see, the press, for the most part, began actually trying to like Mario Procaccino. They were ready to believe that he was, as be said after the primary, a good progressive Democrat.

But the candidate never seemed to give these people a chance. His position paper on Parks and Recreation was plagiarized.

He lied. And, on the ABC-TV debate, he waved a piece of paper and said: "I have here a list of names ... " "Dammit," said a reporter I was standing next to at the time. "I hate Lindsay.

I can't stand him. But be just got my vote."

As the campaign progressed, the press's Mario Procaccino jokes seemed to get nastier. At first it was amusing that Procaccino, while campaigning in Chinatown, declared that Lindsay didn't have a "Chinaman's chance" to win the election, or that he told a group of Negroes that "my heart is as black as yours," or that be vowed, if elected, to return the city to "an inept administration." Eventually, they started saying that Mario was so confident of winning the election, he had already ordered the linoleum for the Gracie Mansion living room.

What had all this-the green Jews, the Mets, the hysterical press conferences, the rallies-to do with the issues of where New York was going, and how each candidate might take it there? Very little, for of course the campaign, like all other campaigns, was one of personalities and potholes, not issues.

For Lindsay, having inspected shiny new snow equipment in Queens, and having repaired the pavement in Brooklyn and the Bronx, succeeded, by the campaign's end, in also conveying a personality of calm, efficient and humane liberalism.

He had overcome his identification with the rich and poor and was able to eke out enough support in the middle class to carry him through Election Day. Ultimately, I think, these voters decided

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that the job-"the second toughest job in America"-was just too big for a puffy little Bronx version of the Great Gildersleeve who seemed to be forever trundling up and down the streets of Sheepshead Bay and Far Rockaway jabbing his finger at cameras and microphones, shouting, "Who do yah trust, folks? Do yah trust John Lindsay? (No!) Do yah trust Mario Procaccino? (Yes!)" It's not, of course, that the voters, in responding to a sophisticated media campaign, rejected the "Old Politic.s ," whatever that is. Instead, the voters embraced a well-run version of the former, over a disastrously-run version of the latter.

This year's campaign bad enough contradictions to make it as unpredictable, Max Lemer would say, as a horse race on

a muddy track. There were no political experts to listen to, and no instincts to go by. But to anyone with even a passing interest in politics, the campaign, until the bitter end-when reporters seemed tCI be punchy with the grotesquerie of it aUwas a circus of fascinating activity.

The reporter's view of all this is, not surprisingly, an ironic one. On the one hand, he is the confidante, the man who travels in the corridors of power-even in New York's gothic Municipal Building, where they get pretty narrow-the insider. the one whose shoulder every Procaccino aide seemed to cry on when the going got rough. What can we do, one top Procaccino adviser asked a reporter, to somehow give Mario the stature, to make people believe he has some ability? The

~

Mayor Lindsay reporter suggested that they arrange to have the candidate testify in Washington, D.C., before a Congressional committee, on a sophisticated and perfectly abstruse subject like finance. After all, the candidate was the Controller. So the Procaccino staff tried to get a committee to listen to him, but the only subject anyone in Washington could agree to was "Pornography and the U.S. Mail."

On the other hand, the newsman is mostly an outsider, a voyeur. The other day, for example, about twenty newsmen from all media stood shivering on the porch of Gracie Mansion as Mayor Lindsay met in the warm inside with the defeated John Marchi.

The scheduled time for picture-taking and interviews had long passed, without an appearance from the principles, and now the sun bad gone down behind the sterile-looking luxury apartment buildings on East End A venue. It was bitter cold, but we had to wait outside, because in New York City there is only a tiny press room in the basement on the other side of the mayor's house, much too small for aU of us, and, right now, much too out of the way.

A reporter stared out at the bleak and gray scene of the East River, the mansion's backyard lawn and the children's fragile tree-house nestled in the lone and leafless maple in the center of the yard.

The reporter stamped his foot to keep the circulation going. "Goddamn mayor," he muttered. "You think they could afford a goddamn press-room in the 'greatest city in the world.' I see they already took the phones out of the basement. and you have to use the pay phones now. The campaign is over."

Lindsay·s press secretary, wearing a polka-dot tie and wire-rim glasses, bounced out and said they would be ready in fifteen minutes. "Come on, we're freezing out here," shouted the reporter. He turned to me and muttered, "I never wanted to vote for that bastard anyway." _ .

51 The New Journal I November 23, 1969

Yale Med: how long on top of the Hill? by Jim Ross

"Yale's medical research goes on in laboratories that sit in a neighborhood plagued with several health problems."

"The administration's attitude had the same effect on the students and faculty as Richard Nixon's statements have had on the anti-war movement."

On Saturday, November 1, at ll:JOA. M., Barry Rand, a third-year Yale Medical student, rose to address more than one thousand members of the American Association of Medical Colleges at their annual convention in Cincinnati. He told them: "Good medicine is not being practiced at Yale-because it is the needs of Yale as an institution which are placed above the needs of the people it should serve."

As Rand was speaking, Yale President Kingman Brewster, Jr. was on his way from the Cincinnati airport to the same convention, where he was scheduled to speak at noon. Brewster arrived a few min .. utes early-but too late to hear Rand. He sat down in the front row of the auditorium in time to bear the speaker who followed Rand. Just before he was to speak, Brewster learned for the first time that Barry Rand-who was sitting two seats away from him-had also addressed the convention. Then he stepped to the podium and quipped, "Not only do we have our challenges at home but we have to bring them with us ... I think Mr. Rand should know that Halloween is over."

But no one laughed.

Brewster proceeded to speak for the next twenty minutes about university-community relations. Four "notions" as to why Yale could not assume a major role in the community underlined his remarks: "We do not have the competence to take the responsibility for community service enterprises on a large scale, [since] in general universities are not good managers; "If we were to take on this responsibility we would perform our principal task less well, [that of] pushing the frontiers of general scientific inquiry and sharing the results [with] the next generation ... In the search for truth we cannot undercut or dilute or distract or distort what we are best at; "No matter how useful it is for the training of students or for the problems it offers for study and research, the management of a community service activity involves obligations which are at least different from, and may on occasion be adverse to, the interests of the academy; "In the case of private universities at least, there is a basic misfit between community needs and the sources of our principal support ... Political pressure from the ghetto neighborhoods in New Haven upon my institution, however, is likely to fall on politically deaf ears in Hartford, which is not in the habit of supporting Yale. The same neigh~rhood pressure will also fall on financtally deaf ears among my out-of-town alumni, who are not in the habit of supporting New Haven."

Brewster added to his four notions the idea that "society, too, will be better served if we continue to limit our proprietary responsibility to our principal task of discovery, conservation and transmission of knowledge." He encouraged the local, State and federal agencies to "pull up their socks" and deal with community problems so that the universities can "go back to work."

Brewster's speech was well received by the AAMC. Rand did not receive the same reaction. Rand had broken up the placid cadence of praise for medical-community relations which seemed pleasing to the

Jim Ross, a member of the Yale Daily News, is a sophomore in Ez;ra Stiles College.

deans and administrators who made up the audience. The men who had been comfortably propped on an elbow were startled to the edge of their chairs. Rand had not intended, of course, to pacify the distinguished gentlemen when he said that "there is a new generation of health science students ... tired of talk that does not match action, tired of talk of peace and acts of war, talk of service, acts of control, talk of concerns, acts of abuse ... we are tired of talk, tired of non-action, tired of reasons why not."

