Finally: A Serious Book About the Seventies!

It was long overdue - a serious historical work about the Seventies. Bruce Schulman, a history professor at Boston University, published The Seventies: The Great Shift in American Culture, Society and Politics in 2001. DaCapo Press published it, and you can find the book for sale online.

Schulman defines the Seventies as the period from 1968 to 1984 - a much broader time frame than I do, including all of the Nixon years (as well as Reagan's first term). He counters the charge that "nothing happened" during the period by identifying several major social trends that started during the Seventies, and which are still with us. These include:

• The Women's movement and changes in sex roles.
• The rise of the Sunbelt as the major political force in America.
  
• Distrust of formal authority (especially government).
• The demise of Integration and the rise of "Diversity" in its place.
• A renewal of interest in religion and personal transformation.
  

Reading this book was "deja vu all over again," as I re-lived the days of Watergate, the Riggs-King tennis match, the rise of punk rock, etc. For that alone, it's worth a look for anyone interested in our decade. As for his analysis of the various trends mentioned above, I would say that Schulman was on-the-mark, although he was a bit simplistic, and sometimes quick to diagnose people's motives. For example, he claims that many people hated disco because

"...it obviously intimidated suburban white boys who found it too feminine, too gay, too black. But its hybrid form also mocked ethnic nationalists dedicated to preserving distinct black and Latino identities."

Wooooah, Bruce! Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes people hate cigars because they hate smoky, smelly things. Anyway, this was certainly not the case in NYC! For one thing, the disco fans I knew of were anything but "feminine" in their appearance and actions. Quite the opposite. Disco culture was the refuge for the greasers in the outer boroughs. And, whether you loved the music or hated it, a discotheque was one of the few places you could visit back then where people of different ethnicities and sexual orientations interacted. And I never heard anyone complaining that the music wasn't "black" enough, whatever that might mean.

Similarly, the rise of interest in Country music during the Seventies just might have been influenced by the fact that people liked it! Country-rock and "crossover" acts like the early Eagles exposed audiences previously unfamiliar with Hank Williams, etc, to C and W, and they found it fun. Its lyrics were also much "cleaner," overall, than other types of pop music.You didn't have to be a Sunbelt surburbanite to like the stuff.

I enjoyed Schulman's account of the rise of the Women's movement, along with the corresponding counter-feminist backlash of people such as Phyllis Schlafly. Indeed, each of the major trends which arose during the Seventies could be seen as sparking a corresponding backlash. Or, as in the case of the anti-government movement, the trend was itself a backlash against what was at least perceived governmental inefficiency and intrusiveness. But one counter-trend on which I think Schulman was really wrong was the much-lampooned "Men's Movement." Yes, we heard plenty of talk about changing roles and expectations for men during the Seventies, but we heard the same during the latter Sixties as well. And still, the talk remained, for the most part, just that for our period. There may have been a few films and books which showed men in different roles, but let's not forget that this was the decade that brought us Rocky, Kojack, etc. And although a "men's movement" did emerge, it wasn't until the late Eighties. Robert Bly's Iron John, the bible of the "mytho-poetic" movement, which Schulman quotes, wasn't even published until 1990. The old roles still applied for most men.

Finally, here are a few trends that I think Schulman missed:

• Globalization, possibly beginning with Nixon's trip to China.
• Urban revitalization and gentrification. While some folks fled the old cities, others moved back.
• "Political Correctness."

"Looking Out for Number One" - the Book

What better summarization of the “Me Decade” than this run-away bestseller, by the author of Winning Through Intimidation? This classic, which I found recently at a charity sale, is a great example of probably the best-remembered of the great movements of the Seventies. While some folks delved into various forms of spirituality, grew bean sprouts or attempted to escape the rat race by living communally, many others tried the exact opposite approach; they embraced (and celebrated) a particularly blunt form of selfishness.

Author Robert J. Ringer doesn’t provide us with much information about his background or credentials in this book, but judging from the less than one and a half pages of notes at the end, he seems to have been no shrink, scholar or preacher. No matter; who said you need credentials to write a self-help book? Ringer’s major influence, which will come as no surprise to many, was Ayn Rand, high-priestess of selfishness. As with most volumes of this genre, you can sum up his ideas with a few brief statements:

1. People are inherently selfish, and you should be likewise.
2. Idealists such as Gandhi were really selfish egotists.
3. Don’t trust people who don’t tell you their real, selfish motives up-front.
4. Governments and other institutions that want your time and money are greedy slime.

Ringer scoffs at John F. Kennedy’s famous lines “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country!” No way, JFK! Your country is just an abstract entity, controlled by power freaks who want your money. Everyone should just act in their own interests, as they perceive them to be. You won’t find any references to the great moral teachers from any society in this book; nor will you encounter spirituality in any form. Ringer, like many of the success gurus of his era, saw no need for that stuff. He even scoffed at the person who left a newspaper clipping on the energy crisis (which he didn’t believe existed) in his door after he left the flood lights around his house on all night long. Oh yeah, and never volunteer for anything. I gather Ringer never lined up at the Bloodmobile, and I would hate to have to approach him about the office Christmas Toy Drive.

