Now that I am firmly entrenched in my own personal 60s, I suppose it's inevitable I go somewhat archival. Picture above was taken near the close of the general '60s, the 1960s, the poem written shortly after. It was taken somewhere along California's American River, where I would escape to from cities where much had to be done that left one unsettled. I see I have riding boots on and had grown my own cowboy hat.
Understand, it's been more than twice the number of years since this was taken than I was old at the time. Still, I credit young Geo. with enough sense to address the future, even though he overestimated its interest. The '60s are as remote to the current generation as Edwardian times were to his. My father was born the year Edward VII (and Mark Twain, whose journey-work coursed a greater American river) died. And yet, and yet, the suffragist movement was at its height in 1910. In the words of one of its most articulate proponents, Wm. Lloyd Garrison: "I am in earnest--I will not equivocate--I will not excuse--I will not retreat a single inch--and I will be heard."
No expiration date on those words.
I don't often indulge in '60s memories. There were too many disappointments, tragedies, disillusionments --too many sell-outs and way too many casualties. But the following clip kept me reamazed enough to escape the negative associations that usually attend '60s reverie. Certainly, "Sunny Goodge Street" was recorded by some wonderful artists, not the least of whom was Donovan Leitch, its composer. But nobody captured the surreal intensity of its lyrics like Canadian singer, Tom Northcott :
I was refreshed by it and glad to have been in that confluence of sound economy and positive vibes. There was a lot to do and we made it look like a lot more fun than it really was. We dressed funny. We grew hair. We made a nationwide clown that danced and capered and showed how ridiculous a war was. Then, thanks in part to Nixon of all people --who was brought along by Ike, so maybe not so strange-- that war ended.
And because of the '60s: Some of it was was wonderful. Some of it was horrible. I was in San Francisco, Chicago, Berkeley. How I ended up a hick again escapes me, but this little production reminded me of personal decisions and commitments that still reverberate --some fine things that got to happen and lovely people who got to live because of what we did.
Question is, now that there's need of it, can we build a clown that big again?
