est: Verbal Abuse and Wet Underwear for $250

Who in their right mind would pay about a grand for two weekends of verbal abuse and restriction of basic liberties such as bathroom breaks to the point that some participants lost control of their bodily functions? Of course I'm referring to est, or Ehrhard Seminars Training, probably the most laughed-at of the wacky Seventies self-improvement systems. If you saw the film Semi Tough with Burt Reynolds, then you witnessed a parody of this absurd movement, which many renounced as a form of mind-control.

Born Jack Rosenberg in Philadelphia, Werner Hans Ehrhard was a former encyclopedia salesman who had experienced a variety of Eastern and Western-style pop psychology workshops before deciding to start his own training company. The goal of est was rather vaguely defined as "getting it," but from what I can discern the major thrust was on accepting responsibility for the miserable state you were in before taking the course, and accepting yourself for what you are. But it was Ehrhard's teaching technique, rather than his nebulous message, that generated so much interest. For $250 (about a grand in today's money) candidates would experience four 16-hour days during which they would be allowed very few opportunities to eat, drink, use the bathroom or (most importantly) think for themselves. Ehrhard or his designees would berate the crowd, repeatedly calling them "assholes." Finally, in a Satori-like moment, people would learn to accept themselves, as well as responsibility for their actions, and would reportedly leave the seminar aglow with enthusiasm (and with a zeal to bring in new students). Click here for a 1975 Psychology Today article which describes an est session.

This 'break 'em and re-make 'em' philosophy may sound familiar to those who have read about or experienced heavy-duty indoctrination or brainwashing. Needless to say, est and Ehrhard drew enormous amounts of criticism from those who labeled the movement a cult and its techniques a form of mind-control. It was also rather hard on the trainees, and many of us heard reports of people breaking under the strain of the seminars. The lack of toilet breaks (and the frequent bladder accidents which resulted) were a particularly well-known aspect of est, and the cause for many jokes. But it was the 1977 film Semi-Tough, starring Kris Kristofferson and Burt Reynolds, that most effectively satirized Werner and Company. Kristofferson plays a pro football player who finds himself involved in "Bismark Energy Activation Training" (BEAT) taught by a charismatic leader who had changed his name from Rosenberg. It's a great look at Seventies self-help movements.

Eventually Ehrhard and his followers softened and polished their program into something called The Forum, which had many spin-offs, including the well-known Hunger Project (which announced it was going to eliminate hunger in the world). The food-deprivation may have been left behind, but the operation still had cult-like aspects. I once attended a meeting where some guest speakers from the Hunger Project made a presentation, and felt like I was at one of those "free" weekends at which they try to sell you time shares. It was a real high-pressure operation. When I got up to leave, two thirds of the room went with me.

Moonies

Some of the many Seventies movements, like est, were wacky. Others, like the Children of God, were pretty sinister. The Moonies, as followers of Sun Myung Moon were commonly called, seemed to be regarded as both. In any case, they certainly were part of our urban landscape, especially after they bought the famed New Yorker Hotel and tried going into the newspaper business.

“Reverend” Moon arrived in the US in 1971 with the help of Senator Strom Thurmond, one of many right-wingers to initially love his strong anti-communist message. (Moon had done time in a North Korean labor camp). Nixon was one of his many fans at that time. His message was a combination of ‘don’t worry; be happy,’ anti-communism and the unity of all religions (over which he was the divinely-appointed leader). He compiled his teachings in a thick volume of gobbledygook entitled the The Divine Principle, which contained profundities such as “Yin and Yang are the reverse polarities of Logos.” Needless to say, it didn’t make the Best Seller lists. He founded a slew of organizations with assorted names, but the most commonly-recognized around here were the Unification Church, and the Collegiate Association for the Research of Principles (CARP).

At first, Moon’s followers seemed to be mostly be fellow Asians, chiefly Japanese and Koreans, whom you would often see selling flowers and collecting money at stoplights, as well as door-to-door. I recall when one visited my grandmother; she commented that the poor fellow looked dazed and had “smelled of hunger,” as she put it. Grandma was onto something, as there were numerous reports surfacing that the Moonies were using aggressive techniques such as sleep-deprivation and inadequate nutrition to help break new converts’ will.

In time, alarming stories were coming out regarding an increasing number of mostly middle-class, idealistic young adults who were being lured into Moon’s “cult” and “brainwashed” into renouncing their families, turning all their funds over to the organization and working long hours raising money for “Master,” as he was called. In response to this, an informal network of professional “deprogrammers” emerged – people hired by family members who would snatch the convert from the clutches of the Moonies or similar cults, bring them to a remote location, and attempt to break the group’s control over them. Since the Moonies were adults, this practice was not without its critics!

