Wednesday, August 15, 2018

"History is nothing if not a collection of antecedents, one leading to the next": Michael Schumacher on the 1968 election and the war for America's soul.





BY MICHAEL SCHUMACHER


Excerpt from The Contest: The 1968 Election and the War for America's Soul


*****

A political campaign is a dehumanizing rite. Its only purpose is power, and tends to bring out the worst in men. Repetition, exhaustion, anxiety, and pressure must be endured cheerfully. Instincts have to be disguised. Sleep and privacy are elusive. Each day brings some new temptation to compromise a little.


These words, written by journalist Jack Newfield in 1968, are as true today, in the era of social media and cable television, as they were in days past when campaign news was delivered by horseback, rail, sheets of newsprint, network television, radio, and person to person. The election of 1968, in which Newfield's friend Robert Kennedy ran until he was assassinated in California on the state's primary night, was one of the closest and most bitterly contested in American history, conducted against a tumultuous backdrop that even today seems impossible.

The world seemed poised for implosion. Soviet tanks and troops rumbled through the streets of Czechoslovakia, using military might to quash a reform movement. Thousands of Italian students, demanding reforms at the universities, battled with police. In France, students took over buildings at the Sorbonne, built barricades, fought with police, and touched off a national strike involving more than seven million workers. In Japan, more than twenty-five thousand students, demonstrating against the U.S. involvement in Vietnam, touched off clashes with police.

The United States was the white-hot center of it all. During the 1968 election cycle, Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy were assassinated, the Tet Offensive erupted in Vietnam, President Lyndon B. Johnson decided not to seek another term, George Wallace ran as a controversial third-party candidate, students took over Columbia University, violence exploded across the country in the wake of King's death, and the Democratic National Convention was grotesquely disfigured by violent clashes between the city's police and youths protesting the war and the old politics, among other issues.

When Senator Eugene McCarthy entered the race for the Democratic Party nomination, it was with great reluctance and little hope of success. Lyndon Johnson, despite his slippage in popularity among voters, was still very powerful, and it was a foregone conclusion that he would win the opportunity for reelection; his 1964 victory over Barry Goldwater had been the most dominant win in presidential election history. Still, there was a growing movement to unseat him, generated by antiwar groups. McCarthy knew, at least in the beginning, that he was likely to be a sacrificial lamb in his opposition to Johnson, but he agreed to run—no small act of courage—because he, too, felt strongly that Johnson needed to be challenged by a candidate dedicated to ending the bloodshed in Vietnam.

And so it began: McCarthy announced his candidacy late in 1967, and one of the most improbable presidential elections in modern U.S. history, continuously influenced by the events of the day, lurched out of the starting gate. Robert Kennedy joined the fray in late March—late enough to be accused of being an opportunist, as his entry came shortly after McCarthy's impressive, unexpected showing against Johnson in the New Hampshire primary. Hubert Humphrey committed to the race a few weeks after Kennedy. The campaign was contentious from the onset. McCarthy and Kennedy sniped at one another, despite their obvious similarities, and both attacked Humphrey, who, as vice president, represented the hated Johnson administration. On the Republican side, Richard Nixon ran virtually unopposed, with only token opposition from Nelson Rockefeller and Ronald Reagan; his greatest challenge was to defeat his loser image. Former Alabama governor George Wallace, hoping to gain support for his segregationist agenda, became a surprisingly popular third-party candidate.

Each of these men had compelling resumes and campaign teams. McCarthy pieced together a grassroots campaign fueled mainly by youthful volunteers, who went "clean for Gene" by cutting their long hair, shaving their beards, and setting aside their blue jeans and miniskirts to dress in a style that made them look professional to the people they met while campaigning door to door; the amused media tagged the campaign "the Children's Crusade." Kennedy combined the older, more experienced people who had worked on his brother's 1960 campaign with younger, enthusiastic, idealistic staff members eager to reestablish a Kennedy legacy shattered so suddenly on November 22, 1963. Humphrey, entering the race too late to face the other candidates in the primaries, worked the caucuses, union halls, back rooms, and town halls, hoping to secure enough delegate support to win the nomination in Chicago. Nixon, a poor television presence, complemented his campaign team with a group of media specialists who would change the face of campaigning in the future. Wallace, unburdened by the need for delegate votes, zigzagged cross-country, meeting supporters at state fairs, shopping-center parking lots, medium-sized halls, fish fries, and barbecues—anywhere the "common folk" gathered. Taken together, the candidates created a mosaic of every type of campaign strategy America had seen in its history.

