"The Sixties and The Seven"
By David Steffen
The 1960s were clearly a decade of change. The fact that the Boomers like to remember it—almost always fondly—doesn’t change history. I’m certain that subsequent generations of friends and family would prefer to never hear about the ‘60s again. The truth is that there was so much going on, and in a relatively short period of time, the impact of that decade will long be felt—or at least remembered—musically, politically and culturally.
Musically, the 1960s saw the transformation of rock ’n’ roll into something new. Think about it: the British Invasion, the integration of Motown and Rhythm & Blues into pop culture, folk music’s adoption of the electric guitar, a growing consumer shift to albums from singles, and so much more, all amplified by a growing presence on television. Touring would be transformed with the help of more and larger venues available for music. And then came the “Summer of Love”.
In January 1967, as many as 100,000 young people would make San Francisco a destination during the year. The “Summer of Love” and Haight-Ashbury, like siren songs, compelled them to go west, not to the rocks but to a sense of common purpose. It was the year of Monterey Pop, a successful and important concert event featuring more than thirty artists including Big Brother and The Holding Company (including band-member Janis Joplin), Booker T. & The M.G.’s, Eric Burden and the Animals, Jefferson Airplane, The Mamas and the Papas, Jimi Hendrix, Laura Nyro, Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar and The Who. Monterey Pop was a singular event in the trajectory of music in the decade, but seemingly always in the shadow of a later festival event in upstate New York. Happily, music writer Rusty Desoto has placed Monterey Pop where it should be:
“Monterey Pop was a seminal event ...featuring debut performances of bands that would shape the history of rock and affect popular culture from that day forward. The County Fairgrounds in Monterey, California ...had been home to folk, jazz and blues festivals for many years. But the weekend of June 16–18, 1967 was the first time it was used to showcase rock music.”
All of this was two years before Woodstock. By the time summer ended, Scott McKenzie’s hit record (a song written by John Phillips of the Mamas and Papas), had been an anthem encouraging youth to be a part of the “Summer of Love”. By design or by accident, the lyrics were a reminder to be peaceful: “If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”
Culturally, there were outward symbols of a societal change. Hair was growing longer on both men and women, fashion was promoting color, flair (literally and figuratively), and style that no one could ignore. 1967 began with the Human Be-in in January in San Francisco, with Timothy Leary’s message amplified to another 30,000 people in Golden Gate Park. Words like "psychedelic", phrases like “counter culture”, and ideas like “Turn on, tune in, drop out” took hold. After being fired from Harvard University Leary stayed on-message, advocating for the use of psychedelic drugs. At one point he was clearly well known nationally, became an icon of the counterculture of the 1960s, recommending that his followers—and youth in general—“question authority".
And politically, the conflict in southeast Asia was demanding more and more troops to “win” the Vietnam War. Between 1965 and and the end of 1967 an additional 400,000 American soldiers were sent to fight in Vietnam. A revised Draft (the Military Selective Service Act) expanded the ages of the draft pool to eligible males between the ages of 18 to 55. Blacks were 50% more likely than whites to be drafted. Not surprisingly, the politics of the draft began to shape much of America’s young men. Although women were not drafted, women were not necessarily happy at the prospect of watching their boyfriends and husbands go to war. Single women, wives and girlfriends also began to embrace a new era of women’s rights. By 1967 Women’s Liberation had formally organized across the country: Berkeley, Boston, Chicago, New York City. They were flanked by similar groups in Canada and Mexico.
Sexual mores changed as oral contraceptives provided women with more control of their bodies and their lives. The government even created an acronym for men and women living together: POSSLQ, People of the Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters. It’s unlikely any two people deciding to share an apartment considered themselves POSSLQs. Nevertheless, times were changing. And then came 1968. A presidential election year, with changes all around: music, war, sex, drugs. What could possibly go wrong?
On one lazy January evening the news came: the North Vietnamese had launched an offensive against five separate cities in South Vietnam. Although the North failed militarily, the attacks changed the view of many Americans. President Johnson found that more than 60% of America opposed continuing the war. Two months later, on March 31, I was pulling a Sunday evening shift at radio station WZMF in Milwaukee. That evening President Lyndon Johnson surprised everyone by declaring he would “not seek, nor accept the nomination for president” in 1968. Students were marching in the streets against the war, the military knew the war was a stalemate, the draft had driven a wedge between generations, and after years of significant achievements, Johnson could see the campaign was a coming disaster.
Consider Johnson's successes: he won passage of a major tax cut, the Clean Air Act, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964. That followed with The Social Security Amendments of 1965 creating two government-run healthcare programs, Medicare and Medicaid, The Voting Rights Act of 1965, his ”War on Poverty" and major increases in federal funding to education. All of that success was being ignored, overwhelmed, obscured by the protests in the streets. Then came the assassinations of Martin Luther King in April, and Bobby Kennedy in June.
In August, Democrats headed to Chicago for the party’s national convention. Although hopes were high for Humphrey to officially receive the nomination, and security was high at the convention center—this was Mayor Richard J. Daley’s Chicago, after all—just five miles away in Grant Park things were on the edge. By a mile. Individuals, groups and then hundreds began to raise the noise level. From Grant Park and other sites in the area, the gatherings turned into loud protests by thousands of antiwar demonstrators. They wanted Kennedy, Eugene McCarthy, George McGovern, or almost any other antiwar candidate. Provoked or not, the Chicago police attacked and beat these protesters, most of them young college students, which amplified the growing unrest among the public.
In Chicago to protest were seven individuals who would—like it or not—gain fame as the Chicago Seven. They were Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, David Dellinger, Tom Hayden, Rennie Davis, John Froines, and Lee Weiner. (Black Panther Bobby Seale was also a defendant, but was later excused due to a mistrial). The seven were charged by the United States federal government with conspiracy, crossing state lines with intent to incite a riot, and other charges related to anti-Vietnam War and countercultural protests during the 1968 Convention. At the center of the trial was Judge Julius Hoffman. To say he was not up to the task is an understatement.
There is a new film available on Netflix worth seeing. “The Trial of the Chicago 7”. It does credible job of weaving the elements together. The cast includes Eddie Redmayne as Tom Hayden, Sacha Baron Cohen as Abbie Hoffman, Jeremy Strong as Jerry Rubin, John Carroll Lynch as David Dellinger, Yahya Abdul-MateenII as Bobby Seale, Mark Rylance as William Kunstler, Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Richard Schultz and Frank Langella as Judge Hoffman. The running time is 129 minutes. It's a well-cast film, directed and written by Aaron Sorkin. If you love Sorkin, you’ll love the movie. If you don’t love Sorkin, you’ll still like the movie. It’s well worth your two hours and nine minutes.