2 Rand went to Cincinnati as a representative of the Yale University Community Crisis Committee, an organization of health service students, faculty, and employees of the Yale Medical Center concerned with Yale's relation to the city of New Haven.

There is a growing concern about this in the medical school-and for good reason.

The School of Medicine and the Yale-New Haven Hospital are the two institutions at Yale that relate most directly to the community. Unlike other graduate schools, the medical school cannot operate with books alone. It needs people. And the Hill neighborhood, the ghetto that begins at the Medical Center's doorstep, provides most of them. Yale's medical facilities make it the primary resource for health care in the city. But for all too long the patients it serves have been viewed as simply adjuncts to the teaching and research duties of the medical school, not as people to be cared for on their own terms. In the words of Margaret Leslie, Hill resident and Executive Director of the Citizen's Committee for the Development of Education, "Yale Jives sumptuously in the midst of poverty, offering crumbs that fall from its table."

What Yale has in the midst of poverty is a complex that encompasses schools of nursing and public health, the Yale Psychiatric Institute, the Yale Child Study Center and the Connecticut Mental Health Center.lts budget is more than $60 million a year. At any one time the number of personnel-students, faculty employees and patients-totals more than six thousand.

Nearly seventy-five percent of the medical school's operations are financed through federal research grants-one reason, perhaps, that research and not community health care is at present the primary activity. Another reason is that, as President Brewster stated, research does bring many real and important benefits to Yale as an institution. Much of the nation's leading medical research is done here; Yale scientists do, as Brewester said in Cincinnati, "push the frontiers of genuine scientific inquiry in the search for truth."

What is ironic is that they are unable to push a much closer frontier-the one right outside their laboratory windows. For Yale's research goes on in the middle of a neighborhood plagued with severe health problems.

When federal funds do become available for community service projects, the grants must be processed and approved by Yale, making it all the more difficult for money to filter down to the community. Still, some funds are not channeled totally into the research laboratory. In July of 1966, Dr. Max Pepper and Dr. Leonard Fichten1;1aum received a federal sta.ffing grant to implement and experiment with a relatively new and unsophisticated field:-com- . oity psychiatry. Some called thetr expenment a success and others, a failure, but all

61 The New Journal! November 23, 1969

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agreed that it caused cleavages in the Medical Center that remain to this day.

Community medicine as Pepper and Fichtenbaum were about to try it is essentially preventive medicine. It emphasizes the importance of dealing with the environment of the individual. The theory behind this type of medicine is that only by dealing with the source-the conditions in the patient's community-will doctors be able to reduce the incidence, length and severity of psychiatric problems.

Pepper and Fichtenbaum organized a unit within the Connecticut Mental Health Center- a part of the Yale Medical Center funded by the state-to service residents of the Hill and nearby West Haven.

With ten staff members, including three residents, an expansive program, little funding and 72,000 potential patients, Pepper and Fichtenbaum entered the neighborhoods. The staff discovered a need for programs for alcoholism, drug abuse, mental retardation, juvenile delinquency, educational and vocational handicaps, neglect of illegitimate children, disorders of the aged, adult crime, family life and a sense of loss of community identity.

They decided to attack the problems immediately and hoped that training would evolve as the staff listened andresponded to the community. The unit could establish contacts and solidify a base for operations. Patients were not placed on waiting lists and had to be seen within one week of initial contact. The staff also reached out into the community with speaking engagements, seminars and home visits. The pace was hectic.

In the experimental region of about 72,000 people the unit tried to develop a program of total psychiatric care. This meant consulting with community agen-

cies on social disorganization and public education. It meant treating as many patients as possible and at the same time involving patients in administrative decisions. The Hill-West Haven unit had to work with the community rather than for the community. In addition, the unit was designed to maintain the highest quality of research and training in the traditional therapeutic services. The unit supplied emergency services, in-patient service and an out-patient clinic, educational and consultation services and a staff of field workers.

Within the community, tangible results were soon evident. The unit was interacting successfully with the neighborhood.

A Hill Interagency Council (HIC) was created to coordinate the functions of community agencies-social, educational and religious. The Hill Health Council developed from HIC, and the Council later established the Hill Health Center.

By the summer of 1967, the priorities of the unit had become the priorities of the community. Then the unit's role as a part of the community was tested dramatically.

That summer the New Haven inner-city exploded in the heat of August into a major disturbance-or, in the words of the local press, into a race riot. Pepper and his staff sensed growing hysteria in the HiU as a result of bomb threats and fear of police action. The second floor of the CMHC was taken over as a barracks for state troopers (who were later moved), further upsetting the community.

At the height of the disturbances on August 18, Max Pepper was serving as Acting Director of the CMHC, for both the regular director, Dr. Gerald K.Jerman, and the newly-a pointed dean of the School of Medicine, Dr. Fredrick C. Redlich,

were out of town on vacation. Pepper saw his chance to plunge the CMHC deeply intp community affairs. He called an emergency staff meeting at 3 A.M., with Dr. Fichtenbaum and Dean Florence S. Wald of the School of Nursing among those present. The group decided to take advantage of its good prestige within the Hill and responded to the situation by setting up a twenty-four-hour service unit and a fact-finding team to re-establish communication within the community.

Pepper and his staff asked Mayor Richard Lee to meet with them to develop plans for restoring order. Lee refused.

Then, due to the increasing fears of further trouble in the Hill, community representatives approached Pepper and asked to bus residents out of the area.

Pepper responded with a CMHC-sponsored busing program to emergency housing outside the Hill, such as faculty homes, using the CMHC building as a temporary stopover. The CMHC's involvement in New Haven's unrest was accelerating.

City officials were enraged at the busing program, and charged the CMHC with injecting terrorism into the community.

Dean Redlich and Dr. K.Jerman returned from their vacations to condemn the CMHC's actions. K.Jerman asked for and received review power over Pepper's decisions and immediately ceased the busing program. By the time of the administrators' return, however, the disturbances bad subsided. It was too late to erase whatever impact Pepper's actions had had on the community. All Redlich could do was accuse Pepper of having been too partisan and too involved-and claim Pepper had exceeded the limits of his area of competence in psychiatry.

Pepper viewed the crisis as an opportunity to break down barriers and inspire trust. The Yale medical school bad, for the first time, taken meaningful steps in the area of community involvement. The community identified with the CMHC and trusted Pepper and his staff. But such community action was not acceptable to the administrative establishment of the Medical Center. Soon Max Pepper left Yale to become a director of community medicine in St. Louis.

The Hill remembers Pepper. Ernie Osborne, Acting Director of Yale's Council on Community Affairs and then Director of Redevelopment for the Hill Interagency Council, says "Everything you see in health services in New Haven is to a great degree the result of Max Pepper's work. We will never truly realize what he has done."

