Category Archives: Community

That Day I Played Kazoo with Country Joe

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We lost Country Joe McDonald this week. He’s most remembered for the anti-war song he performed at the Woodstock festival, “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixing-To-Die-Rag.” He got a lot of mileage out of that song.

In the aftermath of the Three Mile Island accident in 1978, a massive movement formed to resist the construction of more nuclear power plants.

Meanwhile, the Shah had just been kicked out of Iran and replaced by an Ayatollah. Then a bunch of students took over the American embassy in Tehran and held diplomats as hostages for over a year. A lot of Americans were bruising for a war with Iran.

I was living in Southern California at the time and attended every “No Nukes” rally I could. Country Joe was a fixture at these rallies. When it came time for him to play “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixing-To-Die-Rag,” he’d adapt the lyrics to the current theme…

“Maybe when it’s time to drop the bomb, they’ll drop it on Tehran.”

or, “Don’t ask me I don’t give a damn. / Let’s build another power plant.”

In the summer of 1981, I got involved in the blockade of the Diablo Canyon nuclear power plant near San Luis Obispo. Our staging area was an encampment where we ate, slept and had a lot of long meetings.

I’d started dabbling with the kazoo. I found it easy to carry and easy to play (stick it in your mouth and hum). I discovered I could use it to mock police sirens, and it added a whimsical element to a sometimes tense atmosphere.

As we grew more numerous and restless, Wavy Gravy organized evening talent shows for us to entertain each other. Country Joe showed up for one of those talent shows, and after a couple of songs he got to “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixing-To-Die-Rag.”

That’s when my friend BD came running up and tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, where’s your kazoo, man? This is a total kazoo song!” (I was only familiar with the Woodstock version. The earlier studio version was indeed a total kazoo song.)

I pulled out my kazoo and started playing along. At the end of one of the verses, Country Joe sighed, “Oh all right” and left space for a short solo. I sat on the grass facing him from about ten feet away.

A crew of videographers was documenting the action that evening. A few days later I was at a party where their footage was being played on a TV, and witnessed my brief appearance in the Country Joe footage.

That recording appears to have vanished from existence. But I’ll never forget my fleeting connection with an easy-going guy who had a heightened sense of fun, and who seemed to always be there to support social activism. Best wishes, Country Joe, on your journey to the Other Side.

High School Football in the Age of Post-Game Praying

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A time portal opened and handed me this column from the future, dated November 1, 2022:

Now that high school football season is winding down, it’s time to reflect on the new and unusual action on the field after games ended. This was the first season under the Supreme Court’s blessing of post-game prayer festivals, and our Friday night tradition has inaugurated a wide variety of holy parades.

There was no question that on the first game of the season Christian evangelicals would present an over-the-top display of religious piety. But since all religions are created “equal,” it didn’t take long for other religious traditions to claim their part in the court-sanctioned prayer festival.

It started with a high school on a Wisconsin Indian reservation, where the coach and players play drums and burn herbs in a traditional Native ceremony.

The following week a Muslim coach in Dearborn, Michigan arranged to end games with a Call to Prayer, and many of the coaches and players unfurl their prayer rugs and bow toward Mecca.

A school on a South Dakota reservation now ends games with a pipe circle. Meanwhile in south Florida, a Rastafarian coach has pipe circles of his own. The team doesn’t win many games, since it’s mainly a group of stoners who quickly adopted Rastafarianism once they joined the team.

But when it comes to making a circus out of post-game “ceremonies”, there’s no out-staging California. In Orange County, an assistant coach organized a Satanic ritual, based on having signed up to Satanism as a joke while in college.

In Marin County, a coach legally filed paperwork to create a religion that worships the music of Jerry Garcia. After games, a life-sized “Jerry Bear” is placed at the center of the field. The sound system plays a random Grateful Dead song while coaches, players and cheerleaders spin-dance on the field.

A school in Santa Monica developed a ritual that incorporates elements of Buddhism, Scientology, and New Age spirituality. It mainly involved participants sitting in a circle and humming “Ohm”.

Every case of post-game “praying” seemed to originate from a tiny fraction of the local population: a small but organized group seizing the opportunity to evangelize at a large public event, courtesy of the US Supreme Court.

