Clinton St. Quarterly, Vol. 6 No. 3 | Fall 1984 (Seattle) /// Issue of 24 /// Master# 57 of 73

FALL THEATER SCHEDULE 1984 September 19th - 29th A PERFECT RELATIONSHIP by Doric WHson. For, by and about gay people. New City’s ongoing program to support gay theater in Seattle. Tickets $5. October 17th - November 12th THE TOOTH OF CRIME by Sam Shepard and THE VIENNA NOTES by Richard Nelson. Two shows in repertory on alternating evenings. Tickets $5.50 November 15th - 25th KRAPPS LAST TAPE, ACT WITHOUT WORDS II, and NOT I An evening of one-act plays by Samuel Beckett Tickets $5.50 THE NEW CITY THEATER 1634 11th AVE. CAPITOL HILL 323-6800 - reservations a non-profit theater since 1977 ^00^ J SOARING HEART Buying a bed is not like buying a car or a boat or a coat. It is something with which you are having an intimate affair—an intimate affair which represents a full one-third of your lifetime. And it's a third of your life you can take complete charge of. If you're seriously considering buying a futon, we at Soaring Heart Futon feel that taking a little time to explore this ancient art of the futon is your first wise investment. Call or go by Seattle's futon companies; ask questions; lie down and consider a third of your life.. Then, fully apprised, make your next wise investment. Japanese Manufactured Version (polyester and foam) I. Shiga's One World Shop 4306 University Way NE 633-2400 2. Uwajimaya 6th S and S King 624-6248 American Version (raw cotton) 3. Northwest Futon 516 15th Ave. E 323-0936 4. Unfoldings 2107 N 34th 634-0630 Traditional Japanese Version (raw cotton) 5. Soaring Heart Futon 101 Nickerson St. "Suite 400" 282-1717 282-1740 Why have we taken the time to tell you this? Because we feel that the more you know about something, the more you can appreciate it; and the more you appreciate it, the more it will appreciate you. 2 Clinton St. Quarterly

VOL 6, NO. 3 FALL 1984 Staff Contents 4 Li a' Summer Memories Steve Winkenwerder Nights of the Roundtable Lenny Dee Jim Blashfield Leanne Grabel J.K. Studyvin Amelia Dorth Rachel Herr Sallie Tisdale 27 28 31 Cover Man Oh Man Lives of the Saints Small Persons Trilogy Pinski’s Women My Father is a Fireman 8 14 16 21 ’A* Aft Tjfei The Washington Economy: Recovering from Rich Nafziger & the "Recovery" Faith Conlon Urban Renewal T. Michael Gardiner Co-Editors Peggy Lindquist David Milhoiland Jim Blashfield Lenny Dee Design and Production Jim Blashfield Production Assistant David Milholland Laura DiTrapani Camerawork Brian Foulkes Proofreaders Betty Smith Steve Cackley Ad Production Peggy Lindquist Stacey Fletcher Beverly Wong Kate McNulty Ad Sales — Seattle Christopher Mascis Barbara Nombalais Joe Racek Ad Sales — Portland Lenny Dee Anne Hughes Sandy Wallsmith Ad Sales — Eugene Laurie McClain Tim Jordan Neil Street Ad Sales — Corvallis/Albany David McCorkle Marketing Director Anne Hughes Contributing Artists Tim Braun, John Callahan, Dennis Cunningham, August Encolada, T. Michael Gardiner, Susan Gofstein, Fay Jones, Andrew Keating, Marly Stone, Steve Winkenwerder Typesetting Archetype Printing Tualatin-Yamhill Press Public Relations Cramer/Hulse Thanks Linda Ballantine, Stephanie Denyer, Denny Eichorn, Jeffrey Harmes, Melissa Marsland, Douglas Milholland, Danny O’Brien, Charlotte Uris, Gary Wilke and at least 1,000 friends of the CSQ. LJona\d Reagan f Ito demarcate is a polarizer, eager the boundaries between good and evil, God-fearing and godless, the chosen and the targets of our nation’s wrath. Given his long history as the purveyor, after Barry Goldwater’s tumble, of the Right Wing view of history, little he has done in office should surprise us. What is instead shocking is the apathy and cynicism his presidency has breed in the national psyche, a resignation to his “inevitable victory” that has stilled the fires of dissent and has kept those of us who complain vigorously of his policies on the sidelines of this bellwether campaign. While it is true that the Mondale campaign has so far been lackluster, and that the ray of hope Geraldine Ferraro brings to the Democratic ticket has been fragmented twelve-fold, the reality of the 1984 presidential campaign is finally this. A referendum is being conducted on the Reagan world view, and a lopsided victory for his candidacy and shock troops will bias our future beyond our furthest reckonings. Cynicism is the especial bane of those of us bright enough to know the perfect world is not achieved via the political process. Whoever accedes to that unmana l oW s ageable office will immediately require our attention and response. Walter Mondale cannot help but disappoint us as President ... his vision is unclear, his leadership qualities are suspect, he is intimately tied to the Johnson-Humphrey- Carter policies. He’s a liberal’s liberal, has too little charisma, is jowly. He’s a whistle-stop, not a 6-o’clock news candidate. He grunted his way past two dynamic primary contenders and is pushing the 12th hour to show his true stuff. Yet he not only deserves our vote but our active support to put him over the top. Mondale and Ferarro, for all their shortcomings, are world’s apart from their incumbent opponents. The Democratic agenda considers the poor and outsiders, has made a clear stand for nonintervention in Central America and in support of the Nuclear Freeze. Unless you have a lot of spare change to throw at the stockmarket, the Reagan list including Beirut, Grenada, Nicaragua, Aquino, Watt, Meese, the B-1, the Peacekeeper, hard times, no jobs, and anti-ERA will strike a chord inside you. This Republican administration is toying with our lives and fueling a “recovery” through exploitation of our land and future generations. A past master at using the media, all criticisms bounce off our Teflon President. He has shielded himself from the press, except for “photo opportunities,” and they, reading the polls, have already ceded him the second term. It all feeds into our sense of impotence and resignation. But Reagan's no cynic. He believes in the role he’s playing. For he’s a performer whose soul lies too. deep to be tapped. We’re the ones with the bit parts. And voting simply isn’t enough. With the Republican warchest swelled to overflowing with big business bucks, it will take both our contributions and time even to challenge Reagan. I’m writing a letter to everyone I know, sending photocopies, explaining how much I care to defeat Reagan. Asking them to consider switching their vote, if they’ve been lulled by him. Or working to defeat him, if their mind is already made up for Mondale-Ferraro. The temptation to stand aside and watch the wave sweep over us is great, but our fears for the future, on every front, should be greater. We can talk to Mondale, maybe run him out of office if he lets us down. But we listen to the great communicator. F \'i He only listens to God, Nancy and his backers’ pocketbooks. Vote. Write. Organize, Resist. Don’t surrender. DM WHY SUBSCRIBE TO A FREE CSQ ? 