3 Two years later, the C MHC remains the most community-oriented facility of the medical school. But after Pepper's departure, it bas not been able to exchange ideas with its neighbors nearly as effectively. The research-service conflict still exists in the CMHC; its priorities are no longer as close to those of the community.

The present administration knows the gulf that exists between it and the community. It attempted to close the gap this past year, when in April CMHC Director Klerman appointed Fred Harris, former President of the Hill Parents' Association and a recognized community leader, to the trial position of Special Assistant to the Director of the CMHC. K.Jerman made the appointment so that Harris might "sensitize us to how we were being perceived by the black community" and help the staff to

From Vale's Splendid Fall List

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understand the special needs of the area's residents. But the result of KJerman's efforts was another crisis.

During the six months from April to September, Harris persistently argued the community's point of view as he plunged head first into the services-research argument. He fought for better care and constantly reminded the staff, d irector and the medical school dean of his people's problem s. Harris listed ten complaints: 1. The staff is not responsive to black and Puerto Rican people in the in-patient units. 2. There are not enough black people accepted for treatment at the Mental Health Center. 3. Too m any black and Puerto Rican people are sent to the Connecticut Valley State Hospital [a facility poorly equipped for mental health care]. 4. CMHC does not deal with the major problems presented by the poor, blacks and Puerto Ricans. 5. There is no Spanish-speaking staff. 6. The community staff is not large enough. 7. There is poor training in urban problems for professionals. 8. Research projects involving patients are undertaken without informing them. 9. There are not enough fully trained people seeing the poor, black and Puerto Rican patients. 10. The Community has no official voice in setting the priorities of the CMHC. Harris and the community felt they could not trust the professionals at the CMHC. Their needs were no longer being met.

On September 2, Dean Redlich met with H arris and community residents to discuss some of H arris's objections. Dr. Morton Reiser, who had taken over as director of the C MHC one day earlier, was also present. H arris's trial period as community consultant was nearing its end, and Hill

residents were anxious to know whether he would be reappointed.

As the discussion drew to a close, Harris and the Hill residents wanted Redlich to sign a statement including some of the changes he had verbally proposed at the meeting. Redlich refused to put his words into writing and began to leave. Then Harris, in anger, shook Redlich-and the shake set off shock waves that formed the core of the new controversy of the CMHC. Redlich saw Harris's action as a serious disruption. He described the events in a memo in the following way: "At that point Mr. Harris lunged at the Dean [Redlich], grabbed him by the throat and used vituperative and threatening language. He was controlled within a brief moment by other community representatives."

Mary Charlson, a medical student, saw things differently. "Harris just shook him a little bit," she says. "The Dean began the exchange of 'vituperative language.' " Shortly after the meeting Redlich addressed a letter to the Hill Health Board deploring the tactics used and reaffirming his unwillingness to act under threat and coercion. A September 29 statement by Dean Redlich outlines the events that followed the controversial meeting, and adds a vital point: "On September 16, 1969, Dr. Reiser informed Mr. Harris in a private interview that he was unwilling, because of the behavior of Mr. Harris in the meeting of September 2, to offer him a new appointment as Special Assistant to the Director."

Reiser then met with a newly organized commun ity group called Seven-Together (which represented seven inner-city neighborhoods) on September 17 and agreed as an act of good faith to accept a person nominated by them to fill the position of

John Sloan's Prints A Catalogue Raisonne of the Etchings, Lithographs, and Posters

by Peter M orse with a Foreword by Jacob Kalnen John Sloan 's prints are probably the most important extant body of graphic art by an American artist. This handsome volume w ith reproductions and full descriptions of all the prints (nearly 400) provides the hrst complete catalogue of h is work There are comments by Sloan himself and an appendix of his instructions for etching. The 150-copy l imited ed1tion includes a removable , heretofore unpublished Sloan etching, signed and numbered by h i s widow. Helen Farr Sloan.

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An American Exodus A Record of Human Erosion in the Thirties

by Dorothea lan ge a nd Paul Schust er Taylor With her remarkable eye and camera . the late Dorothea Lange recorded one of the most poignant episodes in American economic history-the migration thirty years ago of thousands of farmers from the South and Southwest into the valleys of California. These were Stembeck's Okies.

Originally issued in 1939. the text has been revised and the photographs given fresh reproduction. The camera and the word have seldom been used together to such considerable effect. cloth $t0.00; paper $3.95

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community adviser. Reiser took care to express his desire not to have Harris renominated.

Seven-Together did, however, nominate Fred Harris. Reiser honored his commitment and supported Harris's reappointment.

Dean Redlich, h owever, continued to disapprove of the appoin tment, and in a September 29 memo stated: "I n keeping with the personnel practices of Yale University and the state, officials from both institutions indicated they would not reinstate Mr. Harris in their employ. Both institutions based their decision on the fact that he had used coercive behavior against an officer of the university. In addition, these institutions are not willing to delegate the ultimate decision of employment to an outside group, especially if the employee is not acceptable to the employer." Redlich then suggested that Harris could serve as a community-paid "advocate" in the future.

Redlich's intransigence helped the faltering Seven-Together to organize behind a common purpose. They demanded a position for Harris .within the CMHC structure, and rejected Redlich's compromise, for they lacked the funds themselves to pay Harris's salary as a community "advocate."

Seven-Together was not the only organization that Redlich's decision sprung into action. In late September tbe' University Community Crisis Committee was born, and began its cam paign for Harris with a rally in front of Harkness Medical Dormitory at which speakers from the faculty, student body and community asked the university to honor its commitment to the community. Dr. Morris Wessel of the medical school faculty told the gathering: "What is really at stake is the ability-or the inability-of this university to meet its verbalized commitments in an honorable manner."

A petition circulated by the Crisis committee urged the CMHC to rehire Harris.

On September 30, UCCC representatives met with Provost Charles Taylor Jr., Dean Redlich, Dr. Reiser and medical school department chairmen. They read the petition to Provost Taylor and a student spokesman told the administrators that the university was "taking from the community and not putting back into it. This makes our education as students here difficult." Redlich and Taylor answered by affirming the University's stand which prevents employing a man who used coercive action against an official of the university. Taylor added: "Naturally the university should make its own decision about the employment of any individual."

On October 7, President Brewster presented essentially the same answer to the UCCC in a private meeting. About ten students and community people picketed outside Woodbridge Hall, carrying signs that said "yALE USES THE COMMUNITY" and "yALE DON"T KEEP ITS WORD." The next day, the Yale Corporation met at Woodbridge Hall. The UCCC tried to arrange a meeting with Corporation members but received no answer to its inquiries. As the Corporation met inside, the UCCC picketed Woodbridge HaU again.

4 When the Corporation broke for l~ch, .

W illiam Horowitz a member wh o lives m New H aven, walk~ o ut of Woodbridge H all and ran into h is old friend Dr. Morr is Wessel, who was among th e picketers.

"HeUo, Morris, nice to see you again," said Horowitz.

"Hello, Bill," said Wessel.

"What are you doing standing out here?" Horowitz asked.

"I'm picketing the Corporation," replied Dr. Wessel. "Why don't you join us? Then you'll be on the right side of the issue."

Horowitz laughed and walked away.

