MONTEREY POP 1967 -- UNFINISHED LIVES

I didn’t attend Monterey Pop in June of 1967, but I lived so close by that had it been held in, say, 1963, I could have heard it just down the road about a mile away out of my bedroom window.  My wife--who I also didn’t “attend” because I didn’t then yet know her—did get in and attend as part of the crowd with dubious credentials as a ‘reporter.’

Monterey Pop, which preceded Woodstock by two years, presaged a domino effect on the music and lives of an entire, and what would become iconic, generation (my generation). It was a beginning—and   who would have known it then—ultimately an anthem to a large portion of a whole generation of music fans but also to other cataclysmic transitional cultural and social movements— the Civil Rights, militant Women’s Rights, and hippie movements.

At the time, I looked forward to knowing that the venue of Monterey Pop was coming to my community only because I knew and liked the laconic, by comparison, music of The Mamas and the Papas and Simon and Garfunkle, and saw on the posters that they would be singing. Frankly, I had never until then heard of the performers who later made this seminal event so iconic: Otis Redding, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendricks, The Byrds, Jefferson Airplane and many others.  But whether initiated or not, I suspect that few, if any, of us could anticipate what would  happen in the next decade.

 ‘Unfinished Lives’

 

The performance of Otis Redding, the final act of the Saturday night portion of the Festival (indeed, maybe the whole festival) was, and I think could be fairly said to be, the ‘tipping point,’ or jumping off point for an entire cultural era which transformed music and cultural mores. It at least introduced a style of music and pop culture dubbed—‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll’—of which I was only vaguely, and thankfully, not very familiar.

Otis Redding’s style and his voice in some of his songs painted a sound of increasing, leading to an even brutal, intensity and finally a  confrontation or conflagration leading to burnout.  His treatment of his concluding song Try a Little Tenderness seemed to be a harbinger of what happened to him as well as to a generation of followers—beginning with Monterey Pop and continuing with Woodstock and beyond.

Redding’s five song set: I’ve Been Loving You Too Long; Satisfaction; Try a Little Tenderness that Saturday night included, after a warmup, his song Respect, which he had written a couple of years before.  At the conclusion of Respect he said to the people below the stage, “You are the love generation, right?” The thousands packing the fairgrounds arena vociferously agreed.  It gave all who heard a more-or-less hazily focused identity which they lived out for the next decade.  (Respect was also recorded exactly three months earlier in 1967 by Aretha Franklin and rose to the top of the charts by June when Monterey Pop occurred).

Following the festival at the Monterey County Fair Grounds Redding felt he needed voice surgery which he had planned to have later that summer.

He barely lived to have it done.

Ironically, Otis Redding’s most popular song, Sittin on the Dock of the [San Francisco] Bay, (written by him following Monterey Pop while Redding was still in California and recorded only two days before his death by airplane crash at age 26) was released posthumously a couple of months later.

Dock of the Bay portended the temporal end for many of my generation (remember Viet Nam ) as well as for a number of other stars in that event. Within two years Jimi Hendricks and Janis Joplin were also dead.

Because of the Vietnam war, the cultural revolution of the so-called ‘Dawning of the Age of Aquarius,’ and the liberality and suggestibility through music of the ‘new morality,’ many of my contemporaries—not just musicians—continued to have ‘unfinished lives’ or didn’t even make it past the mid- 60’s to mid-70’s decade at all.  Sadly they went out with either ‘bang or a whimper’ or neither and are still to be seen around as the hapless and homeless people on the streets of America (see poet T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men, 1925).

Alas for the most colorful—and maybe tragic—decade of my lifetime.

But for me, praise the Lord, it wasn’t like that.   

NATIONAL PEACE OFFICER'S MEMORIAL DAY / WEEK

POLICE WEEK

In 1962 National Police Week was established by a joint resolution of Congress.  And May 15 was designated as National Peace Officers Memorial day.  Both were dedicated to honoring America’s law enforcement community.  I wish to dedicate this essay to honor a true ‘officer of the peace.’

I write this memorial today in honor of a dear friend of mine—a policeman—a good man—a family man,  who died a little over a week ago.  He was not one of the over 20,000 law enforcement officers who have died in the line-of-duty since records have been kept in this country, but he like many other officers came close.  He died of the effects of a dread neurological disease that after early service with the Palo Alto Police Department in California and then 5 ½ years with the California Highway Patrol claimed first his coordination then his life.   He was forced to retire because of the onset of this disability.  But for the best part of his life he put his life on the line many times as a law enforcement officer a protector of the peace for the rest of us.

 

Let me tell you a little about my friend, Officer Harold Bartlett, California Highway Patrol officer, badge # 4538.

Harold was an all-American boy who grew up on the central coast and San Joaquin valley of California.  Active in sports and music and with many part-time jobs during his youth,  following high school he married his sweetheart and at age 22 applied for a job with the Palo Alto Police Department.  From a pool of 256 applicants he was one of two chosen.  Initially he walked evening foot-beats, and then bicycle beats after mid-night, and later regular motorcycle assignments.  After 6 months of service he was assigned a car beat.  Among many interesting encounters with law- breakers he had several in which his own life was put in jeopardy.

Because the pay from the P.A.P.D. was so poor and his young wife pregnant and bills piling up Harold found a part-time job at the Emporium department store during the 31 days of Christmas season as a Santa Claus.  He worked there from 9:30 a.m. to 10:00 p.m., then the graveyard shift at the police department from 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.  “I got pretty skinny and was tired all the time, but when [his first daughter] was born all the doctor and hospital bills were paid.” Almost all other officers of the department held second jobs as well.

Now here is what I really want you to know about this man.  Harold left the P.A.P.D. because of the repeated actions of a couple of officers—including at least one high in authority who did not display the integrity that should be expected of one in such a profession.  After one particularly egregious situation Harold wrote in his memoirs, “That incident plus several others started me thinking I wanted to complete my police career with a more honorable organization.  It also pointed out the need to make and keep copies in my personal file at home of all memos, all reports of a controversial nature, to record all the pertinent facts and dates and information that might be needed in your defense later.  This is what happens when you lose confidence and respect for the honor and integrity of those in authority over you from the Mayor and Chief on down.”

After about four years with the Palo Alto Police Department Harold made at least two very important decisions and life-style changes that would color the rest of his life.  He and his wife joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he made application to the California Highway Patrol to which he was accepted.

He had heard of and personally observed the competency and high standards expected of officers representing the California Highway Patrol and wanted to be a part of it.  “The [C.H.P.] Academy reportedly was the finest in the world.  We got people from police agencies from all over the world who went thru our training shoulder to shoulder with us and then after graduation would return to their own country to accept a ranking police post.”  “Your badge and I.D. number on the badge meant a lot of pride, honor, integrity and self-discipline to you.  That number was only issued once and you took a lot of personal pride in wanting it to shine, and stand for something honorable, righteous, and good.”

As he told his stories of police action in the two departments you came to know that the majority of officers, like him, took their work very seriously and were honorable in a dangerous profession.  A few, however didn’t and brought disgrace and dishonor by association to their colleagues.  Though he had been beat up a few times and had his teeth knocked out by an assailant, this good man would have continued as a stellar representative of a noble profession.  Others believed so also.  In his last year at the C.H.P. Harold Bartlett was named Officer of the Year out of the Modesto, California office.

As a last word, the daily verbal abuses, excuses, and disrespect, not to mention the physical danger and public scrutiny to which a peace officer is subjected take a toll on the men and women in ‘blue’ who do their best to protect and preserve the rest of us.  Let’s cut them a little slack in the daily tension they absorb for us.