The principal announces that Mrs. Clarkson had a baby girl and named her Jasmine. I’m glad for Mrs. Clarkson but wish she were coming back sooner than next year because Mr. Woodrow is officially driving me crazy. It’s infuriating the way he sits on Mrs. Clarkson’s desk pontificating about the war as if there’s nothing else going on in current events. I mean, how long can you talk about the Pentagon Papers? But with Brett still here, I have to admit the war is creeping into my daily life—and that’s not a good thing.
Caroline, on the other hand, practically worships Woodrow, bringing in all kinds of photos and articles from the newspaper for the class to talk about. He holds up one now, a famous photo from a few years ago of a general in Vietnam executing a guy in the middle of the street at close range.
“This is General Nguyen Ngoc Loan killing a member of the Vietcong. Eddie Adams took this picture—it’s one of the most brutal images from the war so far.”
I don’t know how Caroline got her hands on an eight-by-ten glossy of this horrific execution, but Mr. Woodrow passes it around the room for all of us to see. When it gets to me, I look closely and can actually see the bullet exiting the poor guy’s head. I pass it back to Ashley feeling like I might get sick.
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask Mr. Woodrow. “Like that plane getting hijacked?” I know I’m not the only one in class fascinated with a guy named D. B. Cooper, who kidnapped a Boeing 727 in Washington state then parachuted off the plane with $200,000 in cash. The FBI kicked off one of the largest manhunts in national history—certainly this constitutes a current event too. But before I get a chance to rally any classmates to this new choice of topic, Mr. Woodrow cuts me off at the knees.
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You’d rather talk about a publicity stunt than a U.S. ally executing a prisoner in broad daylight?”
WELL, WHEN YOU PUT IT THAT WAY. I look over at Caroline, who seems embarrassed to know me. Am I imagining things or does she shoot Ryan a quick look too?
But Woodrow tastes blood and he doesn’t let go. “You’re a big music guy, right, Quinn? I heard you talking about Hendrix and Morrison—are these guys your heroes?”
I fold my hands across my chest and feel the rest of the class’s eyes on me. I refuse to answer his question.
“Hendrix was in the army—a horrible soldier, they finally kicked him out. And Morrison?” He turns to face the rest of the class. “He walked into the induction office wasted and talked his way out of serving. Meanwhile, his father is an admiral in the navy—did you know that? As high up as you can get. Remember when we talked about the Gulf of Tonkin? Morrison’s father was in charge of the naval fleet there while his son’s fans were dying by the thousands. Nice family, huh?”
Some of the kids have tuned out Woodrow’s rant; others look on in horror. Lindy rolls her eyes as if he’s crazy and I’m just a deer caught in his crosshairs. But the two people I look to for support—Ryan and Caroline—have both turned away, not making eye contact with Woodrow or me. The fact that neither of them lifts a finger to help infuriates me more than Woodrow’s diatribe.
But I don’t take the tirade lying down. “I don’t know if any of that’s true. I’m going to ask both of them when I get home.”
A few of my Ouija customers snicker, and Woodrow bends forward from the desk. “Excuse me?”
In my hurry to defend myself, I’ve let my Ouija connection slip. I immediately backpedal. “My mother’s friend knew both of them. I’ll ask her.”
Caroline finally raises her hand. “Can you tell us about the Gulf of Tonkin incident again? I must’ve been out that day ’cuz I don’t remember it.”
My is-she-or-is-she-not-my-girlfriend has finally stepped in to change the subject. When I look over at Willy, he makes his fingers into a gun and points to his head. Ryan is regrettably still silent, drumming his fingers on his desk. When I do catch his eye, he shrugs as if the whole thing is no big deal. But it IS a big deal, another nail in the coffin of our relationship.
Turns out this incident with the USS Maddox in the Gulf of Tonkin led Congress to pass a resolution giving the president legal justification to start open warfare against North Vietnam, really escalating the fighting. Woodrow goes on until the bell rings, which is literally music to my ears.
But Woodrow motions for me as I race to the door. Do I pretend I don’t see him and blow him off? The last thing I want to do is irritate him more, so I slowly approach the desk.
“Sorry if I came down on you back then,” he says. “You just really got my goat with that D. B. Cooper comment. These days it’s the outlaws—the bank robbers, the rock stars—who get all the accolades, while the working folk, the guys actually fighting the war, are totally forgotten. People are getting killed while you kids are safe at home watching The Monkees.”
“How can anybody forget about the war?” I ask. “The nightly news is acres of body bags.”
“That’s my point—nobody knows who those kids are. They’re anonymous, while these other guys are household names.” Mr. Woodrow shakes his head as he stares out the window. “None of the young men in those body bags could even vote on this war until last June. Hopefully next election, the rest of you kids will come out in droves.” It’s almost as if Mr. Woodrow’s forgotten I’m standing right here as he continues to look outside. “Rich men sending poor men to war—always has been, always will be.”
“I guess I never thought about it that way before,” I suddenly think about Brett, who no longer seems like one of my sister’s friends looking for a handout but one link in a chain of people being asked to fight causes they can’t articulate.