5 The administration's attitude had the same effect upon the dissenting students and faculty as Richard Nixon's statements have had on the anti-war movement. It only served to strengthen the opposition.

But the anger in the medical school is not tied to this one issue. Opposition, as the Max Pepper case showed, began l~ng before the Redlich-H arris confrontation, and gives every indication of continuing long after, as Barry Rand proved in Cincinnati.

In his speech Rand expres~~~ student sentiment of the UCCC. He satd: I came to Yale seeking exceJience in medical education, seeking training which would teach me to serve those people who desperately need health care. Yet how can I learn good medicine where good medicine is not being practiced?

"President Brewster, why is it that Yale's response to two of the major healt~ . problems in New H aven-drug a~dtc~IOD and alcoholism-is largely one of mstltutional indifference? Already I have had to send alcoholics back to the streets b.e~~use the Yale Medical Center has no facilttt~ to treat them. Already I have had to commtt a nineteen-year-old mother with t"':o . young children to the state me.ntalmstitu· tion ... when she sought help m our Emergency Room to overcome be~ drug addiction. With Yale's new expenstve federally-financed methadone ~arch program, why was there no place m Ne~ Haven to assist her? Why have communrty demands for detoxification of beCs in the Yale-administered Community M_e~tal Health Center been denied? Why ts tt tJ;lat Yale, the major provider of health ~~rvtces in New Haven, is unwilling to partJctpate significantly in the C?~unity·in~tiated fight against lead pOtso.nmg? P~e~rdent Brewster, isn't preventive medtcme a . priority at Yale? ... It is appa~ent t~at mferior com munity health servtce eXIsts at the Yale-New Haven Medical Center."

Medical school students at Yale rarely have time for activism. T h eir days are filled with classes, labs and hours of ??s· pi tal duty to the point of making pohttcal involvement almost a luxury. Indeed, the community issue now at the fore is the only time in recent memory that a sizeable core of medical school students have been concerned enough about a cause to find time to fight for it. .

Many faculty members are ~y~pathe_trc - but others are apathetic, unwilhng to r~k their jobs or pleased with their opportu~­ ties for research and teaching and choosrng not to rock the boat. "'Ibe only r~n some faculty members would constde.r , doing anything at all for~~ commumty, one medical student says, ts because ~ey know they have to walk through the Htll to get to their cars at night."

One faculty member wh ose concern for the Hill goes somewhat deeper~ Dr. Lowell Levin, Professor of Pubhc H ealt? in the School of Epidimeology and P ubh c Health. A sincere and vocal opponent of medical school policies, Levin says, continued on page 14

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Take a guy hip enough to run a rock concert hall, add some psychedelic posters, run him for the City Council and you've got ... a losing candidate.

by Richard Margolin

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Ordinarily, political defeats are times of bitterness and tears. But when Steve Nelson lost his bid for the Cambridge City Council, he went to see the Jefferson Airplane in concert. Since victory had looked dubious, he bad his Pre-Defeat Victory Party the night before the election. But that's the kind of campaign it had been all along.

Nelson's victory would have been little short of a miracle, since it would have marked the first election to public office of a representative (or more precisely, a non-representative) of the Day-Glo Generation, the American Subculture of Youth. True, some hippies did try to take over a rural Ca1ifornia town, and Tim Leary is running erratically for governor of that state, but neither of these efforts have successfully focused the enthusiasm and ideas of the Woodstock world on a concrete and relatively attainable goal. No one who bas passed the acid test of Haigbt-Ashbury consciousness and who moves with youth has yet really tried to break into the straight world of politics and apply the new thoughts to political problems.

I had a hard time believing Nelson at first. You expect from experience that every politician will play the old political games of on the record/ off the record and "don't say I said so, but...." Nelson doesn't do that, though I suppose it's partly because he isn't an inveterate politico (this was his first election foray) and just doesn't know about these games in the first place. But that's just a superficial reason. Deep down, he doesn't play political games because they are totally irrelevant to what he is trying to do. When a candidate's whole personality seems to say, " Drop all your political pretensions, and let's just rap," you have to take notice.

When I first walked into his office (which doubled as an apartment) and screamed over Janis Joplin on the radio that I wanted to see the candidate, a girl said that he was out getting a ticket to the Jefferson Airplane concert-preparing, as it were, for the election night celebration.

Well, in many ways Steve Nelson could almost be a likely person to become a candidate for a city council anywhere, let alone in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Originally the product of the Great Middle Class, he was not spared the years of schooling which are an integral part of the creation of the modern American space cowboy. In his case, it was a B.S. in math at Cornell and a law degree and a degree in Public Administration at Harvard.

With that much education it was fitting that Nelson's first job was as a sandalmaker in Cambridge. During college, he bad become deeply interested in rock music, and not long ago he was approached by the owner of the Boston Tea Party, Boston's new rock concert hall, and asked to be its manager.

More recently, he helped found Boston's first underground rock station, WBCN. With Nelson's help, a station that bad

been flatteringly beaming out Mantovani to its dyspeptic Yankee listeners suddenly found itself the lifeline of Boston's growing hip community. He recalls, "The first time we went on the air with a rock format, we planned something to blow everyone's mind. We were going to do an Orson Welles trip with people rushing around grabbing microphones and simulating a takeover. And then we would have done a rock version of the War of the Worlds. But the station owners were so totally freaked by this idea that we had to settle for The Alternate Plan. When we began, it was 10:30 on a Sunday night, and they had been playing Mantovani or something. Suddenly, Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention screamed 'Are you bung up? Are you bung up?' at the

audience, and then we went into Cream at full volume. The telephones were ringing all night from irate listeners, and in the morning, companies who bad used our station for Muzak found themselves blasting their corridors with that throbbing rock beat. It was quite a scene."

Then Nelson decided that what was good for WBCN listeners would be even better for the rest of Cambridge-so the campaign for the City Council took off.

Financed with $1800 from Nelson's own pocket, there were no claims that the candidate would save the city from evil or establish law 'n' order.lnstead, a billboard with the words ..All Together Now," dotted Cambridge, and then came a two-minute film showing Nelson walking in the country and Nelson on Cambridge's

main street, with the Beatles' "Come Together" as background music. And then there were the posters. Some were designed by Nelson and others were designed by the famous Mouse/Kelly team, who were among the originators of psychedelic art.

Nelson, when it came down to it, didn't care what people thought about what was happening, but the people who tried to explain his campaign to the rest of the world were in a difficut position. The political radicals tried to write him off as a hippie-or worse, a "hippie capitalist" -just having a good time. To them, just like to conservatives, he wasn't grim enough. I asked Nelson if he thought his campaign was serious enough in view of this criticism, and be said, "Calvinism

has made this country far too serious. Why can't enjoyment be valid in itself? Why should people always feel guilty about having a good time? The country puts so much emphasis on being productive, regardless of the consequences. That's wrong. If people would co-operate and just groove together creatively, the production would be a natural result, and everyone would be so much happier.... ''I'm acting on an entirely different level from the SDS. I'm trying to work out a total life style that goes outside the whole spectrum of conservative-liberalradicallabels. People who live in cities realize every day just bow insane mass society is. More and more people are understanding that we've got to slow the whole thing down. I mean, where are we

going with all of technology anyway?