There is a definite naïve simplicity in LOOFO, just as there was in so many of the self-help books of its day. The idea was that just about anyone could change, and thereby become rich, famous or romantically successful simply by changing a few behaviors. And, consequently, anyone who isn’t wealthy, popular, etc has nobody to blame but him/herself.

"When I Say 'No' I Feel Guilty" - Assertiveness Training

When I Say ‘No’ I Feel Guilty was one of the best-known titles of self-help books devoted to “Assertiveness Training,” a wildly popular movement during the Seventies that, unlike est and the other wacky programs from that era, was actually taken seriously by some people in the mental health field. I had a professor in an undergraduate course entitled “The Psychology of Adjustment” who actually assigned the book. We had lots of fun with it, although it’s doubtful whether anybody changed as a result of reading this masterpiece.

“Assertiveness,” shrinks such as Manuel J.Smith were quick to point out, is not the same as “Aggressiveness!” Being aggressive was all about forcing your will upon others, while assertiveness was simply sticking up for yourself and asking for what is rightfully yours. Needless to say, the difference between these wasn’t always clear. A widely popular “Ziggy” cartoon showed the character entering a door with a sign reading something like “Assertiveness Training class. Just barge on in!”

Smith’s book was loaded with his own jargon – a popular practice of self-help authors, along with numerous case examples of his students’ attempts at being assertive. My favorite was a technique called “Broken Record,” in which you assert yourself by repeating what you want over and over. Smith cites the example of a client named Manuel who has had the food he has purchased taken away from him by some supermarket personnel. He recites a long dialogue in which each statement by the now calm and assertive Manuel ends with “and I want my meat!” Needless to say, he gets it. (Self help techniques always work in the books). The Melodrama of Manuel’s Meat made for many jokes in our college cafeteria.


Besides confiscated pork chops, another problem dealt with by Smith concerned dealing with those soliciting for charity or asking for favors. The book advocates repeatedly using a simple phrase such as “I understand, but I’m just not interested!” We worked on this one in class, with students role-playing. One would go on-and-on about starving children or some other horror while the other practiced the great mantra.

Probably the funniest exercise in our class (and I am not certain whether this was in Smith’s book) concerned dealing with criticism by simply agreeing with it. Again using role-playing, our esteemed professor had students volunteer to play a bartender dealing with an extremely obnoxious patron who keeps making such comments as “You know, it’s kind of funny for a bartender to be wearing glasses.”

The Doom Boom Part I: "The Late Great Planet Earth"

Seventies Quiz:

1. The biggest-selling book during the 70s was
a. Jonathan Livingston Seagull
b. Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask
c. I'm OK/You're OK
d. The Late Great Planet Earth

2. Hal Lindsay was
a. New York's worst mayor since John Patrick O'Brien
b. New York's best mayor since LaGuardia
c. Richie Cunningham's neighbor on the series "Happy Days"
d. Author of a series of really bad books that sold millions of copies

3. Orson Welles narrated two films released in 1979. One was "The Muppet Movie." The other was
a. "All That Jazz"
b. "Star Trek"
c. "Alien"
d. "The Late Great Planet Earth"

The Seventies were not an optimistic time; let's face it. And, as in past periods of rapid change and hardship, millions turned to predictions of doomsday. The astrology airheads, who a few years before were heralding the Age of Aquarius, were now studying Nostradamus, a 16th Century French physician whose cryptic poems, they thought, predicted everything from Hitler to the rise of the Soviet Union. Nostradamus supposedly forecast a nuclear holocaust just around the corner.

For 11 million Americans, however, Hal Lindsay's book The Late Great Planet Earth spelled out what was ahead. Lindsay, a campus preacher who specialized in simplistic, emotional teachings, did what many folks did - he looked through the Bible for verses which he said predicted doom for our present day. Nothing new here. Down in Brooklyn Heights the likes of Judge Rutherford and the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society had been doing that for decades. But Lindsay had a certain flair for self-promotion that made his book a runaway best-seller. Of course, like Nostradadamus's followers and the Watchtower gang, Lindsay had a 100% accuracy record for identifying predictions - after they occurred. I found a copy of his book a few years ago. It was absolute nonsense, of course, written in a silly, slogan-filled style - like a collection of written sound-bites. But it sold, and we can't dismiss all 11-million of its readers as stupid, uneducated yokels.

In 1979 a film version of the book was released, narrated by Orson Welles. Remember the television ads? "A film that can change your life!" Then there was that scene where a man in a robe is wacked over the head with a giant rock as Welles asks "Why did they stone him?" I never saw the movie, but a friend did, and she thought that Lindsay was hinting that one of the Kennedys was the dreaded Anti-Christ - Mr. 666 himself.