1 4 / hen the first issue of the Clinton VV St. Quarterly hit the streets of Portland in April 1979, a peanut farmer was President and Ronald Reagan was still an ex-actor and ex-governor. The Shah was tottering, but looked secure. Portland and Seattle had just claimed back-to- back NBA championships. People still built houses, and inflation, not unemployment, was our biggest economic problem. That first issue claimed boldly that “Sex Cures Cancer,” struck out at sacred cows everywhere, and alternately bemused, puzzled and/or disgusted its . readers, depending on their predilections. Few people, including its creators, gave it a year. Yet miraculously, perhaps even defiantly, we’re still alive and kicking. Over the years we’ve won innumerable awards for our writing and graphics, printed many articles you are poorer for having missed, and generally consolidated and upgraded our operation. We now create two separate editions, one for Washington (20,000 copies) and another of equivalent size for Oregon, with contributors from throughout the Northwest and beyond. Needless to say, our advertisers, some of whom have been with us from the very beginning, are the greatest support for this endeavor. Please support them. Subscriptions we've always offered FIND A BETTER DEAL, WE’LL BUY YOU A DREAM HOUSE IN PARADISE!! Your name Address Circle one: WA OR Zip Circle one: WA OR Zip Feel free to copy this, or make out your own extended list on a separate page. Enclose $6 for first subscription and $5 for each additional subscription or year. We will send along a personalized note to all receiving vour gift subscriptions. Please return to: CSQ, 1520 Western Avenue, Seattle, WA 98101 The Clinton St. Quarterly is published in both Washington and Oregon editions by Clinton St. Quarterly, Inc. Washington address: 1520 Western Ave., Seattle, WA 98101, (206) 682 2404. Oregon address: Box 3588, Portland, OR 97208, (503) 222 6039. Unless otherwise noted, all contents copyright © T984 Clinton St. Quarterly. casually, with tongue-in-cheek ads designed more for humorous effect than making you dig into your pocket. But now, 51/2 years of history later, we’re asking you to write a check for $6 (one year), plus $5 for each additional year or gift subscription, and send it our way. That simple act guarantees your receiving each and every copy we publish, regardless of vacations, extended illness, vile and unrepentant weather or the hasty disappearance of all copies from our over 400 distribution points. A gift subscription would bring a lively personal connection to a friend or relative for an entire year. 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Drawing by Susan Gofstein MAN i - 11 m A * - ^u ~ j,* » - •;■« » M B »4; S&& ■ Be a man — that is the first and last rule of the greatest success in life. Saturday Evening Post, 1905 You have many contacts Among the lumberjacks To get you facts When someone attacks Your imagination. Bob Dylan 1 don 'tknow exactly how it happened, butsomewhere in between 7thand8thgrade. Hostm y knowhow. Considering the timeframe. / assume it was a bad reaction to puberty. And all thatpuberty implied. I didnot catch on rathe adaptationprocess, andcouldnot sail right into the next phase o f life: budding wom anhood.! got C//nton St Quarter/y caught flailing... in the rapids. The childhood phase was a cruise. I had two best friends, Mary and Billy, and the three of us knew how to have fun. We were the quickest runners, best hitters, most effective hiders, and earliest risers on the block. That Billy was a boy had absolutely nothing to do with anything that touched our triumphant world. Then puberty slid in. And SHOOBOP,

)H MAN I sidestroked through college and into the real world with a head confi- dentlg overstaffed with mod ideas, a malti-sgl- labic mouth and a smart-looking face. Verg few knew I was drowning. there was a new game in town. Our sexuality and how we portrayed it became of vital importance. And being a fast runner, great hitter, or effective hider had absolutely nothing to do with Mary’s or my success in this game. In fact, it seemed to detract from our victory potential. It had me stumped. I didn't get it at all. Sexuality had changed all the rules. By some quirk of fate, I was invited on a handful of dates during high school. But I was lousy at dating. The air was always so thick, yet blank. And first dates never became second dates. And I never really clicked into anybody. And nobody ever really clicked into me. / Think: Therefore I Am I I hen college marched in, I knew I had to formulate a more workable solution. In 1969, college demanded sexual know-how. Modern concepts regarding revolutionary sexual relationships were flying through the air en masse. It seemed mandatory to at least appear on top of it all. Thank god concepts were so easy to learn. Because I was a brain, concepts were the easiest. So I sidestroked through college .. . and into the real world ... with the same basic experiential ignorance, but with a head confidently overstuffed with mod ideas, a multi-syllabic mouth and a smartlooking face. Very few knew I was drowning. The concept I liked the most had to do with limits. And not having them. I featured myself an anarchistic explorer. I could become involved with anyone in any way I wanted. We could make up our own rules. Or have none at all. We could be free. Oh, viva la revolution! To make a long story short, this concept did not work. I had a jagged feeling in my mouth, an exhausted feeling in my brain, and a starving feeling in my heart. After By Leanne Grabel eleven or so years as an active participant in the sexual arena, there