Meanwhile, in 1977 Congressman Don Fraser released the results of a long investigation of Moon, and his alleged ties to the Korean CIA.. Faced with rising criticism, Moon tried to establish himself as a patriot. My friend Rich attended his giant “God Bless America” rally at Yankee Stadium in 1976 (it wasn’t a sell-out). Since Moon didn’t speak English at the time, he had to do his flag-waving through a translator. At one point he thundered “One nation under God!” as his words were flashed in huge letters on the scoreboard. (Since Moon regarded himself as divine, I am sure he was in effect saying “under me”). At the same time, the Moonies were working to soften their image and to establish groups, like CARP, whose connection with Master were not readily apparent. A glassy-eyed kid handed a CARP newsletter on the Columbia campus in 1979. Mostly a series of simplistic articles against Communism, it made no direct mention to Moon, although there were some references to “Unification” thought – towards the back of the paper.

The Moonies soon bought the historic New Yorker hotel at 34 Street and 8^th Avenue as their headquarters, and established a “seminary” in Barrytown, NY, a small town along the Hudson in Dutchess County. While we saw less and less of them selling flowers, they were quietly moving into a variety of business ventures, one of the first being The News World, a daily widely known as “The Moonie Paper,” which hardly anyone read, except during newspaper strikes (Master’s followers did not belong to the Newspaper Guild). Then came Il Hwa, marketers of ginseng products, including “Ginseng Up!” soda.

In the meantime, rumors started to spread that many Korean immigrants, who by coincidence were establishing their businesses as the same time as the Moonies were being bankrolled by them, This was complete nonsense, of course.

One of the most bizarre aspects of Moonieism was their wedding ceremonies, at which hundreds of couples would be married simultaneously by Moon, frequently in Madison Square Garden.

During the Eighties Moon was jailed on tax fraud charges. He has since made a remarkable comeback, finding his way increasingly into the mainstream by kissing up to the far right, including Jerry Falwell. The News World became a Spanish daily, Noticias del Mundo, but that flopped as well. But Moon hardly suffered, as he acquired The Washington Times, the University of Bridgeport, and many other businesses. Click here for a long list of Moon fronts.

Cut Your Hair When You Can Eat It

Why did so many guys wear their hair long well into the Seventies? After all, that was a Sixties thing - right? As in the musical, protests, hippies, etc.

Most of the guys I hung around with in my teens had long hair. How long? Well, one test we used was to comb it over our faces. If it didn't come down at least as far as your nose, you were a hopeless Young Republican wannabe. But most of us wouldn't even consider cutting our hair until it was long enough to reach our mouths. No, most of our parents didn't approve, but that was probably the main reason why we did it.

Probably the most common reason guys gave for long hair was simply that it meant you were cool, as in against Nixon, the Catholic Youth Association, the Vietnam War, station wagons with wood on the sides, the John Birch types (where I grew up the JB Society took out ads in the local paper), the Osomonds, and so on. It also meant that you somewhat identified with rock and roll, bands like the Grateful Dead and a more relaxed way of life, as opposed to the chief opposing camps: the Browns and the Greasers.

Browns (as in "brown-nose," since they were seen as kissing the asses of the teachers) were our generation's nerds. And this was before computers made being a nerd acceptable. If you were a Brown you did not have long hair.

Greasers were just what you would think. They were the disco kings and queens before that era. Greaser guys dressed in leather jackets with fur collars, got into fights and looked like they were auditioning for Sha-Na-Na, their favorite band (although they didn't go for their "Grease for Peace" slogan). Greasers pretended to be rebels but were about as cool as hot coals. A lot studied to become accountants.

One thing that separated Seventies Long Hairs from their Sixties older brothers was that a lot of them had their hair styled. By the mid-Seventies barber shops were giving way to "unisex hair cutters" where they didn't just chop your long hair off. I'll never forget the first time I went to one - my parents forced me. This guy brings me to a sink and starts washing my hair using something that smelled like a strawberry colada. WHAT?!! No guy washes MY hair!! Then he shows me a book of hair styles and asks me to pick one! This wasn't my old Italian barber who smoked a cigar and told dirty jokes. I left feeling humiliated, and was tormented by my friends for days afterwards. Of course, eventually they would go to such a joint, and would in turn be the object of the teasing. But strange as it was to us, the Unisex joints stayed took off. I soon found one staffed entirely by cute women. But I never really liked those places. They seemed...I don't know... Opposed to what we thought we were standing for.