Doesn't that matter a whole lot?"

As for liberals, they were equally leery of the campaign. Nelson says that "I've found that liberals just want specific answers to the same old issues; rent control-which I support-and things like that.

But I'm not too concerned with issues.

I don't mind admitting that I don't know a whole lot about some of the issues, and I haven't made up my mind about others.

If I were elected, I'd want to spend a lot of time just learning how this city really runs. I don't think it's right to take a stand on issues that I don't know enough about just to appease certain groups of voters.

So I say that I don't have all the answers, but I just present the ideas I do have and show the general bag I'm in, and let the voters' imaginations take it from there."

Steve Nelson didn't win his election.

He got about 500 votes compared to 2400 for the first place candidate. Cambridge may have Harvard, but down yonder by the Charles it's got its share of factories, too. But still, that's not bad. Where will he go from here? "I think I'U just spend some time thinking. People ask me what I do for a living, and I always have a hard time explaining. I just do a lot of things that tie together in some weird way. I have my rock club in Amherst, and I'll probably just go on doing more of the same."

Nelson does have one new plan. He recently offered himself as a candidate for the Harvard Corporation. So far, bowever, Nathan Pusey hasn't come running over to endorse him.

There were those who charged that Steve Nelson's unique uncampaign was really a carefully put-together marketing job of reverse psychology. But he is vehement in denying this criticism. "I can't agree with the radicals that selling something that is good makes it bad. The Peace and Freedom Party people were angry at me for using the straight media too much.

All I had done was prepare a press release when I filed suit asking for rent control in Cambridge. And the newspapers reprinted it in full. The Peace and Freedom people were just angry that they didn't get any coverage. Advertisers are out there every day using the best techniques to seU trash, and they succeed! So why is it wrong to use good methods to sell something that is good? I think it would be a bad mistake not to use the media as effectively as possible. After all, we can't move back from the technological age, so we might as well adapt to it. I think companies will begin to seU peace along with their product. Is that bad? The other day I saw an ad for a bread company that said 'Make Sandwiches, Not War', and I thought it was groovy."~ Richard Margolin, a sophomore in Harvard College, has worked on Tim Leary's campaign for Governor of California and Herman Badillo's campaign for Mayor of N~ York as well as Steve Nelso,(s Cambridge campaign.

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Ill The New Journal! November 23, 1969

The Rolling Stones, who are currently on a national tour, will be performing at Madison Square Garden on November 27 and 28. The 35,000 seats for the performance were sold within three days. The fo llowing is an account of an appearance the Stones made before a record crowd last summer at Hyde Pa rk in london. The autho r, Patrick Lydon, is a freshman in Morse College and has written for the N ew York Times and the Boston Globe.

..

The Stones are Rolling .(and Rocking) Again

by Patrick Lydon

It was a beautiful day, it was a giant crowd, it was a great rock'n'roll band.

The Rolling Stones's free concert last July was one of those very big events, those events which surprise everyone, where a situation arises which almost determines itself. Participants both do what is natural and feel that they are a part of something very much larger than themselves, something that they feel a personal affinity with and a loyalty to. In the end, it was Mick Jagger.

Five thousand people came on Friday night and slept over so they would be right down in front of the huge stage.

By 10:30 in the morning, there were 50,000 people in the Cockpit in Hyde Park, a natural bowl facing the stage.

When the Third Ear Band opened the show at 1:00, the crowd estimates were around 200,000.

The crowd was infinitely exoticAmerican tourists who read about the concert in the morning papers; secretaries sun-bathing in bikinis; hippies, smiling quietly, dressed in kaleidoscope color costumes; hippie girls in billowing angel robes, bits of Victorian lace and glittering Indian silver. Everywhere were the schoolboys in their weekend moddy gear and scruffy hair.lt was hard to tell who was hip and who was not because everyone looked weird. Maybe they were all hip that day.

The Hell's Angels came from all over England for the show. They always find their way to a crowd, and they dig rock 'n'roll. But when they arrived, the producers hired t hem as stewards, as policemen for the day. There were no more than a handful of london police there. The Angels came because they dug the Stones and because, "Mick Jagger, he's a rebel, too." But once they took their duties the object was "to prove that the Hell's Angels aren't just a bunch of fugs. " They were proud that they d idn't start tights. All afternoon they were helpful, rushing to rescue the girls that fainted and taking them to the first aid station and generally keeping order. Wild Child in his black leather jacket-painted on the back and studded on the front, under his Nazi helmet with swastikas painted on, behind his shades -he was in control of his troops. An organizer told him there was a crush on the left side of the stage. "Crush, what crush?" and he was off to uncrush whatever was there. He enjoyed being today's hero, but he understood he was there to protect the Stones. Hell's Angels replacing cops, rescuing fainting girls, protecting expensive cameras

- being proud of it. That makes a big day.

Behind the stage the assorted stars waited with the friends of the Stones, eating cold ham and salad. Every face was somehow familia r. Ginger Baker was there with his wife and babies, The Incredible String Band, Donovan, Julie Felix, Marcia Hunt. John lennon meant to be there but had had a car accident only day~ before. Photographers roamed everywhere.

It was a long afternoon. The crowds came early and the Stones weren't to be on until 5:20. But everyone was happy just to be there. The crowd rarely made any disturbance, digging most everything that came by. The Third e., Band was followed by King Crimson. Screw came on next and then old rhythm 'n' blues man Alexis Korner. None of the bands did particularly well, but it was rockin' and funkin', and that is what counted.

Family followed Alexis Korner, and they were good-very good. Roger Chapman, the lead singer, was at peak force, dancing wildly, smashing tambourines. !n the crowd, a thin African boy rose up, jeans hanging from his waist, bare from there up but for an orange scarf around his head. He danced trancelike, body and arms jerking gently without form, without the dogmatic rhythm of American pop dancing yet with an implicit sense of the music. Someone below him blew soap bubbles, and he danced among them.

Without ever moving his feet he was complete fluidity. He could have gone on forever.

Farther back, another dancer stood up. A taller, stronger boy with shoulder length hair, he gracefully, relentlessly pounded the rhythm with his head, stretching his arms, twisting at the waist, writhing desperately, convulsed by the muscular effort and dripping with sweat in the hot sun. Another boy rose near him, and a red-dressed girl joined the African. It was the music, the sun While Pete Brown and the Battered Ornaments played the final set, the Stones arrived back stage in an armored truck. The Hell's Angels quickly gathered around the back door of the truck to protect the band- but they slipped out the side before anyone could see them.

For awhile, they stayed out of sight in a promotion trailer, but Jagger soon came to the door. Standing separated from everyone surging toward him, he was prettier than ever, smil ing with a gentle contempt. Cameras shot from every d irection while the Mick licked his lips and puckered his huge grotesque mouth, showing it off for all the sex it is.

He stood and blew kisses to the chickies, his lips hanging in their sullen pout. His hair seemed longer, parted in the middle, hanging softly on his shoulders.