were some lovers I couldn’t even remember. And I didn’t even know the addresses of the three men with whom attempts were made at the Big Bond. There was something terribly off. I obviously didn't know what I was doing, where I was going, or what was the point. The point is at the end of the pencil. James Rockney Attemptee #2 And then the reaper showed up. And the last failed relationship pushed me further off the edge than I should really have been going. And I wasn’t really ready for my exit. It was time for Concept Re-evaluation. Bear Wrestling: The Meat o f the Matter / met Hemingway and he was probably the most macho of all machos. The first question he asked me, really, the first thing he said to me was, Have you ever wrestled a bear?' I said no. And I laughed. And later he told someone he thought I was a little shit. Art Buchwald 1 needed to learn about men. I had been walkiig around all those years believing men were no different than me. That like with Mary, Billy and me, we could all just run, jump and play .. . maybe bring in a dab of sexuality here ... a dab of lovetalk there... but basically, everything would still be the same. Straightforward. Easy. And fun. I already know that I’m the girl. UH OH She's the girl But at our essence Our souls have No boobs. UNFORTUNATELY, these moments of quintessence ... of elemental bonding and total communication . . . were just that: MOMENTS. Apparently, I was living in a dream world ... by myself. And I had to come down to earth, so I could live my life .... with men included. And it would feel like living. A few months ago, like a godsend, I met a 24-year-old, redheaded man, trenchcoated and hatted in brown. While (as he later admitted) letting me beat him in pool, he told me he had just been released from the Marine Corps. That he had done time in Grenada. The Marine was an anthropological find. He spoke in a new way, which was really an old way, which was really a new way. The Marine thought that manhood was the point. He was proud of his manhood, and he loved it. The Marine was the meat of the matter: man at his rawest. In junior high school Big Max was a problem. We’d be sitting during lunch hour Eating our peanut butter sandwiches And potato chips. He was hairy of nostril And of eyebrows, his lips Glistened with spittle. He already wore size ten and a half Shoes. His shirts stretched across a Massive chest. His wrists looked like Two by fours. And he walked up Through the shadows behind the gym Where we sat, my friend Eli and I. “You guys, ” he stood there. “You guys Sit with your shoulders slumped! You walk around with your shoulders Slumped! How are you ever going to Make it?" We didn't answer. . . Big Max was ready for the World. It made us sick To look at him. Big Max Charles Bukowski No Polished I 'enom / 1 therapist I know said that most of the males who go to therapy these days are in their 30s (as a m i) ... and are those who were most touched by the concepts of the '60s (as was I). They go to therapy to rediscover their manhood. Because the modern propaganda of the ’60s taught them to seek out their womanhood. And to strap large cement boots to their manhood, forcing it off any pier. The Marine, however, is only 24. He is not of the ’60s generation. He was born in 1960 in a small, hardcore, blue-collar town in New Jersey. His father has only one leg, as eventually do all of the men in his family. It’s congenital. And the Marine’s ankle is hurting already. The Marine did not ride with the Superlative Seekers of the Sixties, even though I am sure he is looking for Freedom and Truth. He just happened to join the Marines. The Marine’s dreams have nothing to do with computers or corporate America. He just wants to build a house on some unspoiled plot of beauty in ethereal Maine, so he can get away from the fear in our citified scramblings. He knew he was warping in Jersey. He just happened to join the Marines. Coming from where I do — overbrained middle-class, Jewish America — I have never met a Marine before. And Jewish fathers, although they also want to rule the world, rarely choose warriorhood as their method. So the Marine is easy game for derision. Slyly, I could rant and rave about fascist foolery. And the stupidity of philosophies that focus on muscular flexion. I could tease the Marine. I could tease manhood. I could write with polished venom about how ugly raw aggression really is. Then there's always guns, grenades, Grenada, the crew-cut- ted recruiters I talked to downtown. And OF COURSE Ronald Reaguns. But it is old. And it is boring. And it is not the point. I just want to understand this manhood business. I want to understand it so I can bring men down to earth. And stop sparring. Like the ’60s-inspired men of whom the therapist spoke — the men who drowned their manhood for the sake of modern theories — I have stripped my natural instincts to fuel my modern brain. But I want my natural instincts back. I went too far too soon. I cast off everything The Marine was an anthropological find. The Marine was the meat of the matter: man at his rawest. — before examination — and expected anarchy to mother my sexual growth. But like a neglected child, my sexuality turned into a juvenile delinquent: all over the place . . . and nowhere. So ... a blue-collar, brown-hatted man from New Jersey. .. who used to tear doors off at the hinges ... who was vibrant and straightforward .. . seemed the obvious place to begin my remodeling. The Marine was the historical research — the pure data. The Marine was the purest point on the spectrum. He had stripped off nothing. I mean, I was really a punk and an asshole when I went in. The Marine Corps made me a man. The Marine } a Gotta Sen e Somebody I am an American fighting man. I serve in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense. I will never surrender of my own free will. If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all Clinton St. Quarterly