Ticketron: The Average Joe's Ticket Agency

We didn't have the Internet or Ticketmaster during the Seventies if we wanted concert or other tickets, but we did have the great service known as Ticketron. The idea was simple; have a ticket service outlet at various department and other stores. It beat waiting on lines at box offices, and you didn't need a credit card.

My friends and I typically used the Ticketron counter on the balcony level of the Abraham and Strauss (now a Macy's) department store on Fulton Street in Brooklyn. Usually there was not much of a line, but things could change if a hot act was coming. In 1974 the Grateful Dead and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young both began selling tickets at the same time for their summer shows at Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey City. On that morning the line stretched down the stairs to the main floor of A and S, where kids waited for hours to purchase a maximum of four seats to each show. When you finally got to the counter you would pay for your tickets, which were then printed by a machine that seemed fascinating at the time. Using a noisy dot-matrix printer, it would shoot the tickets out in a continuous strip into a  plexiglass box at what seemed like lightening speed. You could pay with cash, which was great for kids, and you had the tickets in the palm of your hand.

Ticketron charged only a dollar over the face value of your ticket, which was one hellova deal. Then came the evil  Ticketmaster, which charged heavier service charges. With its aggressive marketing and ability to pass higher charges on to the performers, Ticketmaster lured many of the big acts, and in 1991 they gobbled up Ticketron.

The Rise and Fall of Alice Cooper

Vincent Furnier, aka Alice Cooper, was one of the original shock rock acts of the early Seventies. I've heard two stories as to how he acquired his stage name. The first was that he simply thought of it because it was so "American." But the other, more elaborate story involves his learning via a Ouija board that he was the reincarnation of a 17th Century English witch of the same name. Regardless, a guy named Alice was a pretty radical idea when he and his band of the same name got started in the late Sixties, and initially he was a flop.

Things changed with the release of his albums "Love It to Death" and "Killer" in 1971. With his elaborate, often violent stage shows and tunes such as "Dead Babies," Alice quickly became hugely popular with kids in their early teens - like an early Gene Simmons. I remember well "Killer," which came with a poster showing Alice at the end of a rope (as part of his live show at the time he would be hanged).

Part of Alice's appeal was the public knowledge that, off-stage, he was nothing at all like the wild masochist he portrayed. Vince had the same girlfriend for many years, and his principle pastime was watching TV.

Released in 1972, the album and single "School's Out" seemed to mark the peek of Alice's popularity. The LP jacket was made to resemble one of those old wooden school desks which would open at the top to reveal the record. (The early Seventies seemed to be the period during which album covers were the most unusual; remember the Stones' "Sticky Fingers" with its zipper, or Jefferson Airplane's "Bark," which came in a paper bag?) "School's Out" featured a tune based upon "West Side Story," another in which the protagonist is a prisoner who slashes his wrists, and an actual sentimental piece about graduating high school.

Alice had a few more hits after "School's Out," but never regained his level of popularity. His band broke up, and he tried a new, tough guy persona (remember "Muscle of Love?) that just didn't work. Maybe it was because his fan base was maturing, or perhaps competition from other shock bands such as Kiss made him less of a novelty. By the time the Seventies ended, Alice was appearing as a star on the "Hollywood Squares" game show. By then all of us had long gotten rid of his albums.

When the Seventies Ended: January 20, 1981

The Seventies certainly did not end on December 31, 1979. Nothing big happened then. (I was at a New Year's Eve party in Bayonne). So when did the decade end?

For a while I thought of December 8, 1980 as a good cutoff for the Seventies. That was the day, as some of you will recall, that John Lennon was gunned down outside of his home on 72 Street and Central Park West. John's demise was clearly symbolic of the death of something greater: perhaps the last shreds of Sixties idealism or the hippie style. But after the shock wore off Life was the same for most of us.

On January 20, 1981 two major events occurred. Of course there was the inauguration of former actor Ronald Wilson Reagan as President of the United States. The second, which occurred just moments after Reagan took the Oath of Office, was the release of the US hostages in Iran. Reagan was clearly an Eighties president, what with his emphasis upon the media and appeals to nostalgia. The Iran hostage crisis was just the capper of a whole series of events that left Americans feeling pretty lousy about their country. Here was a superpower, held hostage by some wacko students who followed a "spiritual leader" who looked like a character from a bad horror movie. Jimmy Carter, sober former nuclear engineer and naval officer, could do nothing. Well, he did try to rescue the hostages, using America's most elite forces, only to have the effort collapse as a farce in the desert.