Everyone else was there to watch local kids play football, and they’re finding the post-game circus tiresome. A cherished community institution has become an extension of somebody’s church. Those who don’t belong to the church feel less of a part of the community, and they are hurt by that.

Attendance at games plummeted. The only remaining spectators are parents of the players, and those who don’t join the post-game ceremony quickly flee the stadium at the closing whistle.

Everybody seems to blame evangelicals and their Republican allies for ruining their Friday night football traditions. The only question is whether their disgust will be expressed at the ballot box in a few days.

Defiance

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In the subways of Ukraine
People have come to sleep again
Because the bombing makes their buildings shake
The fear and stress are keeping them awake
But there’s hope in the clever tactics and persistence
Of the resistance
For they define defiance.

There is an island with a fort
Defending a strategic port
The Russian navy said “surrender now
“We’ll bomb you and take over anyhow”
The radio crackled, the reply said “Russian warship,
“Go fuck yourself.”
So says the voice of defiance.

And out in the public squares
The Russian soldiers everywhere
Face grandmas and old men who rant and curse
“This is our country, now go back to yours.”
“Put these seeds in your pocket so that sunflowers grow from your hide
“When you die”
Ominous words of defiance.

The local women can be seen
Filling bottles with gasoline.
So when the Russian tanks come rolling by
A rain of fire will fall from the sky
Till the tanks turn around and go back to from where they came
They’ll see the flames
From weapons of defiance

The Russian army look like fools
Stuck in the mud and out of fuel
Their tanks are wandering the highway
Looking for signs so they can find their way
But the signs said, “Go fuck yourself, go fuck yourself again, go fuck yourself..
..Back to Russia”
Reading the signs of defiance.

Wherever evil stalks the land
Defiant heroes make their stand
With such a paranoid pathetic clown
Taunting and mockery will bring him down
So let’s call that punk tyrant a repulsive piece of shit
And then let’s spit
Into his face with defiance.

Solving the Battle of the Fish Hatchery

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It has been interesting to observe the debate over rezoning and repurposing the old Fish Hatchery building in Riverside park.

An architectural and historical jewel prominently located in La Crosse’s flagship park became vacant, so the city sought proposals to rehab the building and give it new life. But when an idea was brought forward, some people reacted as if the world were ending.

Granted, the developers may have botched their sales job by using the words “wedding receptions” and “beer garden” to describe a “meeting and event space.” La Crosse has several event spaces, and this project aims to find its own niche among them.

The opposition has deployed the usual alarms about loud music and alcohol, as if beer will automatically bring herds of frat boys stampeding through the International Friendship Gardens. If residents of the nearby apartment complex are to be believed, they may never sleep again.

These may be legitimate concerns, but they don’t mesh with what I am not hearing from the opposition. I hear no complaints about Riverfest or Moon Tunes, where amplified music fills the park and alcohol is widely available.

And what about Irish Fest or Octoberfest, just a few blocks away? Those events feature an abundance of alcohol and loud music, but I hear no complaints from those who portray wedding receptions in the Fish Hatchery building as the end of civilization.

What I most want to hear from the opposition is a better idea. Unfortunately, amid all the Nimbyism and heckling, I hear no suggestions to solve the problem at hand: How do we pay for the expensive work that this building needs, and create a place that adds value to the park and the city?

An idea to solve this problem is on the table. Suggestions to refine this proposal and make it more acceptable would be helpful. Those opposed to this idea are welcome to submit ideas of their own. But shouting “NO” like a spoiled toddler is not helpful. That’s how you get banished to a corner and ignored.

Happy First Nations Day

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A question for my friends whose ancestors have been in North America for thousands of years:
 
How do you feel about the designation “First Nations”?
 
My problem with “Native Americans” is that term presumes that this continent was ALWAYS “America”, even when it was populated by communities (and nations) that called themselves something else. For that reason, I find the label “Native Americans” somewhat white-centric and inaccurate.
 
“Indigenous people” is accurate, but it’s a mouthful for a lot of people, and I had to lean on my spell-checker to get the spelling right. While traveling in Canada I noticed references to “First Nations” communities, and it rang true with me. After all, these communities were never “Americans” before the 16th century or so… they were nations in their own right, the nations that were here first… therefore, “First Nations.”
 
Since then, I’ve used “First Nations” as a label for these communities. I’d be happy if the rest of white North Americans would adopt this label, but then I’m just another white guy, so it’s not really my choice. So I’m really curious to know how my Indigenous friends feel about this.
 