means available. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy. If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will never forget that I am an American fighting man, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. Marine Corps Code of Conduct The Marine: I think every American kid should go into the Marines. You become a man. The Marine Corps ages you. See, I was juggling so many women and people at the same time. So one night I’m sitting in this bar and the bartender shut me off. And I'd only had a couple of Wild Turkeys. I was not drunk at the time. I put four quarters on the bar for a tip, but decided I wanted to play Space Invaders. So I took back a couple of quarters. So the guy shuts me off because he says I stole his quarters. I went crazy and hurt him and everything else. I was really violent. I mean, really violent. When I got mad, I ripped doors off hinges and stuff. Some psychiatrist told me that I was living with two personalities. He told me to make them one. And only use the animal for self-defense. Below is a list of items that you will not need and should not take to boot camp. Check yourself before you leave home and see to it that you don't have any of these items packed: firearms or lethal weapons ammunition explosives fireworks or pyrotechnics blackjacks brass knuckles knives straight razors scissors ointments or laxatives any products in glass pressurized containers obscene or subversive literature Recruit Training Manual for Men The Marine: So then I tried to pull my car out of a snow bank. See, the place wouldn't pay my tickets, and I was screwing the owner's wife at the time. It was just like a soap opera. So I was sitting in a park smoking a joint and across the street I see a sign. It says, “We need a few good men." And as I say, I was really a punk at the time. And I walked over there and the door was locked. And it was a one-shot deal. It was then or nothing. And the door was locked. So I walked next door to a bar and was drinking Wild Turkey. And some guy taps me on the shoulder and says, “You wanted to see me ?” So I finished my drink and went over and talked to him and said I'd join. And seven days later I was going through the process. I called my mom and said, “Guess what? I joined the military. The Marine Corps." She says, “Why don't you come home for dinner?" So everyone was there. It was the first time we'd all been together in a long time. I stayed away because I was embarrassed. In the town I lived in, the people wouldn’t let me talk to their sons or daughters. So my father says, “You’re not going to make it. They're going to make you feel like a dog. You don’t have the discipline." And I was just quiet and ate. And I said, “Well, I'm going to give it a shot. ” Yellow Footprints In this culture, everything and everybody is insulated against harshness and danger. A man can live his whole life and never know whether he is a coward or not. And I think he should know, don't you? John Berryman to James Dickey The Marine: So I was put on a plane and flown down to South Carolina. At night. They always fly you in at night because it disorientates you. And we got on a bus and drove around for an hour in circles. Then the guy gets on the bus and says, “Your heart may belong to Mommy, but your ass is mine. You’re in the United States Marine Corps now. So get out and walk in the yellow footprints." Two hundred and eight years of traditional yellow footprints. So you get out and they snarl at you and yell at you. And you get to the barracks and they say, “Through these doors the finest men are made." And I was scared. I mean, I didn’t shit for a week, and I didn’t piss for two days. And you sit down at these desks and they make you empty your pockets. And you see switchblades and bags of dope and people brought tennis rackets and all this shit. And about half the shit they threw away. And the other half they kept. I mean, if you can get a good switchblade, you keep it. So you sit back down. We didn 't sleep for 48 hours. It is part of the brainwashing technique. And they gave us two minutes to shave. I saw guys with these full beards, and they’d come out after committing hari-kari on their faces. So they put us to sleep for 3 or 4 hours. And then we went and got our haircuts. And it’s really funny because when they give you the haircut, you lose all identity. It's like Samson. It really is. I mean, I had long hair, naturally curly. It was probably my best attribute. And I was walking by, smiling. I thought I still had my hair. And I’m smiling into this mirror. And the drill sergeant yells, “Get out of there.'" And I'm back in the yellow footprints. Experience is One o f the Forms ofParalpsis Eric Satie I think I could turn and live awhile with the animals They are so placid and self-contained They do not sweat and whine about their condition They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. Walt Whitman The Neanderthal Ideal is a reversion to the primitive. The complexities of life, with their torturous alternatives, are simply solved by rejection of the rational and evocation of the physical. Male Survival Harvey E. Kaye, M.D. Y )oo \ camp completely tempts me, because it’s basic, stripped down, a place to begin. In a world where our attributes are enhanced and our assets admired (DIG THAT BUSTLINE), it is appealing to enter a world judged only on skill and will — to live bald among bald. I think we baby boom babies goofed up really. That we have been tagging along with our minds, nakedly failing at finding our footing. Technologically, theoretically... we are speeding. But very few of us seem to adapt. We’ve got the theories. But we’ve been imitating the slick workings of our machines, striving for their objectivity, while ignoring our hearts. If you press THIS button, THAT should happen. It is logical. It is mechanical. It is mathematical. But we are human. We are not machines. Man J Man. Woman /W o ­ man. Byte/Bite. We have been conditioned. But we have not been programmed. And our theories don’t work. (Conversation between a firmly married man and a firmly unmarried woman in 1983) She: I'll never live like you. He: Why not? She: Because I grew up like that and I didn’t like it. He: But it’s been historically proven. She: I don't care. I ll never live like that. He: But HOW are you living?? She: Ummmmm . . . See, there are just too many breakups. And too many ex’s. And there are too many walls being built to enclose shattered hearts. I am not pliable enough to be so damn cool. And follow the whims of my mind. My mind’s been precocious, ingoring the ancient wisdom of my heart. Eggs. Grits and Grant The shoulder