The emergence of the Reagan Revolution and Iran's Islamic Revolution had a number of things in common, and I sometimes think Khomieni was sending his fellow demagogue an inauguration present when he freed the captives. Both movements were heavily backed by hypocritical clerics looking for power; each appealed to emotion instead of reason, and there was a yearning in both nations for a return to 'pure' values that never existed.

Sasson v "Sosueme" - Counterfeit Designer Jeans

My friend from New Jersey called, all excited. "I got you a pair of Sasson designer jeans!" Of course, like many people, she mispronounced the name "Sassoon," as in the brand of shampoo. So did some of their own commercials.

Designer jeans? Who can forget those commercials? Jordache, Gloria Vanderbilt, Sergio Valente and of course Sasson. To many of us they were an affection. People paid top dollar to have the name of some "designer" (what else did Jordache "design?") on their backsides. The pants were also uncomfortable: rigid, skin-tight, with fabric that felt like sandpaper. The idea of faded, comfortable jeans was out; designer duds were supposed to look like you just got them home from the store. Some people even had their dry cleaned, starched and pressed to preserve the look. What? Starched blue jeans?!

I had few "designer" items in my wardrobe, aside from what people like my friend gave me. Where I was from there were only two brands of jeans: Lees or Levi's. Anything else could get you labeled a "Disco," which, for a Deadhead type like myself, symbolized just about everything we despised: conspicuous consumption, materialism,  and the Bee-Gees. But, the message was starting to get through to me that a lot of people liked this stuff, including the ladyfriend who called me that day after returning from the Paramus Mall.

But wait a minute! There was something strange here. Not only were the pants my friend bought cheaply-made, but they didn't even have the Sasson logo. Then we saw the tag; in letters so small you could barely read them it read "SOSUEME."

Counterfeit designer clothes were a big item, but I never heard of somebody getting them at a mall before. A while later, my parents gave me a pair of 'real' Sasson corduroy pants. I thought they were no big deal, and they wore out quickly.

Eventually Sasson stopped mispronouncing their name in their commercials (perhaps they were sued by the shampoo manufacturer). The firm went bankrupt.

Frat Brats and the Women's Studies Class: 1976

I so admire you for taking 'Women, Culture and Society!'"

Do you know that sickening feeling that comes when somebody praises you for doing something over which you had very little control? Well, that's how I felt when the handful of radical types at my college would flatter me for being one of only two men in our school's first Women's Studies course. Not that I had anything against women, of course. But the reality was that the class fit my schedule, and I knew the professor was an easy grader. I didn't think much about it one way or the other. I mean, we had a course in "American Ethnic Groups," in which all the students and the professor were white. Such was life in a small Catholic liberal arts college during the Seventies.

Apparently, however, some of the guys in our school had other feelings about the Women's Studies course. Mostly members of the jock fraternities, these assholes would walk by the classroom and make assorted noises and gestures. Why escaped me. The professor was well-liked by everyone, and certainly not the angry man-hater feminist sometimes portrayed in the media. Remember the old joke?

Q: How many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: That's not funny!!

Well, she certainly wasn't one of those! As for the students, most were hardly radicals either. Most were first or second year liberal arts or business majors, all white, from mostly Irish or Italian blue-collar backgrounds. Typically they listened to disco music and wore designer jeans. This was not the Birkenstock-wearing crowd who hung out at the organic food collective.

As for the course content, much of it consisted of the professor's singing the praises of the child-rearing practices of the Israeli Kibbutz settler movement, in which kids were raised communally, with little close contact with their parents, in what were called "Children's Societies." Most of us had never heard of a Kibbutz, and their practices sounded strange. She also complained that women were pretty much disadvantaged in every single situation in society. I remember doing a presentation on the matter of women with disabilities, after which she asked me if it was true disabled women had more trouble than their male counterparts. No, I replied, I think that the men have more problems in some ways, due to notions of independence, being the Provider, etc. She couldn't accept the idea.

I am not sure how much I learned in Women, Culture and Society. However, I did notice something rather shocking about sex roles towards the end of the term: the guys making the funny noises and gestures were some of the most popular men on campus - and their fans included several of my fellow Women's Studies students.