When he wanted to listen and talk, he did. "We're doing this today just because we wanna, man. We thought of it six weeks ago, and then after Blind F.ith did it we knew we just had to do it - it's such a gasss." (Jumpin-Jack Flash,

such a gasss.) Someone asked about Brian Jones who split with the group a month earlier and who died only days before. "We really didn't know what to do, but I'm sure he's here just as much as we are." When he didn't feel like talking, he pretended not to hear. He seemed subdued, but he smiled, though always in spite, always tauntingly, daringly. He was high, it was his day for him to do his thing. By now four hundred thousand people were waiting for him, and he knew it.

The moment the Battered Ornaments got off, excitement built quickly. The stage crew hurried to get the equipment arranged, the film crew in front of the stage made final preparations, the crowd stood to take its final stretch. The stage was beautiful, raised ten feet off the ground, covered with palm trees and jungle plants. Jagger had wanted parrots in the trees, but they weren't to be found in london. The announcer came on. He said that Mick wanted everyone to have a good time, but he wanted to read something in memory of Brian first. He wanted everyone to be quiet and listen-maybe they could just think about what has happened.

And then he is on- the expected one has come. He is dressed all in white, white patent leather shoes, tight white linen trousers that are modestly flai red and a dazzling white tunic, ruffled at the collar and cuffs, with white frills down the front, tightly waisted with a hanging skirt. He wears a black band with gold spangles around his neck. He comes alone to the mike and screams alright. "Alright, ... cool it for a minute, because I really would like to say something about Brian. I don't know how to do this thing, but I'm gonna try ... I'm just gonna say something that was written by Shelley." He pauses for a moment and there is a commotion beside the stage. He turns and screams, " look, just shut up and listen for a minute, OK?" It is a rebuke, not a request.

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleepHe hath awakened from the dream of life' Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trances, strike with our spirits' knife Invulnerable nothings .-We decay like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us, and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms w ithin our living clay.

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heavens' light forever shines, Earth' s shadows fly; Ufe, like a dome of many-coloured glass Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.-Oie , If thout wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

Fo llow where all is fled.

He swaggers from the mike, drops his book next to the drums and waits for the band to get ready, radiating disgust and rejection. When they a re ready, he comes to the mike and screams "alright" again-in provocation.

He whines "OK." If he is alright, they had better be alright, too. He makes no effort to communicate-he defies the crowd, he scorns them, finally control-

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ling them. When they are alright, he stalks back facing Watts, sets the band into a medium paced rock, gets his feeling, and he is off. He turns, leaps into the air and lands dancing, shaking, always moving. As he jumps, the stage crew lets out several thousand butterflies that flutter about him and all over the stage. He never lowers his head but stares and smiles-always letting people know that he is doing this for himselfalways letting them know that they cannot do it. Maybe he enjoys it because he can be the only one.

He is a dancer beyond compare. He leaps and jumps; he sneers as he sings; he goes down low on his haunches like a small animal and sways. He prances from side to side, sets his hand on his hip and sells himself. He smooths his hair like a street-corner bitch, knowing he can be all woman and ever more a man. When he wants just to sing, he stands on the brink of the stage, slowly pumping his leg and swinging his arm, loosening up. He is all physical, yet there is nothing athletic about him.

Some rock dancers do acrobaticsJagger is far smoother, far more subtle.

He swings his arm because he feels it swinging.

The rest of the band is obscured by his radiance; they just play on. Keith Richards, the lead guitar player, looks ill, doing his work without any expression. Wyman, the bass player, is blank too, as always. Jagger makes eyes at him, smiles and teases him. Wyman cracks an uncaring smile and looks away. Charlie Watts, the bone-faced drummer, smiles the same catlike grin that he always has. He drums with authority yet calm, nearly hidden by palm trees. Mick Taylor, the recent replacement for Brian Jones, looks too young, too excited. He isn't used to being a Rolling Stone, and he smiles too often. But he is learning.

Jagger moves through the songs, screaming between them. "Alright . . .

Alright ... Are you havin' a good time?" He yells as if the park would be wiped out if they weren't. It is a good time, and he moves on. They do hits and old favorites, "Jumpin-Jack Flash," "Mercy, Mercy," "Stray Cat Blues," "Down Home Girl." But it is all Jagger.

The band is sluggish. They are the familiar thumping, pumping Stonesmaybe more guitar playing from Richards and Taylor-but they aren't swinging; the music won't come out.

Jagger is limitless, and no band is going to bring him down, but they aren't taking him any higher. He whines at them, " let's get the tempo togetherc'mon, some tempo." In some spots the group really stumbles, transitions are weak, and Mick has to look back to see where they are. But he doesn't really need them.

He really doesn't need anything. He takes off his tunic to show a pale-green T-shirt with no sleeves at all, his long thin muscular arms drooping, his medals dangling. His arms are striped with thick veins. He swaggers, sometimes going back and standing facing

Watts, just tapping his foot, knowing he controls the show with his backside.

Unlike a singer/ dancer like Janis Jopin, one never feels he is dancing because he has to get his inner energy and fury out in the air. He is passionate yet cold. He doesn't need to express his soul. He is there because he loves having 400,000 people see him twitch; he loves to twitch just because he doe.s it so well- he almost giggles with pleasure that he can be so sexy. At the end of several songs he walks quietly, slowly twirling his fingers around each other for all to see. Nothing is so beautiful to him than to twirl his futile fingers .

He does it because no one else could dare. No one else could ma.ke it so mean and sinister. No, he needs nothing.

And he can show that he is the best blues singer in England when he moans " love in Vain," an old Robert Johnson number. He finishes that, "Oh, yeaahh, I hate yuh!", with nasty satisfaction.

"We're gonna do some stuff off of our new album," he whines," .. which is gonna be released in about . .. ten years' time."

The new Jagger songs have all his defiance. "Gimme a little Drink" starts " I'm the man on the mountai~ome on up.

I'm a ploughman in the valley with a faceful of m ud.

I'm in a hurry, and I know my car was stuck."

There is intense frustration in many of his lyrics-real despair blues frustration, and that is part of his suI len ness, too. The stanzas he chose from Shelley were the most dark and pessimistic in the whole poem. He left out those that spoke of future joy. Maybe it is the ultimate despair of that poem that his hate grows in. His mood is a strange combination of bitterness, much hate, frustration and defiance, yet he is the sweet star, too, and he loves every bit of his sour soul. Everything in him says he is the prettiest, the sexiest, and the meanest he could be. But he is rotting inside. He must have accepted that "we are all decaying like corpses in a charnel" and taken it to heart. He can hate everyone and himself and take pleasure in his disgust. He cherishes all the evil that he is.

The longest new song is "The Midnight Rambler"-he's a gambler and a creep and defeated, but he is holy, too.

Singing, he kneels and crouches down, peering out. " I am the midnight raper, striking in anger." He bursts up, slashing the stage with his heavy belt. He is w ild," . . . the midnight strangler, I did it in Boston." He threatens and cowers together, he is the jungle cat that strikes in furious fear- it is in his eyes and mouth and smooth arms.

Finally they get into "Satisfaction", and the crowd is wild. People start dancing to save themselves; hundreds rise to their shaking feet, and then everyone is standing and shouting and clapping. Jagger dances with utter joy: the crowd is so bad-he is laughing at them all. He is prissy for a moment,

...