muscles are tense and often hunched up; the buttocks are held in tightly. The leg muscles are tense and the chest is puffed out. Feelings and emotions are restricted and held tightly within; very little, if any, tenderness is acceptable or physically possible in such a body. What used to be praised as excellent military bearing I have since discovered to be a habitual and defensive immobilization of the body and often the personality as well. Tenderness is Strength Harold C. Lyon, Jr. The Marine: I’ll give you an example of a typical day in the first phase of boot camp. O.K. At 5 a.m. a garbage can is thrown down the center of the barracks and the lights are turned on. “Get off the rack! Get your motherfucking (Excuse me. I'm gonna have to get raw.) asses up! Two sheets and a pillowcase!" And you gotta pull your rack apart, three or four times. “You’ve got 30 seconds to lace your boots!" They're going on and on. I’ll never forget my senior staff sergeant. Jesus Christ. I thought he came from hell. I was really scared of that one man, although actually I got to meet him later and we went out and had a drink and had a really good time. They they’d make us run down the staircase, get in formation, and they’d march us to chow. We had 5 minutes to eat: grits fried eggs, toast, french toast. Get it and go. And a glass of bug jucie (Koolaid, no sugar. That hurts.) And when the first guy is done, you all got to i Your heart may belong to Mommy, but your ass is mine. x be done. And you had to put your dishes behind the plexiglass cafeteria thing and hit your head against the glass. And grunt. To see how tough you are, I guess. We try and foster some sort of mystique about military life. You've seen examples in John Wayne movies. Sands of Iwo Jima stands out in my mind. Jack Webb. We foster the pride, prestige, physical training. It appeals to the macho instincts. Marine Recruiter, Portland, Oregon The Marine: You can't believe how tough it is. I'll give you a for instance. We were doing this torture-type thing. I don’t like to say torture because these kneejerk type liberals will start going, “Oh, my son, my son." But we were out shaking blankets for about an hour and we needed another guy from another platoon because we didn’t have enough for all the laundry. (A platoon is 80 guys, and about 10% wash out. Some of the toughest guys I thought would make it, washed out. And some of the weakest pussies that I thought didn't belong, made it.) But anyway, we were shaking out blankets, and we get this one guy from another platoon and then they say, “OK. Thank this guy." And so about 80 guys are surrounding this guy and pounding on him and grunting. You jump. You jump. Well, I don't really want to go into atrocities, because later on, I’m telling you, the training pays off. All that training makes a Marine. When you talk about making a Marine, you 're talking about a lot of abuse, but you're also talking about a lot of pride and dedication and loyalty and integrity and justice. When you make a Marine, you make a man. And there’s a difference. Phallic Thrusting When Congress declared war on Germany in 1917, American men wanted some satisfaction for themselves. The theme of manliness protruded again and again, nowhere more graphically than in the hundreds of enlistment posters, such as the one depicting a gleeful sailor riding a torpedo into the ocean like a cowboy. Ahi Men Burt Avedon A sexual revolution might destroy what men do so well together away from women: the making of His-story, the making of war, the triumph of phallic W'H- About Men Phyllis Chesler 1 hallic will. Thrusting outward. Is this manliness?? Thirteen years ago, I used to bellow at Boyd Who got punched out in bars That women didn’t need To thrust outward. I said I never felt that kind of aggression. And he said, “Hogwash.” That I was stuffing the urge. And that my mind was thrusting outward with the violence of any phallic thruster. Three years ago I had an argument with the poet Marjorie. She said we'd better be ready to pick up our guns because it was rapidly coming down to a shootout. I said I’d never be able to do that. That it was outside the realm of possibilities. She said, “Hogwash.” But I Don 't Want to Be An Asshole (The Break) ^his is the part about manhood that I will never understand. The thrusting part. And the needing to conquer and rule part. I don’t care if you have more than I do. It isn't a matter of survival. It’s not even close. I won't fight you. I won’t pin your arms back, grab at your neck, and grip at your collar. I WON'T SCRAMBLE FOR GOODS. There’s no need yet. r The Marine: Atrocities. You want to hear atrocities. Well, I call them good times. Like when we first got there. We had to put all our stuff in this little footlocker. And they’d kick them open. And we had to scoop everything back in real quick. And they'd do it again. And again. I lost a lot of equipment. But then I got smart. And started grabbing everyuone else's stuff. And then I had more than I started with. That’s just survival of the fittest, I guess. Part of the training. I say Hogwash. You are scrambling for the contents of a footlocker. For the scramble. Now where’s that at?? It seems over the edge into fascist stupidity. Little boys playing Lead With Your Flexion. Becoming the best is a great goal. But wanting the most is just greed. And greed soils the purity. Det '/Is or Angels: Women on the Rack It was about here that the interview • began deteriorating fast. The rawness began to get sloppy. And women ... as a topic . .. was right around the corner. The Marine: It was my job to be an asshole. I could be a real asshole. I was told that if people ain't bitching, you ain't doing your job. You HA VE to be an asshole. Marines are animals. We abuse women, children and other men. The Marines are also, though, the nicest people alive. They are the most polite. They'll call everybody Mam. And they are really shy. Let’s put it this way: I can go up to a girl in a bar and come off like a real smoothie. But if I know that girl, I can be shy as hell. I mean, a Marine is a weird animal. What to take to Parris Island 1. One full slip (white or pink, average length) 2. One medium/long girdle (white) 3. Five Bras (white) 4. Two pair hose (skin tone) 5. Seven panties 6. Hairbrush 7. Comb 8. Bobby pins 9. Hair rollers 10. Blowbryer 11. Eyebrow tweezer 12. Sanitary items 13. Emery board 14. Fingernail clippers 15. Safety razor 16. Bath robe (plain type) 17. Sleeping garments (preferably pajamas) Marine Corps Women’s Training Manual The Marine: See, the strongest influence on today's military is America's mothers. They can really put the screws on people. It really gets weird. And the women Marines?? Well, I knew a woman Marine from my hometown. We used to call her Sweet Tooth. She was the town whore. In fact, most women Marines are whores. I mean, they play off guys. I knew one girl. And I plugged her. And 6 . Clinton St. Quarterly