As for the Kibbutzim, I learned later that many child care experts did not approve of their methods, and some research showed that kids reared in such a manner had, as they say, "issues" later in life. Surprise. Their philosophy sounds quaintly naive in retrospect.

As for our professor, she was denied tenure, something that the school did routinely to anyone who did not tow the rigid Catholic line. Recently I did a web search on her, and found that she's teaching social work in another part of the country.

The Beloved Checker Taxi Cab

Checker cabs were the best taxis ever to hit the streets of our city. Roomy and sturdy as a tank, they seemed to last forever, and their engines produced a familiar sound. Best of all, they had a real old time feel about them; you sensed you were in an old black and white film when you stepped into one, as if a driver was going to turn around and ask "Where to, Bud?"

Through the Seventies the Checkers were the most common taxi cabs in NYC, as well as other major US cities, and were made by the Checker Cab Company of Kalamazoo.

Shoppers loved the Checkers since they held so much stuff, and old people appreciated the ease of entry and exit - plus the leg room. In fact, the back of a Checker was so vast that I had a friend who was able to fit her electric wheelchair in one - completely assembled, with her in it!

Sadly, Checker stopped making its taxis in 1982, although some of these workhorses continued serving our city for more than 15 years afterwards. The last official yellow Checker cab in NYC was retired in 1999.

Woodside: Capitol of Vietnam Casualties

Everyone's heard the story: The working-class draftee comes back from Vietnam a complete mess, only to be ridiculed and called a "fascist" by a bunch of rich brats whose daddies could keep them out of the war. Black 47 made a song about it ("My Love Is in New York"). But how often did such behavior actually happen around our town during the Seventies? After all, we were that great hotbed of anti-war sentiment, right? And at the same time, we sent a hellova lot of guys off to fight (and die) there. What kind of reception did New York's returning Vietnam vets receive? I'd really like to hear from some vets about this one.

Here's a fascinating bit of local history: I have heard that Zip Code 11377 - Woodside, Queens - had more casualties than any other in the United States. Why Woodside? Some say it was the strong patriotism of the largely blue-collar Irish people who lived there that sent them off to war. I doubt that; there are many places in this country where such a mentality is just as strong, if not stronger. And I hardly think that those of Irish descent are any more "patriotic" than any other ethnic group. Even if they were, Woodside hardly had a monopoly on the Celtic population in our town. This whole matter would make an interesting investigative journalism piece. Regardless, a lot of guys from New York went off to Nam.

Whether they returned to Woodside or anywhere else, the Vietnam vets I knew did not complain of widespread mistreatment when they returned. Some were given hero's welcomes; I remember seeing houses decorated with ribbons and flags awaiting them. For most the reception was fairly quiet. The draft ended in the early Seventies, although draftees still had to serve out their tours. People were no longer terrified that they or their friends would be called up; getting sent there was something that happened to other people. Besides, Nixon assured us, he had a Plan to  honorably exit the unpopular, undeclared war. (Some of this sounds familiar).

Whatever reception the Viet Nam vets received from their neighbors, they all seem to agree on one thing: the V.A. was not of much help.

WHN: Proof that Schlock Sells

Schlocky music came in all forms during the Seventies, but if you wanted to find it in concentrated doses while in NYC the best place to tune your dial was 1050 AM - WHN, which was at the time our town's country music station.

Before the Johnny Cash fans out there start getting mad, please let me explain that most of the stuff you heard on WHN was not real country music - Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, and the like. And certainly country music didn't have the monopoly on schlock; let us not forget "Disco Duck." But for some reason the Seventies produced a huge number of wretched stupid C and W tunes like "Convoy," "Phantom 309," "I Think Jamaica in the Moonlight" (sung with a pseudo Jamaican accent!) and the immortal "Teddy Bear" - a talking record about a handicapped boy who communicates with truckers via CB radio. WHN played them all faithfully. If you recall these tunes, you will note that many had trucker themes, and that was probably the only thing that tied them to the country genre, except perhaps that they were...errr...sung...by white guys with Southern accents. Some of the stuff was so bad that you wondered how anyone took it seriously. But not only would  thousands of people purchase records like "Teddy Bear" during the allegedly cynical Seventies, but they'd go out and get the sequels - in this case "Teddy Bear's Mom," another talker in which a woman tells the story of the sick child's mother after he dies (the big rigs lined up for miles at the cemetery). As somebody who had worked at a summer camp with handicapped kids, I found such stuff sickening, as did everyone else I knew.  But obviously somebody was buying those records! Listening to WHN was a lesson in sociology; you realized that there were vast numbers of really simple-minded folks out there. And no, these people did not all
reside in the back woods; they were your neighbors!