131 The New Journal I November 23, 1969

.,,

and he brandishes the microphone · stand over his head. He flings his tambourine into the crowd. He uses the close of the song perfectly to taunt, I can't get no, You can't get no, I want some, I need some, I'm gonna get tome, You need some, You can't get none, We're gonna get some.

,.,

He is together with the crowd, and the world will serve him. He would carry his people and destroy London if he wanted to. "I can't get no... I'm gonna get some ... satisfaction." His promise that the band would "get it together before we go" was working · itself true. From "Satisfaction" they drove into "Street Fighting Man." The violence is rising; he sings tough and dances hard.

But he changes direction again and brings on his final surprise. Ginger Johnson and the African drummers come on stage. There are five extra drummers and a dancer-dressed only with dried grass over his neck, a headdress, and white paint designs all over his body. The Afr ican p rances with h is spear, dancing about Jagger. Jagger responds, smiling with delig ht. They dance separately, but they are mutually inspired. They do a short samba, Jagger rippling and dipping with awesome speed.

They close with "Sympathy for the Oevil"-pure Jagger, pure Stones. It opens with drums, Watts staying comRiex but insistent, the Africans bouncing and pulsing. The audience claps and beats tambourines. The song contains all the inexorable bitterness and paradox of Jagger's soul. It is straight and long.

African joins him in his dance. They watch each other, and Jagger approaches him slowly. They stretch out their arms to touch, but Jagger retreats.

He comes on again, the Africans driving for a confrontation. As they come close, the African beckons. J agger takes his shoulders, but just before they embrace, he shudders, turns and slides away. The African is rebuked. He falls on h is back with his feet in the air. J agger stands above him conquerer, torturerthe witch that has escaped the doctor.

He finds his tunic, roams across the stage blowing kisses and silent goodbyes. He sits, his work almost done.

"Yeah, we had a good time," still in time with t he drums. "We had a good time ... Hope you had a good time ... well, we gotta go now, really gotta go now." The crowd roars no in response.

Girls struggle at the front of the stage, trying to climb up and touch him. He smiles on. When one girl begins to make it on the stage, the crew throws her back down. Jagger tells them to get out. He quietly rises and dances lightly.

"Guess we gotta go now ... We got to go, Lucifer."

He wanders slowly from the mike, blowing kisses, turning to take a last look. The band keeps riffing fo r a few seconds and then quietly leaves. They jump into the armored truck and move off. The whole crowd looked around, thought of themselves again and waited to be able to move. For those who could never see, it was just a long afternoon. Those who loved Brian Jones must have felt that he was gone and forgotten. For the rest, every butterfly wasdead. ~

The New Haven Chorale nr~•.,..,,, Great Opera Choruses and Arias Carmel Harris, soprano I Gustav Meie r, conductor 1 members of New Haven Symphony Charpentier "Louise'' Mascagni "Cavalleria Rusticana" Puccini "Gianni Schicchi" Verdi "La Traviata"

. . December 6, 8:30p.m. I Woolsey Hall Tickets: $4.00, Reserved; $3.00 Gen. Admission; $2.00 At: Audio Den, Goldie & Libro in New Haven, Music Service in Hamden

Chamber Plnuers OF THE

NEW HAVEN SYMPHONY Frank Brieff, Music Director

SPRAGUE HALL SUN. AFT. 4 P.M.

Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste.

He throbs and stretches the words in his mouth. He is all forward and thrust.

The drummers smile and laugh and work hard.

November 23, 1969

I've been around for many a long year, Stole many a man's soul and faith.

I was around when Jetus cried, had hi a moment of doubt and pain.

Made damn sure that Pilate washed hit hands and sealed hit fate.

This mystery is that big. He shrieks. The risen Christ, good and evil, evil.

Soloists: Joy Zornig, Soprano Jack Litten, Tenor Charles Greenwell, Bass Yale Bach Society Paul Althouse, Conductor Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 Cantata No. 131 u A us der Tiefe"

J. S. BACH

Cantata No. 140 'Wachet Auf'

CHAMBER PLAYERS

January 18,

1970

I shouted out 'Who killed the Kennedys' When after all it waa you and me, Just as every cop ia a criminal, And all the sinners saints.

Musical Joice (2 horns and sbing quartet) Sextet ( 2 horns and string quartet)

Quintet Op. 111 (strings)

CHAMBER PI.AYERS

He will not stop. The drums beat it into us, Jagger's eyes cannot be escaped, his dance condemns.

Soloist: Robert Bloom, Oboe

Symphonies 1 and 3

Concerto for oboe Apollon Musagete

So if you meet me have some courtesy, Have some tympathy and aome taste.

Show all your well-learned policiet Or l'lllay your soul to watte.

The sweet sta r. The drums go on and on, and he p resses, "Tell me baby, what's my name," again and again. The

Borodin "Prince Igor" Gounod "Faust" Wagner ''Taonhauser" Verdi "Aida"

Subscriptions $8.00 S4.00

New H aven Symphony

25• CoUeee St. New Haven, Conn.

aoYCE C. P. E. BACH SDAWINSKY

MOZART HETHOVEN UAHMS

141 The New Journal I November 23, 1969

..

Tear gas continued from page 2 And, as we have come to expect marching against the government, over these five years we have also come to expect governments like those of Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon. We have become conditioned to unresponsiveness in the White House. We can no longer imagine a government we can trust. We expect the kind of government we must march against.

This is the real tragedy.

Paul Goldberger

Letter from Cambridge continued from page 2 literature or philosophy courses; this year there are only three American history courses. In addition, there is neither an American studies nor an urban studies major.

Lectures are the staple of nearly all courses, some of which don't even have sections. The few discussion courses there are are vastly oversubscribed and must be limited.

Coeducation is making slow progress.

There are no co-ed dorms, and parietals-though rarely enforced-have not been eliminated.

Real participation in the decision-making process has not yet been achieved.

Committees continue to recommend changes, yet none have come, while student government remains powerless.

But most of all what is absent is that elusive atmosphere of respect and cooP: eration. No one seems to want to talk wtth each other¡ the faculty came out last April, but now s~ms as if they were motivated only by fear. The administration lost any respect it might have had when Dean Glimp (who has since resigned as Dean of Harvard College) lied to moderate students, telling them that the U~iversity would not take any action agamst the University Hall seizure until after a meeting of the student body the next day, :Uter he bad already participated in the unJ~t decision of bringing in the police. Prestdent Pusey is nowhere to be found, and he might as well not be connected with Harvard at all.

Yet H arvard keeps going, generated it seems more by the memory of times p~ than by the hopes of things to come. Thts does not mean a wholehearted endorsement of Yale or any other college as an educational Valhalla, but it is a warning that things here are not as they should be, that the shock of last year bas not yet extricated the ostrich from the sand. Maybe Frank Champi realized this better than any of us-Harvard may not have another such forty-two seconds for a long while.

Bill Hamilton

Haydn returns No, there is no Met. But New Haven opera lovers could rejoice last week, when a new company (as yet unnamed) brought a splendid production of Haydn's Infidelity Foiled to Ezra Stiles College.