so did half the other people in the battalion. And she got pregnant. And she didn’t know who did it. And then she broke some rule. And they went into her room. And they found her diary. And she had every guy’s name and cross-references and how good he was in bed. And everything. Well... not all women are like that. But let me put it this way: they're going to get ahead. I mean, they do it on the outside. But in the military, it's more prevalent. It gets really frustrating. They’ll butter up some old crank. Women don't belong in the military. Administrative work, fine. But out in the field, get them outofmyhair. They are sickening. I mean, what do women always carry around with them? Goddamn purses. Look how insecure they are. What’s the first thing they do when they get upset? They grab their purses. And they swish them around. You don't need that. Or when they see a kitty or a rabbit. And they say, “Oh, how cute. Oh. ” But if I take that rabbit and break its goddamn neck, what are they going to say? They’re gonna say I 'm a warmonger or something. A killer. What the hell? It’s the goddamn Marine Corps. Two hundred and eight years of tradition. Oh, poor rabbit. They should be able to take that thing and bite the damn head off. Man, they’re supposed to be Marines. That really upsets me. are conditioned to feed. Men take the en- tropic energy of modern life and thrust outward with it. They punch. They pound. They scream. They grunt. And women take the entropic energy of modern life and swallow it. The poison fruit. And it turns into depression. And sadness. And pain. The mejhods we employ to defend ourselves are of different design. We are different. The Marine got angry at the end of the interview. He said some truly obnoxious things about women. He was frustrated at women for going after what he considers HIS goods ... is what I think. BeMcMAHUS SHOE REPAIR TELEPHONE 524-1820 QUALITY OUR SPECIALTY 37 yeand in hwinedd at Tame lacaiirnrk' Have your shoes repaired with confidence. MARGARET McMANUS 3404 N.E. 55TH ST. SEATTLE,WASH. 98105 Oh Really?? 1 1 t this point, the Marine was getting red in the face. And I was ripping flesh furiously from my cuticles. I rushed downstairs and made coffee. And we both chainsmoked about 45 cigarettes. Then he left. I immediately called up a friend and ranted and raved about (excuse me, I have to get raw) fascist cocksuckers. I ran into the Marine about a month later. I was actually quite glad to see him. And vice versa. He was raving about the fear in the people in Portland. And about how nobody wanted the Truth. They wouldn’t listen. He was thinking strongly about returning to the Corps. The Marine: / came out here to readjust. I don’t really understand this life anymore. I can stay here for six months and be a complete asshole. And then go back to New England and be my new self. Because, as I say, I went in a punk, and I came out a man. And I'm sitting here thinking what am I going to do with my future. And now my future is here. And it’s raw. I think what I'd be doing if I didn’t go in. I’d probably be working some shitty little job. The same shitty little grind. I’d probably be married. And she’d be bitching at me because I ain’t making enough damn money. But now look at me. I’m independent. The most I’m in debt is $500 to Sears. That's $22/month. But I'm having a hard time readjusting. I’ll go back to New England. Live in the woods. I don’t want to be a hermit. I’ll have a job. But I’ll build my own house with my own hands. Out there people respect your privacy. Not like my little apartment building where everybody’s gotta know your business. Hell. For four years everybody knew if I farted one night. But now that I'm out, I miss the Marine Corps. I miss the prestige of being a Marine. Marines are animals. We abase momen. children and other men. The Marines are also, though, the nicest people aliue. They are the most polite. They'll call euerybody Mam. cause the goods are limited enough. And the competition is fierce enough. And life is hard enough . . . without the womenfolk nudging the Marine’s stability. And knocking down historical limits in which he believed. And from which he drew strength. It isn’t even his fault. So the Marine got mad. Instead of intellectualizing his anger. Or sublimating his anger. Or swallowing his anger... the Marine got mad and began ranting. He didn't get mad at me. He didn’t kick the coffee table. He didn’t smash the tape recorder. He just picked out a scapegoat and ranted. Fine. He processes his anger his way. And I process my anger my way. And to tell you the truth, on a personal survival level, I think he’s got me beat hands down. My anger still filters through my brain, no matter how loudly I forbid it. And it tries to find something else to call itself. Anything else. Because anger, being loud, is so undignified. Devolution Now Mexican Cuisine of the Yucatan EL CAFE New Location! Savour our Authentic Sauces 9am-3pm 5pm-10pm Lounge 11-1:30am 7 Days a week 6106 Roosevelt Way NE 526-2434 BAILEY/COY BOOKS 1408 broadway east 1323-8842 Thank God Tm The Girl I suppose like any other boy I had one best friend in the neighborhood His name was Eugene and he was bigger Than I was and one year older. Eugene used to whip me pretty good. We fought all the time. Charles Bukowski The Bee S now it is time for the wrap up. I have interviewed the Marine. I have read all the books I could find on manhood. I have slowly sucked on all the information, like a piece of hard candy, for weeks. And I have hoped to be left with some sort of lucid taste in my mouth from which I could derive this elusive point. And what am I left