THE SIXTIES CATCHES UP WITH ME

In the spring of 1972, when I was a high school teacher, I arranged for all the juniors and seniors in the school to view a special showing of a movie called Joe, that dealt with changes taking place in American society.  It seemed like a good fit for my Contemporary Problems classes where we had been discussing the issues of drugs, alienation, the sexual revolution, the student rebellion, feminism, the war in Viet Nam, racial conflicts, the so-called “generation gap” and, in general, the fissures forming in the country.

In the film, Joe, a blue-collar guy who hates the whole drug and hippie scene, finds himself in agreement with Bill, a wealthy and educated New York advertising executive.  Normally, they would have had little in common, but their anger and disillusionment at the direction in the country, drew them together into an unholy alliance. 

The film was nothing if not timely.  When originally released in July,1970, the country was exploding in turmoil.  In what came to be known as the My Lai massacre, American soldiers reportedly killed as many as five hundred Vietnamese civilians, most of whom were women, children and the elderly.  The previous spring, around thirty R.O.T.C. buildings had been set on fire or bombed on college campuses.   More than 500 colleges closed early.  Earlier that year four college students were inadvertently shot by the national guard at Kent State University. Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated. In May, 1968, students occupied buildings at Columbia University, alleging the school’s links to the Viet Nam war.  In the city, two hundred construction workers assaulted demonstrators at an anti-war rally.  These “hard hats” representing the patriotic right, invaded City Hall to demand the American flag, which had been lowered to half-staff in honor of the murdered Kent State students, be raised to full staff; they smashed windows at nearby Pace College.  

 In the fall of 1970, Yale professor Charles Reich, published his huge bestseller, “The Greening of America,” in which he praised the drugged-out hippie scene as the unstoppable, inherently wise vanguard of a new generational reality.   The so-called New Left had no doubt about America’s uptight, conservative villains.

 The right was also angry.   In 1969, vice President Spiro Agnew, characterized anti-war protestors as “anarchists and ideological eunuchs.” The media, he said further, are “an effete corps of impudent snobs.”  At the Republican National Convention in 1992, Marilyn Quayle, wife the vice-presidential candidate, Dan Quale reflected back on those maligned “fascists.” 

“Dan and I are members of the baby-boom generation too.  We are all shaped by the times in which we live.  I came of age in a time of turbulent social change.  Some of it was good, such as civil rights; much of it was questionable.  Not everyone joined the counterculture.  Not everyone demonstrated, dropped out, took drugs, joined in the sexual revolution or dodged the draft.  Not everyone concluded that American society was so bad that it had to be radically remade by social revolution.   Changes needed to be made; we did not believe in destroying America to save it.”   

 The country was bitterly divided and confused.  In the film, Joe and Bill, on the one hand, and the hippies they so loathed on the other, represented those divisions.  

The movie received excellent reviews.  The Wall Street Journal called Joe, “powerful.”  The Los Angeles Times described it as an "immensely sophisticated piece of filmmaking."  Time magazine praised it as ''a film of Freudian anguish, biblical savagery and immense social and cinematic importance.”    The theater was right next door to the school.   It would be the perfect vehicle to stimulate discussion in my Contemporary Problems classes.

Unfortunately, as I often did, I acted impulsively, arranging the showing without first reviewing the film.  The three high school principals, seeing a pleasant afternoon at the movies, sat in the last row of the theater.

 In the opening scene, a hippie girl walks down a New York City Street.  She enters an apartment, takes off her clothes, jumps into the bathtub with her boyfriend.  Her breasts are clearly visible.  In the first ten minutes, the theater echoes with prick, shit, ass and fuck.  The hippie boyfriend shoots up.  He is cruel, nasty and callous.   

Not exactly Little House on the Prairie.

Here’s the trailer.

From there it got worse; much worse. It was all sex, drugs, nudity, murder and rock & roll.  The swearing continued throughout the movie.  In one scene Joe and Bill have sex with some hippie girls. (She’s on top, Joe’s on the bottom, I’m on the theater floor.) In another scene, Bill beats up a girl to find out where his daughter is.  They drive to a commune where they not only kill the hippies, but tragically, shoot Bill’s daughter.

 I was horrified. From the opening moment of the film, I sank deeper and deeper into my seat.  I cringed at every four-letter word.  Half the high school was looking at bare breasts, buttocks and fornication.  I was in big trouble, and I knew it.  When the conservative military parents hear about this, there is going to be hell to pay.  Sitting there in the darkened theater, I silently berated myself for having acted so carelessly.  Had I seen the film in advance, I never would have shown it to my adolescent students.  Contemporary Problems notwithstanding, the film was completely inappropriate; I alone was responsible.

The movie ended right on schedule at 2:45. The theater lights came on. The kids raced for the exits and disappeared through the heavy double doors as if giant vacuums were sucking them up.  In moments the theater was empty.  I stood up and turned to see the three principals sitting in the last row.  Their eyes were glazed; they stared at the blank screen in a seemingly catatonic state.   

There was no way I was going to slither out of this; I determined to face the music on the spot in the quiet of the dimly lit theater.  I walked slowly to the last row, cleared my throat, and began to stammer something about “not actually having seen the movie in advance,” but they were not listening; they were shell-shocked.  They seemed glued to their seats, staring forward, eyes as big as saucers, unable to move.

 Finally, Doc Kroger, the assistant principal spoke.  He scratched his goatee beard and said, “what an amazing movie.”

I looked at him warily and remained strategically silent.  Doc went on to say that he had grown-up in a blue-collar home like the one depicted in the film.  It reminded him of his roots.  The other two principals were equally affected.  “Very powerful,” said the female AP.  The next day, the principal congratulated me on showing the film.  He went on to say that some parents had complained and wanted to know what action would be taken against the teacher.  “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a condescending snigger. 

I managed to cough up a very thin laugh.  “Ha ha, well, yea, uh, well thanks for being so understanding.”  But I was thinking that these principals were crazy.  They should have read me the riot act, should have disciplined me, should have put a note in my file, should have written a letter home to all the parents apologizing for this lapse of judgment.

Instead of apologizing, Doc Kroger came to all of my classes the next day to discuss the implications of the film.  I put my regular lesson on hold so Doc could lead the discussion. He was very excited about the whole thing and could not get enough classroom interaction. The conversations in classes that day exceeded my expectations.  The kids all thought I was very cool.  Although I dodged the bullet, the world around me was transforming, and I wasn’t happy about it.

In the closing days of 1968, I wrote in my journal:

The U.S. is being torn apart.  Revolution is possible since protest has turned to resistance.  Minorities, hippies, and college students are rebelling against the establishment.  I fear we are in trouble – more internally than externally…“I only hope the war (in Viet Nam) ends before full scale civil war breaks out.  I really feel more than ever that I must get away from this country and this life and taste the life and feeling of another country.  I just want to run away to an island.

Which is exactly what I did.

Welcome to the confusion, conflict, violence and ambiguity of a society in transition.