“We’re not going to fix this problem today,” Mr. Woodrow says. “See you tomorrow, Quinn.”
And just like that, Mr. Woodrow goes from the person I dislike most in the world to one I can almost understand.
I feel like a moron asking Club 27 about the Gulf of Tonkin incident, but it turns out Mr. Woodrow was right. Morrison’s father WAS an admiral and the commander of the naval forces there. The randomness of having the dad of one of rock’s biggest stars actively involved in a war his son drank and sang his way through is mind-boggling. Not that Morrison should’ve been by his father’s side—I’m not sure anyone should be anymore.
Mr. Woodrow was right about Hendrix too; he got kicked out of the military after a few months. The army’s loss was certainly rock and roll’s gain, but the whole thing just makes me sad. I wish Soosie were here so we could talk about it. I always make fun of the way she eats and breathes every facet of the war as if it’s as integral to her daily life as flossing. Of course I hardly ever floss—maybe that’s part of the problem.
FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH
3/72
Stephen Stills auditioned for the role of one of the Monkees but got turned down, so he recommended his friend Peter Tork for the role. Peter--who has one of the biggest party houses in the Canyon--got the role when he accidentally walked into a wall on the audition, demonstrating the kind of slapstick energy the producers were looking for. Mike Nesmith hosts the Monday Night Hootenanny at the Troubadour and has introduced many of L.A.’s hottest bands. His mom is no slouch either; working as a secretary, she invented the correction fluid Liquid Paper. Micky Dolenz had to learn to play drums for the gig; Davy Jones was a good drummer, but because he was so short, no one could see him behind the kit. Davy was nominated for a Tony Award for his portrayal of the Artful Dodger in Oliver on Broadway. The cast performed on The Ed Sullivan Show the same night as the Beatles’ historic first appearance. Watching the girls in the audience screaming for John, Paul, George, and Ringo, Davy decided right then and there what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Anti-War Songs
“I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore”—Phil Ochs
“War”—Edwin Starr
“Eve of Destruction”—Barry McGuire
“Give Peace a Chance”—John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band
“Blowin’ in the
Wind”—Bob Dylan
“Fortunate Son”—Creedence Clearwater Revival
“What’s Going On?”—Marvin Gaye
“I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag”—Country Joe McDonald and the Fish
“Universal Soldier”—Donovan
“Peace Train”—Cat Stevens
“Save the Country”—The 5th Dimension
“Masters of War”—Bob Dylan
“This Land Is Your Land”—Woody Guthrie
“I Don’t Wanna to Be a Soldier”—John Lennon
“Machine Gun”—Jimi Hendrix
“Compared to What”—Les McCann
It takes me twenty minutes to pick out the right T-shirt for my meeting with Zappa. A concert tee seems too obvious, especially one of his. Maybe it’s the remnants of my conversation with Mr. Woodrow, but I choose the shirt with the flower that reads WAR IS NOT HEALTHY FOR CHILDREN OR OTHER LIVING THINGS. It was hardly worth the fuss because the last thing Frank focuses on is my wardrobe.
He examines each sheet of music carefully. When he finally looks up, he’s smiling. “You do good work.”
“Coming from you, that means a lot.”
He puts the sheets in the old-fashioned briefcase he’s carrying. “You want to do some more?”
“Absolutely!” I hadn’t even let myself dream about doing more transcriptions for him and am even more surprised when he goes inside the Canyon Store for two sodas and sits down to chat as if he doesn’t have anyplace more important to be. He talks about the new song he’s working on, his kids, the European tour he just got back from. He talks about David Bowie covering his song “It Can’t Happen Here.” I tell him I just heard Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water,” where they mention Frank Zappa and the Mothers. It seems when Zappa and his band were playing a gig in Switzerland, some bozo in the audience set off a flare that burned the whole place down. Deep Purple—in town to record the next day—sat and watched the smoke roll across Lake Geneva from their hotel room. Frank lost all his equipment, but it looks like Deep Purple is scoring a monster hit out of the tragedy. What an opening riff!
Why can’t every kid in my class come by as I’m sitting here talking rock and roll with one of the coolest guys in the city? And why does Zappa have that stray patch of hair underneath his bottom lip?
Zappa motions up Laurel Canyon Boulevard. “We used to live in the cabin at the corner of Lookout Mountain Avenue. It got so crazy, we had to move.”
I know exactly where he means—cars used to park along the street for miles for his legendary parties. For someone who doesn’t drink or do drugs, Zappa is certainly an odd choice for the center of the rock-and-roll party scene.
“People used to come and go all hours of the day and night. We didn’t stay there long.”
I decide not to tell him about my Ouija connection with Club 27, even though he probably knew all three of them. I’m not sure what Frank would make of my supernatural portal.
He leans back and takes a long sip of soda. “I still miss the bowling alley in the basement, the treehouse too. Did you know Houdini used to live across the street in the twenties? He supposedly had séances there to try and talk to his dead mother.”
Now THIS is interesting.
“There were all these tunnels and underground rooms. A person could get lost.”
A metaphorical lightbulb appears above my head. I take a deep breath before asking my next question. “Does anyone live there now?”