One partial reason why people listened to WHN was that at the time many car radios could not receive FM, and there were still a number of AM stations. In addition, car stereos were very expensive, and thefts were very common. For many of us, there were few options. As time went on, however, FM radios and tape players did become more or less standard equipment, and AM radio became devoted almost exclusively to talk. AM 1050 became the frequency for ESPN, the sports station. As for country and western, there were several failed attempts to start stations played devoted to this music on FM: WKHK, and then WYNY. Neither lasted.

"Newark in Reality" and Other Fun TV Shows

The Seventies had some strange television, and I'm not talking about the original SNL episodes. Before Reagan pulled most of the teeth from the Federal Communications Commission, local TV stations were required to provide their audiences with so many hours a week of public service programming. The law held that in order to renew its license a broadcaster had to make a list of the major problems facing its community, and provide free programs aimed at addressing these. Needless to say, this stuff was rarely shown on prime time; typically you would catch it early Sunday mornings or late at night. Most was pretty low-budget, but occasionally you'd learn something or be amused. Above all else, it was supposed to show how deeply concerned the station executives were about poverty, failing schools and the like.

Probably the most extreme example of these programs was WOR TV's "Newark in Reality." Just that title was enough to make you want to switch the channel to a test pattern, for if there was one town that out-did NYC in terms of every major social problem, it was our sister city across the Hudson. WOR didn't need to look hard for significant problems to address in Newark; everything was going wrong back then - and this was before Sharp James took over. Each week a serious-looking host would interview some local offical who'd try and assure the half-dozen or so people in the audience that the City was doing its best to keep Newark from turning into a ghost town.

Not everything was so depressing. One show was devoted to careers, and offered employers the opportunity to broadcast free "help wanted" ads. Another billed itself as the "good news program," and highlighted people who actually did positive things.

Besides Reagan's "regulatory reform" two things largely did away with public service programming. The first was the rise of the informercial. Instead of paying for staff and studio time to produce a program, a station could simply play a half-hour commercial for anything from diet supplements to appliances, and collect a fee for it. The other was the advent of what some might call a form of infomercial - the televangelist. As part of their public service, broadcasters had been acustomed to giving free time to local religious groups, like the Board of Rabbis or Council of Churches, but folks like Jim and Tammy would pay to have their shows aired.

Coffee Pot Wars: Mr. Coffee Meets the Percolator

In kitchens and break rooms across America the Seventies saw battle lines drawn between two opposing camps: those loyal to the traditional percolator, with its familiar sound and delightful smell, and a newfangled gadget called "Mr. Coffee," being hawked on TV by one of baseball's greatest legends.

With a percolator, water was boiled at the bottom of the pot. Steam pressure then caused it to rise via a tube to the top, where it would pour over the coffee grounds, which were held in a metal basket. See the above photo. The water percolated through the grinds down to the bottom, and the cycle repeated itself until the coffee reached sufficient strength. A percolator took up little space, and required scant attention, although it was a bit of a hassle to clean. The smell, however, was one of its greatest appeals, and should not be played down. Neurologists tell us that the ofactory nerves are connected directly to the amygdala, a primitive part of the brain which controls our strong emotions. So, you could say that the powerful aroma of perked coffee had a profound psychological effect on people before they even tasted it. There was also the familiar, rhythmic sound of the unit.

Mr. Coffee was a new kid on the block - an automatic drip coffee maker. Of course, drip coffee pots had been around for years in various forms; you put the coffee in the top and poured water over the grounds. But with Mr. Coffee the process was automated. You simply put cold water into a reservoir, and deposited the grinds into a paper filter in a basket. Press the switch, and a few minutes later you have a pot of drip coffee. Mr. Coffee was faster than a percolator, and much easier to clean. In addition, it did not boil the coffee, a process that purists insisted hurt the taste.

The makers of the Mr. Coffee machine knew they had a tough job on their hands - convincing Americans to change something as basic as the way they brewed their morning caffeine. So they signed up the Yankee Clipper, old Joltin' Joe DiMaggio himself to hawk the product. It worked. Introduced in 1972, Mr. Coffee was a hit, and soon many other manufacturers were creating their own lines of automatic drip coffee makers. Models came out in various colors, and with features including timers. Soon the percolator became an item largely reserved for large-scale brewing.