Two issues—the Vietnam War and civil rights (which later morphed as an issue into law and order)—raced to the forefront of discussion and remained that way throughout the election cycle. In researching and writing about the candidates and their attention to these issues, I found myself revisiting the historical events of the previous two decades and their connection to issues threatening to tear the nation apart in 1968. How could one write about civil rights without examining Hubert Humphrey's 1948 speech that divided the Democratic Party, the Southern states splitting away and forming what became known as the Dixiecrats? How could one write about George Wallace's segregationist politics without examining such seminal events as James Meredith's enrollment at the University of Mississippi, Wallace's attempts to bar two students from enrolling at the University of Alabama, the march on Selma, and Lyndon Johnson's groundbreaking civil rights legislation in 1964 and 1965? Could one write about Johnson's decision to step away from the presidency without looking at the events in the Vietnam War and the rise of the antiwar movement that led him to his decision? History is nothing if not a collection of antecedents, one leading to the next.

*****

America's soul: When I thought about the subtitle for this book, I worried that might be hyperbolic, but the more I researched, the more I believed that, yes, the election was the culmination of a mighty struggle lasting for at least a decade, beginning with the early civil rights movement and continuing through the Vietnam protests, the battle waged over what America was and where it would be headed in the future. The continuum could be found in the history behind the development of the candidates and those who supported them.

The war for America's soul was generational, fought between those who served in (and lived through) World War II and their children, the skeptics and opponents of the Vietnam War, the two generations disagreeing vehemently on what constituted America's soul. Both sides offered valid points. The older generation had survived the Depression (or its remnants) and a global war. The 1950s, with the establishment of the middle class, homeownership, and movement in the way of travel and relocation, were a reward; the growth of the Soviet Union and its "empire," along with the budding space race, interrupted the calm and further engrained the nationalistic older generation with what it believed was the soul of the American way. These were principles worth fighting for, no matter the cost.

The younger generation—the baby boomers—wanted none of this. They were as interested as their parents in the political climate, but they were removed from the events that shaped their parents' lives. They were too young to remember the Korean War, and World War II and the Depression were ancient history. They rejected blind nationalism. They demanded a voice in determining the direction America was taking. They had been weaned on television—the glass teat, as Harlan Ellison called it—and unlike their parents, their views were based on images. When they saw the newscasts of the battles for civil rights or the war in Vietnam, they insisted on action. When results were slow in coming, they took action. They participated. Not all of them were motivated by the purest of intentions, of course, but their numbers were significant enough to force a discussion between the two generations. 


*****

This is an excerpt from The Contest: The 1968 Election and the War for America's Soul. Author Michael Schumacher is the author and editor of many books, including biographies of Eric Clapton, Phil Ochs, Francis Ford Coppola, and Allen Ginsberg. Dharma Lion: A Biography of Allen Ginsberg; First Thought: Conversations with Allen Ginsberg; and There But for Fortune: The Life of Phil Ochs were published by the University of Minnesota Press.



Friday, August 3, 2018

Jack Zipes: "Fairy tales evolve and spread in strange ways."





BY JACK ZIPES
University of Minnesota


I first came across Pyotr Yershov’s fairy-tale poem, The Little Humpbacked Horse, when I was preparing my fairy-tale postcards for publication in my book Tales of Wonder. Among the Russian postcards in my collection, I kept finding cards illustrating The Little Humpbacked Horse by different gifted artists, often with short texts or messages written on the back side of the cards. It was as if I were receiving unusual messages from Russia with love.

My curiosity aroused, I decided to find and read Yershov’s poem in English and to find out more about the author himself. When I finally obtained a couple of English translations in verse, I was stunned. I discovered Yershov was a young man from Serbia who wrote this poem in 1834—primarily for adults—and that the great Alexander Pushkin esteemed Yershov’s work and predicted a great future for him as a writer. More significantly, I learned Yershov had transformed oral Russian folk tales such as “The Firebird and the Gray Wolf” and “Sivka Burka” into a witty, anti-tsarist poem. It was for this reason that his poem was more or less censored or banned until the Russian Revolution of 1917. Then, since Yershov’s work was a critique of the aristocracy and of a tyrannical tsar, the poem was republished and illustrated numerous times from the 1920s to the present. It was even made into a ballet and animated film. And the target audience became children more than adults, who continued to respond favorably to the poem because it tended to offer a critique of Stalin and dictators in general.