And by the way, Happy First Nations Day!

Make America Decent Again

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That was part of the message delivered by a crowd of 300-500 people who came out in searing 95° heat in La Crosse today (Sat June 30, 2018). The march started at City Hall just before noon, and followed 7th Street to Burns Park at 7th and Main.

I forgot to bring a real camera, so images from my pocket computer will have to do (click on any image to embiggen)…

Local Elections Matter Most

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Presidential election campaigns get wall-to-wall media coverage for four years, which holds our attention and leads to high turn-out (though one can argue it’s not high enough). But when local elections are held a few months later, turn-out can languish in the teens or in single digits. I believe this is upside-down.

A national election affects the overall attitude and direction of national policy, but its immediate effect on our day-to-day lives is minuscule relative to the outcome of a local election. For instance, an election for municipal judge is widely ignored. But if we have a dispute with a neighbor or an unjust citation, we stand before the municipal judge.

The city council approves zoning rules that determine what we can do with our own property. They hire police officers with the power to arrest and detain us, as well as the officials responsible for the upkeep of our roads and parks.

The members of the school board determine who will teach our children, what they will be taught, and how well we care for the buildings where our kids spend their days.

Yet with all the direct impact that local officials have on our personal lives, local elections seem to be universally ignored. We ignore these elections at our peril.

Now more than ever, we must pay close attention to local elections. Most candidates are only a phone call away. Talk to them about the issues you care about, then show up to vote on April 4.

The Tale of Al Maliki

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When I see newcomers hated and disrespected, I remember the story of a war hero named Al Maliki.

Al Maliki’s father was brought to America as a toddler, and Al himself was born an American citizen.

When Al became a young adult, America was at war with his ancestral homeland. But Al Maliki was a proud and loyal American, so he enlisted in the US Army. The recruiting officer told Al that his foreign name might create hostility, so he translated his last name into English and changed it to that.

Al still knew his ancestral language, which made him valuable as an interpreter for one of the generals. Al Maliki was honored for his service and came home a war hero.

This is a true story, but it involves another people at another time.

A century ago, the first world war was raging and Germans were so hated that the German language was purged from Americans’ lexicon. Bratwursts were called “liberty sausages,” sauerkraut was “liberty cabbage” and dachshunds became “liberty puppies.” On the north side of La Crosse, Berlinstrasse was renamed Liberty Street.

In spite of the hate and derision directed at German-Americans like him, a young man named Albert Koenig enlisted in the Army, and changed his name to Albert King in order to get along. Many years later, I got to know him as “Grandpa.”

We feel shame, regret and bewilderment as we look back on the treatment of German-Americans during the first world war, internment of Japanese-Americans in the second world war, the genocide of First Nations, the kidnapping and enslavement of Africans, and countless other injustices and atrocities scattered thru our history.  Our grandchildren may feel the same way about us if we continue this shameful history.

My grandfather and my brother celebrate their shared birthday in 1967.

There will always be newcomers to our country. Let’s offer our new neighbors the warm welcome that our grandparents were denied.

There Goes the Neighborhood

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We live down the street from a major hospital, and over the years we’ve watched that hospital tear down out neighborhood to pave it with parking lots.

Now that four and a half blocks have been taken down, they want to tear down another entire block.

This video illustrates the history with archived aerial photographs and satellite images.

North-South Corridor: The Road Proposal that Will Not Die

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Over twenty years ago, there was a proposal to build a new highway connecting downtown La Crosse with Interstate 90 and the northern suburbs. City residents wanted nothing to do with the “North-South Corridor”, as it would degrade urban livability and encroach on a beloved and ecologically important marsh. So in a 1998 referendum, La Crosse rejected the road by a 2-1 margin.

I remember the DOT presenting traffic studies predicting horrible gridlock in twenty years unless we built a road. But here we are, twenty years later, and traffic armageddon has failed to materialize. Now the DOT has returned with a series of new proposals, insisting that we will suffer horrible gridlock twenty years from now if we don’t “increase the capacity” of our local roads.

There is no reason to believe the DOT’s ominous predictions are any more accurate today than they were twenty years ago, and for La Crosse to allow North-South Corridor 2.0 to be built would be a horrible mistake. Read on →