The "Lifestyle" Magazine for Your Average Schlump

When my pal Mike got his own apartment at the tender age of 19 his girlfriend wisely bought him a subscription to Apartment Life, the now defunct magazine which catered to the type of people you'd find in NYC: short on space, short on cash but long on creativity. Mike got so tired of my reading his issues that he bought me a subscription, even though I lived with my parents.

AL was rather like a hip Family Circle for young, mostly single people just starting out. The articles covered stuff like how to stir fry vegetables; negotiating a lease and decorative lighting using clamp-on lamps. It was a welcome contrast to the hokey "family" oriented magazines or the always slightly arrogant New York. I kept my back issues for years. My favorite was a special issue devoted to when John Belushi asked the editors to help him design a soundproof party room for his Greenwich Village townhouse. Years later I went into a professional rehearsal studio and recognized that AL's designers had followed the same principles as top sound engineers.

Sadly, the editors at AL decided that there was more money to be made writing for the 'upscale' market, and sometime in the late Seventies they released a special issue entitled "The New Classics," which resembled Architectural Digest. This was not the same magazine that taught so many of us how to make a bookcase! Soon afterwards they changed their name to Metropolitan Home.

A Salute to the Parkchester Bronx Irish Catholics

They called themselves "BICs" - Bronx Irish Catholics, obviously. Once a major social group within that borough, by the Seventies the Bronx Irish were rapidly disappearing, although there were still quite a few in Saint Raymond's Parish. (Ask an Irish Catholic where he's from and he'll almost always respond first with the name of his parish) - near the Parkchester housing development on the #6 line.

The BICs were a fun lot, whom I had the privilege of hanging around with during the mid-Seventies when I worked for a large Catholic organization. I've partied with a lot of different crowds, but these guys knew how to do it right! Some folks partied by getting drink or stoned and sitting there. Others danced to one type of music. BICs did everything. They were also down on pretense. It didn't matter how you dressed, or if you could afford the expensive stuff. Schaeffer beer was good enough for them. They were also about the most open crowd I've met. Forget the stereotype of the blue-collar white Archie Bunker; the BICs were quick to make friends with everyone.

How Irish were the BICs? I know, some folks from across the pond would laugh at them, calling such people "Plastic Paddies." A surprising number did have parents from Ireland, however, and it was amongst these folks that I actually first heard real Irish Republicanism. Some read a paper called The Irish People, which featured poems about young boys shot down by "drunk Saxon fiends."

And how Catholic were they? Well, the present Pontiff might not consider the BICs terribly observant of rigid doctrine, but most did go to Mass regularly, and were proud of their heritage. Before John Paul II, believe it or not, there was a brief period of Glastnost in the Church. Not only that, but going to Mass with a bunch of BICs was kind of fun. First, let me explain for the benefit of non-Catholic friends that there is a part of the Mass in which the priest asks the congregation to exchange with each other "the Sign of Peace." Most folks shake hands or give a light hug. Well, BICs showed much more enthusiasm, especially in mixed-gender groups! In addition, BIC priests gave short sermons that tended to avoid topics like birth control, and lots of the congregants headed for a drink afterwards. If more houses of worship ran their services like the BICs did, they would not have attendance problems.

The BICs are largely gone now. But the next time you have a pint of Harp, drink a toast to one of the Seventies' most fun-loving people.

Hereford's Cows: The Alcoholic Milkshakes

The booze industry has sometimes been accused of marketing its stuff to kids, and during the late  Seventies one of the most cited examples of this was a selection of milk-based liquers called Hereford's Cows.

Cows came in three flavors: chocolate, vanilla and strawberry.  As I recall, they came in clear quart bottles which showed off their bright colors. What did they taste like? Imagine a cheap milkshake with some neutral spirits added. They were smooth, especially if you added some ice and mixed them up in a blender. My friend Mike and his girlfriend, who didn't like the taste of alcohol but wanted to get mellow now and then, enjoyed them a lot. And this was precisely what bugged many people. They thought that lots of kids who normally would have gagged at the taste of booze would enjoy them, and there start down the road to ruin. But as it turned out the good ol' Iron Hand of the marketplace did away with the Cows, especially since kids already had numerous drinks that they enjoyed.

The NY Dolls and the Great Cultural Divide

I first saw the Dolls in 1973 on an NBC music show called "The Midnight Special," hosted that particular night by the progressive soul band War When it came time to bring on the boys War's vocalist seemed at a loss for words.

"This next band is a little...uhhhh... different..."

He didn't know what to make of the five guys who dressed in spandex, wore lipstick but acted macho, and sounded like a cruder version of the Stones. And neither did most of us.