Well, I thought to myself, even though Russians and Europeans may have more experience with dictators and brutal aristocrats, this poem may have meaning for democracies on the brink of becoming authoritarian societies. Why not adapt the poetic versions into good terse English prose and illustrate the fairy tale with Russian postcards. They might teach us a lesson. Why not make the poem even more critical of fascist rule than Yershov’s poem did? Why not strengthen the wonderful friendship between little Double-Hump (whose name my wife created) and brave Ivan? Why not have the princess and Ivan simply disappear at the end and leave the people to decide how their country will be governed?

Fairy tales evolve and spread in strange ways. In the case of Fearless Ivan and his Faithful Horse Double-Hump, the Russians can teach us a lesson or two of how to combat absolutism. Many Russian fairy tales resonate like letters from Russia not only with love but with freedom, and I want to share them in English with young and old readers. And, of course, I have thrown a good deal of joy into the mix.





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Jack Zipes is professor emeritus in the Department of German, Scandinavian, and Dutch at the University of Minnesota. He is the author of more than forty books, including Fearless Ivan and His Faithful Horse Double-Hump (a retelling of Pyotr Yershov's Russian folk tale, Minnesota, 2018); Tales of Wonder: Retelling Fairy Tales through Picture Postcards (Minnesota, 2017); The Brothers Grimm: From Enchanted Forests to the Modern World; Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales; and Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales, Children, and the Culture Industry.

Wildflowers Series #5: "All of it magical."


Churchill Greywacke and Mountain Avens at Cape Merry
in Churchill, Manitoba. All photography by Kelly Povo.


BY PHYLLIS ROOT AND KELLY POVO


When we signed up for a class about subarctic wildflowers at the Northern Studies Centre in Churchill, Manitoba, we decided to drive rather than fly to Winnipeg where we would catch the plane to Churchill (the only way into that town now that the tundra train’s washed-out tracks have not yet been repaired). We made lots of stops along the way to look for native wildflowers in Minnesota prairies, floating bogs, and the tallgrass aspen parkland, and we saw at least an orchid a day, from rose pogonia and grass-pink to heart-leaved twayblade, round-leaved orchid, lesser rattlesnake-plantain, showy lady’s-slipper, and western prairie fringed orchid.

Once in Churchill, we abandoned our daily orchid count, since orchids grow abundantly, especially round-leaved orchid and green-flowered bog orchid (or maybe small northern bog orchid, we still aren’t sure how to tell them apart). We saw new-to-us northern lady’s-slipper (also called sparrow’s egg for the delicate dots on the pouch) and a rare northern twayblade along with plenty of tiny blunt-leaved orchids. Tiny was the operative word for many of the flowers we saw, so much so that we put a moratorium on using the t-word. Many, but not all, of the plants that we knew from Minnesota are smaller up by Churchill, but we still recognized them: bog rosemary, large-flowered wintergreen, early coralroot, buckbean, bog laurel.




Thrift.


Butterwort.


And many flowers were completely new to us: flame-coloured lousewort, white mountain avens, northern hedysarum, elephant’s-head, three-toothed saxifrage, alpine arnica—the list goes on and on. Any stop alongside the road presented more flowers to add to the list. Altogether in our six days in Churchill we listed over 100 new and familiar flowers and plants, including, at a stop at Rankin Inlet north of the treeline on our flight back to Winnipeg, the lovely pink flowers of thrift.

The surprise of the trip was common butterwort, which we’ve only ever seen in two places in Minnesota, although we do know there are other populations. In Churchill, butterwort was ubiquitous: we seemed to see its purple flowers nodding above sticky yellow star-shaped leaves every place, every day. Common butterwort, uncommon in Minnesota, thrives in the Churchill region, and made us laugh every time we saw it, which was frequently.

We went to Churchill to learn new flowers, but we loved finding old flower friends from Minnesota as well. Coming home, we discovered that some of those same new-to-us flowers also grew in Minnesota. Flowers grow wherever sun and soil and moisture offer a foothold. They don’t stop at borders, and neither did we.

Well, we actually did stop at the Canadian border to show our passports and answer questions, but you know what we mean.

And even though we went to see wildflowers, we also saw beluga whales swimming in the Churchill River.

All of it magical.

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Phyllis Root and Kelly Povo spent ten years collaborating on Searching for Minnesota's Native Wildflowers: A Guide for Beginners, Botanists, and Everyone in Between. Check back on this blog as they document their wildflower-seeking adventures this summer.