with? WOMEN AND MEN ARE DIFFERENT. That's it! There is no blame! Men are conditioned to hunger. And women But the point-point of this article — what I actually learned from the whole process — is that I am not as modern as I thought I was. And neither are you. And all values developed before 1965 are not hogwash. Our instincts are as old as the hills, and not very antiseptic. Thick, theoretical thought cannot convince them into slickness. Anger, jealousy, hate, pride — all these emotions we have tried to neutralize and process away — are of the heart and gut — just as is love. They are instinctual. They are of the earth. So, on the one hand, I salute the Marine’s primitivism because it is also of the earth. Grunting and thrusting as a means of release is appealing. Especially since choking on my own emotions, caught in modern mental blockages for too long and thus released in a fermented state, has really been making me sick. But on the other hand, brutality, fascism, imperialism — and breaking the necks of innocent little bunnies — cannot be justified. No way. They, I am sure, are distortions. The resolution?? Well, it’s rather old and well-worked, but again, it seems to always work in a clutch: FOLLOW THY HEART FOR IT HOLDS THE WISDOM OF THE AGES. / used to dream radical dreams of blowing everyone away with my perceptive powers of correct analysis i even used to think id be the one to stop the riot and negotiate the peace then I awoke and dug that if i dreamed natural dreams of being a natural woman doing what a woman does when she's natural I would have a revolution revolutionary dreams Nikki Giovanni Bravo, Nikki! And viva la revolution. Leanne Grabel is a writer living in Portland whose last CSQ article was “Sub in the City.” Susan Gofstein is an artist living in Seattle. " ON THE BOARDS NORMAN DURKEE (Seattle) “Oxymora ' — a world premiere November 29-December 16. 1984 TRISHA RROWNHn (New York) “Set and Reset" (music by Laurie Anderson; visuals by Robert Rauschenberg) March I & 2, 1985 Seattle Center Playhouse L AL AL AHUMAN STEPS (Montreal) April 11-14, 1985 On the Boards 153 14th Ave (at Fir St) Seattle 98122 THE 1984-5 NEW PERFORMANCE SERIES FALSO MOVIMENTO (Naples, Italy) "Otello" October 11-14, 1984 INUIT THROATSINGERS (Povungnituk. Canada) January 24-26, 1985 SPALDING GRAY (New York) “Interviewing the Audience March 28-30, 1985 MARKMORRISB (Seattle) May 9-11. 1985 For Series Brochure Call 325-7901 Full and Partial Series Available Clinton St. Quarterly 7

8 THE WASHINGTON ECONOMY DRAWING BY TIM BRAUN • The number of families living in poverty is growing and has reached the highest level since 1965. announced that the poverty rate nationwide has reached its highest level in 18 years, and the rate of children’s poverty has reached a record high of 25%. One outof every four of our children is poor. These are a few of the signs that the current cyclical upturn is, in reality, leaving millions of Americans behind. And the situation is particularly bad in Washington State: • Joblessness remains high — eighteen months into the “recovery” the state's unemployment rate is still nearly 10%. More than 200,000 Washingtonians who are actively seeking work are unable to find it. The figures do not include the thousands of unemployed who have given up looking for work. Recovering from the “Recovery” • The new jobs being created in the state are fewer in number and lower in pay than the jobs that are disappearing. Real wages of working people have declined and are continuing to decline. hard for us,” says Hogner, who works for State Chore Services in South Bend to support her family. “I love my work,” she continues, “but the pay isn’t so good. I mean, our average income for the five of us over the last four years, has been only, $3,000 to $5,000 a year.” This summer she had to drop one of her clients after her doctor ordered her to go on stress-related medication. As far as Hogner can tell, the economy’s “recovery” hasn’t reached South Bend. “We existed without welfare for so many years" she sighs, “and then all of a sudden having to go crying for welfare, well, that puts a great depression on me." Her neighbor, Al Thierry, a 56-year-old unemployed ironworker agrees. Thierry, who likes kids and has been working with a community-run day camp this summer, says he’s one of the luckier ones in South Bend, though he has been out of work since October, 1982. He scoffs at the recent flurry of optimistic reports about the economic comeback. “Take a look at the headlines — Reagan says, Economy best in 33 years! Now I think he’s talking about the best economy under a Republican administration. You know, under Hoover, a depression, under Reagan only a recession.” In northern Pacific County, 25% of the families live below the poverty level. One has to wonder whose recovery this is. The figures released by the Reagan administration in August to substantiate the rosy predictions for the economy came on the heels of another less cheerful report. The U.S. Bureau of Census I 1I h g h o a a d d t l s a a o i j d m o b o e, t f f h I i d h n o a g w d g n a o i a g n t i gr t l h , m eisltuemr binerthyiasrdw. orld. ONuowr loI vweowrkendtowband,attimtheescgaortwhaashrd, ,where all it ever does is rain, Don’t you feel like you’re a rider on a downbound train. Bruce Springsteen. “Downbound Train”, 1984 OB ( ha nr ids ttihniar tHe eong. nSehre iasnad mheort hf aemr iol yf ltihvreeien dS oa uugt hhtBeer sn, da, gWeas sshi ixn, gnt oi nne, ha arsubr ae le nc odme vma sutnaitteyd obfy 1t h, 6e4r0e ci ne nnt odret hc lei rnne Pi na ct hi fei ct iCmobuenrt yi n, dauns tarrye. aS itnhcaet o1f9m80i l, l usnheumt dpolwo ynms . e“nI tt’ shlaosoakvi ne rgapgreedt t2y0b%a di nt ot hmeec. oTui mn teys, fhoalvl oewb ienegnwr eaavlel ys Clinton St. Quarterly