When the New York Dolls got started in 1971 rock and roll was starting to show signs of refinement. Time magazine ran a cover story on James Taylor titled "The New Rock: Bittersweet and Mellow." And singer/songwriters like Elton John were doing stuff even our parents liked. The music needed a good kick, and a bunch of largely mediocre musicians led by Staten Island native David Johansen on vocals and guitarist Johnny Thunders were ready to provide it. They looked "like an  exploding thrift shop," as one critic put it and their music was about as organized and sophisticated as their attire. But it was catchy, and refreshingly honest - real rock and roll in a world where pretentious bands like ELO and Emerson, Lake and Palmer were messing with classical riffs.

When the Dolls put out their first album the critics raved, as did the "art crowd." But most of us just weren't ready for them, and the record bombed. An example of how those outside of Max's Kansas City reacted came from a kid who reviewed the album for my Catholic high school's newspaper. He liked their music, but complained of the Dolls' obvious "homosexuality" - something that was not so acceptable back then. Needless to say, there was a lot of gossip about this guy! But what's really amusing is the very idea that he thought the Dolls were gay in the first place. He obviously didn't listen to their lyrics very well. This just shows that many folks out there didn't understand either homosexuality or the Dolls.

Later Malcolm McLaren, former manager for the Sex Pistols, tried promoting the Dolls, one of his gimmicks being having them perform in front of a communist flag. Why he thought this would sell records in America befuddles me, especially since the never-serious Dolls were apolitical. The band continued to do poorly, and broke up in 1977.

Ice Cream Flavored Chewing Gum?

I know it sounds strange, even by today's standards, but for a brief period in the early 70s we had this stuff, although I forgot the brand name. It didn't last long! The gum came in a few basic (artificial) flavors: vanilla, chocolate or strawberry.

How did they get the ice cream "taste?" With a form of powdered fat. Each stick was coated with a bit of this white dust. What did it taste like? Certainly not ice cream. I only tried one flavor, and it tasted like artificial chocolate that you could chew.

Keith Moon Dies Before He Gets Old

Although The Who were around since the Sixties, you could say that they were the ultimate Seventies arena rock band, and Keith Moon was the ultimate Seventies arena rocker. As the band's drummer, Keith had a reputation for being a hard-partying maniac, as well as a musical innovator who changed the role of drums in popular music.

Let's face it, guys like Ringo and Charlie Watts were not exactly on a par with Buddy Rich. They were basic beat-keepers, and that was about it for most rock drummers. Moon wasn't a front man, but he certainly was considered an equal contributor to The Who's sound and image. One of the first rock drummers to use a large kit, including two bass drums, he was visually exciting - especially when he smashed his equipment at the end of a set. I will leave critiques of Keith's style to those more familiar with drumming, but suffice it to say that his was unique and melodic, if not always exactly on time.

Actually Moon smashed a lot more than just drums. He was the stereotypical rock and roller on the road, trashing hotels wherever he went. And wherever he went there were all-night parties.

On September 7, 1978 Moon died in London at the age of 31. The cause of death was listed as an accidental overdose of sedatives. I'll always regret that I never got to hear The Who while he was with them.

Steak and Brew - Gristle, Sizzle and Skimpy Suds

Steak and Brew was probably the first chain of halfway serious (other than fast food) restaurants in our area. They advertised extensively on FM rock stations and marketed themselves to college students (and younger siblings who borrowed their ID). For about $7.95 you got a complete dinner consisting of an appetizer, a steak, veggies, a baked potato, ice cream and coffee. But, most important to your average client, the owners promised unlimited beer, wine or sangria. For an extra buck or so you could get a lobster instead of a steak.

What was the food like? Well, I recall going there in 1975. Adjusted for the Consumer Price Index, a $7.95 dinner would cost about $30.00 in today's money - reasonable for a steak dinner, but a bit much for your typical college kid. The steak was, well, al-dente, and although the beer was unlimited, getting our waitress to refill the one-quart pitcher which was allotted per table was not easy. In addition, we had the distinct impression that the suds (probably Rheingold or some other cheap brand) were watered down.

The Orange Julius

Can anyone remember the Orange Julius stands around town? I used to frequent one near about 46 Street and 7 Ave. An Orange Julius was a fantastic concoction made from orange juice, ice and some sort of white powder. They didn't tell you what it was, but I suspect the mix contained powdered milk and maybe malt. Regardless, an Orange Julius was thick, creamy, cold and fantastic.