Late Great said a great deal about the 70s. First, it was an early warning sign of the rise of that modern curse: the TV evangelist. Lindsay promoted his books heavily on the television preacher circuit, and it's doubtful whether he would have been so successful without the publicity. But who watches that junk? Well, there's another phenomenon that emerged during the Seventies era: the growing strength of the hard-core, litteralist fundies. Most of us New Yorkers had little exposure to such folks, thinking they were only to be found in backwater towns somewhere Out There, where "Inherit the Wind" took place. No, they were all around us, and their numbers were growing, thanks partially towards the predictable surge towards simplistic fundamentalism that often accompanies times of rapid change. One could easily draw parallels between Lindsay's teachings and those of al Qaeda.

None of the above explanations is terribly original, I know. But how about this one? We New Yorkers, and Americans in general, have a terrible sense of history. Perhaps it is our naive belief in inevitable Progress, but many of us think that what happened in the past has little to teach us about how to deal with what is going on today. Economic downturns, military defeats, challenges to old, trusted institutions - these have all happened before! And, as during the Seventies, they cause many people to believe that a giant Apocalypse is near - one that can only be avoided by reverting to some charismatic leader's (Yeah, it's hard to believe, but some folks regard people like Lindsay as leaders) simplistic, us/them, emotional pleadings to return to a pure way of life that never really existed. If more of us knew our history, we would know that teachers such as Lindsay have come before - and quickly faded away, along with their predictions.

WHAT'S Your Name? Teen Dances and 110-Decibel Bands

Saturday night is here and about 300 kids are crammed into the gym of a Catholic high school in Brooklyn. On a makeshift stage is Underground Railroad, one of the more popular bands on the local dance scene in the early Seventies, doing the Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones,” which everyone loves. The sound level is just short of the pain threshold, much louder than what you’d hear at many rock concerts, and communication is possible only by screaming into the other person’s ear. UR’s five musicians are all under 21, but they’re pretty accomplished, and they have good equipment. After “Casey” ends the organist takes out a flute and half the boys start to groan; they know what’s coming.

“And now, a lady’s request,” announces the vocalist. The guitarist starts to duplicate the simple piano riff at the beginning of Chicago’s “Color My World.” Girls start to squeal. Guys head for the Boy’s room for a sneak hit on the flask they’ve hidden.

As time go-oes on
I re-al-iiiiize
Just what yoooouuuu meeeeaaaaannnnnn
To-oo-oo meeeeeeeeeee……

Did we meet many girls at these dances? Of course not. The real reason for going was to hear the bands, typically consisting of local kids whom we often knew. Dances, as well as summer block parties and occasional concerts in local parks, were our “Young Artists’ Showcase.” UR was popular, not only because of its musicianship, but the variety of material they could perform. Your typical teen dance ran three to four hours and featured two or three bands, so it was important to have a large variety of material in your play list.

What did the bands perform? Just about everything was a cover, although once in a while you’d hear an original composition, or perhaps a loose jam based upon a standard 12-bar blues form. A few bands specialized in a certain style of music or the repertoire of certain groups. For example, we had one band with a horn section that, not surprisingly, did lots of Chicago material. And there was another whose vocalist was renowned for his ability to sound (somewhat) like Robert Plant, so you can guess whose material they covered. But most of the groups covered a variety of stuff, much of which you can still hear if you listen to a “Classic Rock” station. You almost always heard “Johnny B. Goode,” “Stairway to Heaven” and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” at any dance anywhere. Could you really dance to “Stairway?” Like I said, dancing wasn’t the important thing for most of us – well, at lest for the males. A few of the other more popular covers were

• “Hymn 43”
• “The Weight” (a good slow one)
• “Southern Man” (the tune that later infuriated Lynyrd Skynyrd)
• “Evil Ways” (Lots of bands did at least one Santana tune – for a chance to attempt a Latin style)
• “Bitch”
• “Smoke on the Water”
• “Your Mama Don’t Dance” (Ironically, one of the few tunes we did that people could dance to).
• “School’s Out”
• “Be My Lover” (see my previous entry on Alice Cooper)
• “In Memory of Elizabeth Reid” (only the better bands attempted this one)
• “Play that Funky Music, White Boy” (When this tune came out we realized the End was near).

With the Disco era came a deep division amongst the kids who supported the garage bands. The very term “disco” meant a record, and that’s what you heard if you want to most of the places where it was played. A few bands tried doing some disco tunes, such as “Play that Funky Music,” but they weren’t very popular. For one thing, disco required instruments and technology foreign to most rock bands. And of course there was the ethnic factor – garage bands were pretty much all white, with a handful of Asian kids. Fortunately, though, serious rockers, many of whom could be seen wearing the familiar “Disco sucks” t-shirts, kept the garage band tradition alive.