UNEMPLOYMENT: NO END IN SIGHT Boeing and subcontractors, co-directors FALLEN TIMBER The long-term decline in the timber industry has had a shattering effect on many rural counties in Washington. Ten timber-dependent counties have averaged unemployment of 15% or higher during the past four years. In five of these counties at least one out of every five workers cannot find a job. Shoalwater Jobs private logger, Mayr Bros., recently filed for bankruptcy. Jobs in both lumber and plywood production have dropped dramatically as the timber industry has begun to move to the southern states in search of cheaper labor, greater private control over lands, and lower transportation costs. Another blow to workers has been the increase in interest rates, which are again beginning to choke off growth in the housing market. Finally, many of the job losses have been due to productivity improvements, which allow mills to produce more lumber with less labor. For instance, Crown Zeller- bach has doubled the size of its huge Camas, Washington, paper mill, but the $300 million capital expenditure created no new jobs. Pacific County, one of those five, lies on the coast of Washington between the Columbia River and the Oregon border on the south and Grays Harbor County on the north. The county surrounds Willapa Bay, a shallow estuary which has been an oyster-growing and fishing area for some time. In northern Pacific County there are two incorporated cities — Raymond, a lumber-mill town and South Bend, a fishing town and county seat, home to Christina Hogner and Al Thierry. For over one hundred years, the county has depended primarily on the timber industry for jobs and livelihood. While at one time a large number of small and independent lumber mills flourished, today not only does Weyerhaeuser control much of the milling, it also owns 70% of the land in the county. Consequently, residents in the area have found themselves increasingly dependent on decisions made by a company over which they have no control. Cheryl Wilkie and Don Comstock are Raymond, a non-profit community development corporation that was created by the people of Pacific County to tackle the economic problems of the county. Overcoming the powerlessness engendered by corporate policies that put the bottom line above community need is no simple task. Calling Pacific County “the Appalachia of the Pacific Northwest,” Wilkie points out that “there is a large absentee corporation that owns the land, doesn’t reside there, takes everything out of the county, and doesn't give anything back.” According to Wilkie and Comstock, Weyerhaeuser and other timber companies have begun looking for cheaper labor to cut costs and increase profits. They are moving out of the county to the Southeast and overseas. With its remaining operations in the county, Weyerhaeuser has moved to cut costs by contracting out for non-union labor, forcing work speed-ups and introducing automation. In 1980, Weyerhaeuser shut down their Raymond shake mill, laying off 65 people. Weyerhaeuser then spent $30 million automating their major mill in Raymond, closing down the mill from 1980 to 1982 and forcing major work and wage concessions from the union. When the mill was reopened, the automation resulted in the permanent loss of 75 jobs. In May of 1984, Mayr Bros. Timber closed down its mill leaving another 70 workers out of work. All that remains of Raymond's once-di- verse and thriving timber industry is the newly-automated Weyerhaeuser mill, which workers say could easily be dismantled, put on a barge and moved elsenumber of workers employed in the aerospace industry has fallen to 64,000. Although Boeing has stated that it intends to hire 4,000 additional workers in Washington in 1984-85, that increase is less than half the number of people it laid off in 1983 alone. Washington’s second biggest industry, forest products, which employs 25% of the state’s manufacturing workforce, has also steadily declined from a post-war high of 76,000 jobs in 1951 to less than 55,000 jobs in 1984. Both Simpson Timber and Weyerhaeuser have announced major layoffs in recent months, and Washington’s largest independent in the early 1970s, aerospace, Washington’s most important industry, has not yet returned to its pre-recession employment levels. From a peak in 1968, when 105,000 people were employed at Washington’s extraordinarily high unemployment rate of nearly 11% during today's “recovery" is higher than that reached in any post-war recession prior to 1982. The economic forecasting service, Data Resources Incorporated, predicts similarly high unemployment levels for many years, dimming the prospects for a real return to prosperity. Unemployment in the state has climbed steadily over the last three decades. It averaged 5.2% in the 1950s; 5.7% in the 1960s; 8.5% in the 1970s; and 10.8% thus far in the 1980s. The overall U.S. unemployment figures have exhibited the same upward trend. State unemployment levels, however, have been higher than the national levels every year since World War II. The differential is widening. The trend of rising unemployment is largely due to the decline in. recent years of Washington’s basic industries. Employment in manufacturing has fallen off sharply since 1978 and is expected to remain at low levels well into 1987. A study conducted by Seattle planner Deborah Feldman shows that there have been 60,000 permanent and long-term job losses in the state’s manufacturing sector since 1979 — a loss of one-fifth of the manufacturing employment base. A significant share of these losses cited by Feldman are due to permanent plant closures in the state, well over 100 shutdowns since 1979. The greatest job losses have been sustained by the two industries which dominate the state economy, aerospace and forest products. In recent months, however, major plant closures and layoffs in other industries — aluminum, copper-processing and shipbuilding — have contributed to the unemployment crisis. In July, ASARCO corporation in Tacoma announced that its smelting operations will shut down entirely in June 1985. This means a permanent direct loss of 550 jobs. ALCOA shut down a part of its Vancouver plant, citing low product demand and high electric power prices. Over 150 workers were laid off. The Kaiser Aluminum plant near Spokane will be laying off 175 workers. In addition, Martin Marietta and Atlantic Richfield companies have both indicated that they plan to shut down or sell their Northwest aluminum plants. In the shipbuilding industry, Tacoma Boat corporation recently announced that it will be laying off nearly 500 workers. While not in the nosedive it experienced 1 AKEA LOOKAT THE HEADLINES— REAGANSAYS, ECONOMYBESTIN33 YEARS! NOWI THINKHE'S TALKING ABOUTTHEBESTECONOMY UNDER A REPUBLICAN ADMINISTRATION." Clinton St. Quarterly 9