In yesterday’s blog I failed to deal with the matter of why my outrage against the Trump regime was greater than my despair engendered by the Labour Party in the UK. Clearly I have lived most of my life in London; however, some of my formative years and most of my teenage years and early adulthood were lived in California, from 1956 to 1965.
Those particular years, from age 14 to 23 were of some importance in that they encompassed so many firsts in my life. Also, the transition from beatnik to hippy was a kind of evolution that many of my particular generation of American youth went through with gusto. We were, I was, very much influenced by the beat generation of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Cassady, Kessey and others, as well as even elder statesmen such as Burroughs, Miller and Ferlinghetti. During these later years in Los Angeles, mainly in Westwood, Santa Monica and Venice I encountered a number of influencers including Lawrence Lipton (who wrote The Holy Barbarians, a book published in 1959 detailing the lives of the Beats living on Venice Beach in Los Angeles) and Henry Miller (author of Tropic of Cancer and Quiet Days in Clichy et ors). Miller and Lipton were both regular customers at a bookshop where I worked, called The Book Fair, which was owned by a veteran of the Lincoln Brigade, Robert Klonsky. He had joined up at age 18. He had fought at the Battle of Jarama from 6-27 February 1937, which resulted in 10,000 to 20,000 dead wounded or captured. Robert had many friends and acquaintance in the film industry who frequented the bookstore, including Albert Maltz and Herb Kline who had made a documentary film on the Spanish Civil War in 1937 called The Heart of Spain. After the book store closed I had a job at a visual arts centre run by Herb.
Those years in Los Angeles were not without significance in terms of my experience and education. Indeed, one particular date which I, and many of my contemporaries, will remember in great detail, is the 22 November 1963. I was at work at the Book Fair having a chat with a French Journalist Olivier Todd when a woman came in and told us to turn on the radio as President Kennedy had been shot. It was 10:50 am and Kennedy had been shot about 20 minutes ago in Dallas, Texas.
So much of this was a very strong and deep relationship with America, It is not easy to let it go. On top of which my High School years were even more peculiar. I am still reasonably in touch with two friends from Beverly Hills High School. Both of whom are very decent, thoughtful and intelligent people. Not the typical Beverly High Student either. They have continued to live in Southern California, although, tragically, both were recently burned out of house and home in their 80’s which is not an easy age to begin again. They are fortunately strong and resilient, but things are not easy.
When I say peculiar, I should supply some context. My family had been living in France and I was attending a Lycée in a suburb town near Paris . It was a pilot school in that it was the first co-educational lycée in France. The Lycée Henry IV, annex de Montgeron. The discipline was strict although not outrageously so, but one was expected to behave and pay attention. Failure to produce assignments and homework was heavily criticised. When the family moved back to California I enrolled at Beverly Hills High in the fall of 1956. I was just going on 14. I believe I had a very slight French accent when speaking English as a result of which I was given the nickname Frenchy, by some of the more down to earth characters, more akin to the kids out of Rebel Without A Cause.
I was surprised by the ease with which boys and girls related to each other, as well as the social aspects one was expected to join. The first dance to which tickets were sold was the Pigskin Prom, to celebrate the opening of the football season, and there were many other social activities to take part in. There was also the social convention of dating to deal with. No such activities existed at the Lycée. Relationships with teachers were nothing like as formal. There was also a carpark for the Seniors and Juniors who were old enough to drive, which in California was 16. If you took the Drivers Education Course, something completely alien to the Lycée, you could obtain a Learner’s Permit at 15 and a half. I had never known such freedom and opportunities existed. To me, coming from a Europe still recovering from a war, this was truly a Disneyland. My academic performance suffered, but this was America. In the mornings and at various other events one pledged allegiance to the flag. A mild sort of indoctrination but subliminal through repetition. It was a very American High School experience. All in all, my Americanisation between 1956 and 1965 was complete.
The teaching was actually quite good and apart from the usual myths about pilgrims, thanksgiving, Father Serra, and Washington’s cherry tree, a reasonable appreciation of the constitution and system of local, State and Federal governance was acquired. The notion of the safeguards of democracy and freedom guaranteed by the Constitution and its Bill Of Rights were engrained. One developed a Mr Smith Goes to Washington naïveté about the whole thing,
Although much of that naivety has been eroded over the years, in particular through Vietnam, the Pentagon Papers and Watergate, the democratic process and the very safeguards of the Constitution helped expose the chicanery.
What is happening now is a complete destruction of that system. That a population can wilfully elect a convicted felon, a sexual predator and proven liar to the Presidency of the United States is unbelievable. That a psychotic narcissist and would be dictator struts about the world with seeming impunity given him by the American electorate, is an outrage. That his unelected unconscionable cabinet and advisers have been approved by the Senate is equally beyond comprehension. Is it any wonder that watching my fond memories of America becoming excrement is upsetting.
So please forgive me if I am not as apoplectic about the difficulties encountered with the British Government. The British Constitution while unwritten is, in my view, still strong and, given the current failings of the American constitution to dispose of the felon, probably even stronger. Perhaps one that is enshrined on paper as opposed to one that is enshrined in belief and respect is not as enduring. The British have had 1500 years to develop it as opposed to 250 years on paper.