“Been empty for a while. Landlord’s waiting for the right tenant, I guess.” He reaches into his back pocket for several folded bills, then hands me another tape from his briefcase.
“Here’s more if you want. My number’s on there. Call me when you’re done.”
Not only do I have a JOB, I have a job in the MUSIC INDUSTRY WORKING FOR FRANK ZAPPA. (Not to mention a nice chunk of change for my album collection.) My worries about keeping Caroline, harboring Brett, and the escalating war suddenly evaporate. I ride over to Caroline’s as soon as Frank drives away.
I step cautiously into her backyard, hoping not to relive finding Ryan there. She’s sitting on a chair near the olive tree with a lapful of string.
“I’m making you a bracelet. See?” She holds up four inches of woven white string.
I examine the neat, even pattern. Besides my aunt Tamara making me a quilt when I was born, I don’t think anyone has ever made me a present before. I kiss her and decide to listen to my heart instead of Lynne and Club 27. “Come on. I have someone to introduce you to.”
“Is it Frank?” She jumps out of her chair.
I tell her maybe she can meet Zappa next time. She climbs onto the back of my banana seat and we head to my house to pick up some food. When we finally get to the woods, it takes fifteen minutes to locate Brett. He waves shyly to Caroline, but I can see all he’s focused on is the aluminum foil packet in my hands. He devours the roasted chicken and potatoes in seconds.
“Who IS he?” Caroline whispers.
I give her the abridged version while Brett licks his fingers clean.
“You’re a draft dodger?” she asks.
I shoot her a look to be cool while Brett tells her he is.
“My brother didn’t want to go to war either, but he’s in Vietnam now, not hiding out in Laurel Canyon eating chicken.”
For someone who carries a Kent State photo on her notebook, I’m surprised by Caroline’s reaction and pull her aside. “What are you doing? I’m helping him. I thought you’d be proud—he’s a war resister.”
“My brother’s hiking through rice paddies with fifty pounds of stuff on his back while people shoot at him with machine guns. He wanted to resist too, but he didn’t.”
I hate to remind her what actually happened but have to. “Uhm, your brother went ’cuz your father made him.”
Brett waves his hands in the air as if he’s sorry the two of us are fighting. “My father wanted me to go too. I just couldn’t. And my draft board rejected conscientious objector in almost every case, so I got scared.” He looks at Caroline with an expression of such kindness it makes me realize why Soosie took the time to get to know this quiet guy behind a deli counter slicing cheese. “I don’t want to kill anyone—it’s that simple.”
“It’s not that simple,” Caroline says. “You think my brother wants to kill people? He won’t use a flyswatter.”
I’ve never seen Caroline so mad, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve put Brett in a dangerous position. Will she call the police and turn him in? I decide to give Caroline a ride home before the tension gets any thicker. I tell Brett I’ll see him tomorrow.
As I put my feet down to steady my bike at the red light, I realize this is the intersection Frank talked about earlier. I’ve never been on the property, although I know Soosie went to several parties here. As I pedal past the stockade fence surrounding the large unoccupied yard and cabin, I know just where to relocate Brett.
“I’m sorry I overreacted.” Caroline climbs off the bike in front of her house. “Don’t worry. I won’t turn him in.” I tell her I didn’t think she would, even though that’s exactly what I WAS thinking. I give her a quick kiss goodbye, then pedal home.
When I throw my shirt into the laundry later, I run my hand across the silkscreened words. WAR IS NOT HEALTHY FOR CHILDREN OR OTHER LIVING THINGS. My mother got me the shirt because it was on sale; I liked the childlike handwriting and the hippie vibe, never really thinking about its message. But things are different now. I’ve been telling myself I’m just bringing leftovers to my sister’s friend, but truth be told, I’m aiding a war resister, even helping him find a place to crash. The war has crept into my life more than I ever thought it would; after this, I want to go back to minding my own business, listening to my records, and transcribing songs. When I toss my shirt into the hamper, it misses and falls to the floor.
My Ouija friends only make matters worse. S-H-E I-S H-I-D-I-N-G S-O-M-E-T-H-I-N-G, they say.
“She’s making me a bracelet! O
ur column comes out tomorrow!” I yell at the board. “What can she possibly be hiding?”
Club 27 is bumming me out. I wonder if I’d have better luck with Houdini.
FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH
3/72
David Jones came up with his stage name David Bowie to get a fresh start after several failed attempts with local bands--and being confused with Davy Jones of Monkees fame. He took his new last name from Jim Bowie, an American pioneer who died at the Alamo. Besides helping to give a British pop star his pseudonym, Jim Bowie also lent his name to the Bowie knife because of his skill with the blade. Many people think David Bowie was born with two different-colored eyes--one blue and one hazel--but the reason they’re different is because he got punched in the eye by one of his best friends when he was young. He missed eight months of school and was almost blinded; one eye was left permanently dilated. Surprisingly, the guy who punched Bowie remained his friend and ended up doing the artwork for several of his albums.
My Favorite Album Covers of All Time—in no particular order
For What It's Worth Page 8