It was enough to make one forget the labor troubles that have kept the Met silent all season. The singing, the task of an ensemble that included a high school senior from Wallingford, a Southern Conn coed and a couple of Yale School of Music instructors, was superb. The musical direction under Thomas Colville of the music school was excellent.

But it was the opera itself that stole the show. Infidelity Foiled bas a plot that it takes an mM 360 to decipher; it is a masterpiece of the kind of comic opera that makes the theater of the absurd look like an annotated Shakespeare.

The virtue of this production was that th~ cast-and its fine director, Michael Posnick of the drama school-understood the opera completely. They realized its basic stillness, and thus avoided pomp and seriousness. But more importantly they realized that beneath an astonishing plot lay splendid music, and never did any singer allow his tone of whimsy to overwhelm the music of Haydn. The result was a period piece that at once was lightly mocked and lovingly embraced.

Perhaps this company can become a permanent fixture around opera-hungry Yale-all it needs now is a name.

Saturday night, Penn weekend After the game that no one went to; after the Saturday-Date Dinner that no one thought about; after many pipes of dope, a six-pack of Schlitz, and a hot fudge sundae; paths crossed and they gathered in a Yale room to talk and smoke some more. A little ..screw Yale" bullshit, then drifting into gun talk, imaginary pot shots out the window with cowboy guns, army guns, Mafia guns. Open a drawer and real guns appear, guns from the last five American wars. A little more talk, but everyone at Yale talks. Just supposin'?

Choose your weapon, just supposin'? The .357 Colt Python is too powerful, too loud, going through walls and walls and never stoppin'.

"This .22 single action Ruger, that's better, bow loud d'ya think .. .1" "Jeesus watch that fuckin' beer can dance across the room, let me try it, and where's the dope? Yes, yes. Ah man, the hot lead trot."

"We're gonna get busted for sure." Yeah for sure, so why not do it in style, and the blasting continues, more shredded beer cans, mugs, glasses. Hash pipes and . revolvers passing among the four laughmg loons shrieking convulsively as their bullets pepper The American Scholar. ''That limp dick needed some fire and now he's got it." ..Ah man, we're gonna get busted. Go down and check the noise but first .. !' The alarm clock is stopped cold at 11:00 p.m., a blue spark death, and the decibal recorder leaves, storming back into the room ..Shit, they can hear that fuckin' gun all ov~r the place, we gotta do somethin'. " ''Turn up the record player."

More ammo, more hash, more target~, laughter. Beer cans flying, books and pamtings ripped, a destroyed art po~~Jio and record collection blue smoke nsmg, stray bullets ricochetm'g into walls, ceiling, and mattresses. The Student Guide to New Haven riddled with six quick shots fanned from gunfighter stance by the madman with rimless glasses. Noise, smoke, laughter, dope and poppingligh~.bulbs.

"We're still gonna get busted. ..Let 'em come, but those cops carry .38's and all we have is this .22, ob for that shit Iovin' Python. We can hold 'em off, don't worry." .

But the bust never comes. The ammumtion runs out; the room empties. The blue smoke lifts and all that's left are ~oles in the wall, book confetti, slugs droppmg out of Emerson, twisted beer cans, alarm clock parts and a ~ale e_x-n;mg all over the rug, and Janis Joplin sprnmn~ t~ a halt. . Four stoned Yalies, one trippmg, one drunk, another in a pres-acid numbed confusion, all laugh and wander out to get something to eat, their madness suspended for a moment; then it dives deeper and flows more confidently.

Yale Med continued from page 8 "Brewster misses the point of medical education. Years ago the research and training could be separated from. the needs of the community. The commumty t<>?ay, though, is no longer a usable comm~chty.

The university must be connected wtth the people. But the community just doesn't trust Yale. The university must lear~ to relate to society and invite commumty participation."

Now, of course, the community Jacks_ the representation it must have to make tts needs felt in the Medical Center. Yale has argued that community people ~re alr~ady involved in Medical Center affatrs, which is true to a point. But the kind of community participation that takes place n?w is not tlie kind Max Pepper, F~ H~s, Lowell Levin or the UCCC had an rnmd.

Of the sixteen community representatives who now serve on the board of Yale-New Haven Hospital all but one, Henry ~arker, represent a major business interest m town.

6 But there is hope. If anything, the groundswell of support for Fred Harris proves that the Medical Center has come a long way since Max Pepper's first forays into community participation. In~e~d , th~ Yale Council on Community Affarrs Erme Osborne feels that the university is beginning to grow in sensiti_vity and awa~eness.

Yale must give up a slice of the actiOn, be says, and allow the community to develop its own form of representation. Lowell Levin doesn't think that the goals of Yale and the community, in fact, need be incompatible at all ...Yale has an opportunity, not an obligation," he sa~s, "to help research and service comm~ty needs.

Service has to be part of education, and service can be made to enhance rather than debilitate that education. The self-interests of Yale and the community are close together." .

Fred Harris has since been hired by Seven-Together as the community's "advocate" to the Connecticut Mental Health Center. Yale University, which would not pay him, helped obtain private funds so that the community group could pay his salary. Harris's new job, the result of over two months of conflict between Yale and the community, places him in a role independent of the university.

But even with Harris present to plead the case of the inner-city, university policy itself has not changed. Yale still believes, as President Brewster insisted in Cincinnati that its goals are not the same as those of the community in which it sits.

When Max Pepper came to Yale, the Medical Center first began to realize that it could not sit at the edge of the Hill and turn its face the other way forever.

Pepper's actions proved the first major . test of community involvement. They spht the medical school into factions that favored community participation and factions that did not.

The split did not go away after Pepper left; it got deeper. The Fr~ Harris c~. made the split deeper agam. And so tt wtl~ continue, with tensions rising-for not unhl the university embarks on a new course toward the community will its wounds begin to heal. . _

•

...

Thursday, November 20 Aldrich's ATTACK (1956) Friday, November 21 Mann's MEN IN WAR (1957) Saturday, November 22 Sturges's THE MAGNIFICANT SEVEN (1960) Tuesday, November 25 Warhol's BEAUTY # 2 (1965) and FEUILLADE'S FANTOMAS (1913) Wednesday, November 26 Polonsky's FORCE OF EVIL (1948)

..

Thursday, November 27 Renoir's SWAMP WATER (1941)

•

-

Tuesday, December 2 Laurel and Hardy BIG BUSINESS AND OTHER SHORTS

gourmet food for Poor Lads and Lasses ... cocktails too and now dancing every Thursday, Friday and Saturday in the new, elegant Rich Lads Lounge with the exciting Carol and Company who just recently recorded an L.P.

Wednesday, December 3 Siegel's MADIGAN (1967) Thursday, December 4 Fuller's CHINA GATE and HOUSE OF BAMBOO note: one show only at 8 :00 p.m.

Friday, December 5 Bunuel's THE ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE {1954) Saturday, December 6 Silverstein's CAT BALLOU (1965)

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Tuesday, December 9 Kurosawa's YOJIMBO

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Wednesday, December 10 Hawks's ELDORADO (1967)

A Story Theatre

Production

<XX1CeiVed by Paul Sills translated and adapted with lyrics by Arnold \!\einstein directed by Larry Arrick

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