S i T0O DOWN NE GNIFl INST IONE THAT'S CORRECT HOWARD, NOW WHER1 MIGHT WE FIND THE BEAUJOfcAIS^ .
oe D TO Music 7 days a week 12 Beers on draught ON THE BOARDS presents THE 1984-85 MW PERFORMANCE SERIES featuring seven performance and workshop residencies by nationally and internationally acclaimed artists: Falso Movimento OTELLO MULTI-MEDIA THEATER Naples Italy Norman Durkee OXYMORA OPERA FOR HEADPHONES Seattle Spalding Gray INTERVIEWING THE AUDIENCE THEATER New York r Trisha Brown Dance Company SET AND RESET with music score by Laurie Anderson; set design by Robert Rauschenberg MODERN DANCE New York Inuit Throat and Ayaa-yaa Singers MUSIC Povungnituk, Canada Mark Morris Dance Group MODERN DANCE Seattle La La La Human Steps DANCE Montreal, Canada 2110 N. 45th SEATTLE 634-2110 Watch for our series brochure, coming out this summer — Buy a series subscription and save! information/box office: On the Boards 153-14th Ave. Seattle, WA 98122 (206) 325-7901 ^ W ^ iiiilllllllliM 'F ' j ■ * ' .......17 IJ । ■ 2 Clinton St. Quarterly
Contents 8 Larry Adams Nancy Hoffman 31 25 27 30 11 15 Hole in the Water 22 Meeting Gary Lewis— A Dream Come True Sharkey’s Night Smoking Chandu Francis at St. Augustine Cover Piano Famine Cracked Warm Springs-Yakima artist Lillian Pitt has recently been showing her raku masks throughout the Northwest. Fred Hopkins Anne Schmitt Marjorie Anton Kimball Steven Bryan Bieler Andy Robinson Arpilleristas of Chile Translated by Margaret Thomas Helen Caldicott Meets Ronald Reagan Even Hoedads Get the Blues Bill London Staff Co-Editors Lenny Dee Peggy Lindquist David Milholland Jim Blashfield Design and Production Jim Blashfield Production Assistant David Milholland Camerawork Tim Braun Ad Production Peggy Lindquist Beverly Wong Stacey Fletcher Ad Sales — Portland/Eugene Lenny Dee, Sandy Wallsmith, Anne Hughes, Laurie McClain, Tim Jordan, Ellen Adler Ad Sales — Seattle Linda Ballantine, Lars Hanson Proofreaders Anne Hughes, David Milholland Contributing Artists Arpilleristas, Tim Braun, Michael Curry, T. Michael Gardiner, J.C. Hartung, Dana Hoyle, Anton Kimball, Jack McLarty, Steve Winkenwerder Contributing Photographers Steve Chapman, Rick Ergenbright, Betsy Reeves Typesetting Jill Wilson Archetype Printing Tualatin-Yamhill Press Public Relations Cramer/Hulse Thanks Bryan Booth, Ed Carpenter, Denny Eichorn, Jeff Evans, Jack Eyerly, Susan Feldman, Lan Fendors, Bill Foster, Jeffrey Harmes, Kathleen Holton, Gil Johnson, Melissa Marsland, Douglas Milholland, Danny O’Brien, Oregon Historical Society, Alana Probst, Eleanor Shanklin, Charlotte Uris, John Wanberg, Michael Wells The Clinton St. Quarterly is published in both Washington and Oregon editions by Clinton St. Quarterly, Inc. Seattle address: 1520 Western Avenue, Seattle, WA 98101; Portland address: P.O. Box 3588, Portland, OR 97208 (503) 222-6039. Unless otherwise noted, all contents copyright 1984 Clinton St. Quarterly. EDITORIAL In our global village sometimes a picture lor image that makes the moment stand still makes the history that follows a natural development. The ebb and flow of the Vietnam War resolved itself on the six o'clock news during the Tet Offensive when a Viet Cong warrior was executed in living color by the Saigon police chief. Such an image is still to reach us from the ever-escalating conflict in Central America. Recently published photos of a 1927 incident showing an American Marine holding up a Sandinista head make one ponder the effect if such a latter-day scene were to flash across America's living rooms. We've much to learn from that distant conflict. In our now society, with yesterday’s papers already yellowing, a short course in Latin American history is in order. How many of us have any idea that from 1927-1933, some 18,000 U.S. troops fought an early version of counterinsurgency against the original Sandinistas. U.S. forces bombed hillsides and villages while running covert operations from nearby Honduras. The Sandinistas won the battle of wills, only to find treachery in peace, and Nicaragua had imposed upon it a brutal 45-year reign of terror sustained with U.S. arms and aid. The current U.S. administration has brought out the bogeyman of a Soviet- sponsored red menace soon to be on the banks of the Rio Grande unless we respond militarily. Once again, history teaches us some valuable lessons. From 1928-33, the Soviet Union backed unsuccessful indigenous uprisings in Brazil, Chile, El Salvador and Mexico. Since that time they have been exceedingly cautious in dealing with Latin America. Far more so than we have. Since WWII, the U.S. has invaded the Dominican Republic and Grenada, occupied large portions of Panama and Honduras, abetted the overthrow of countless elected governments (notably Guatemala, 1954; Brazil, 1964; and Chile, 1973), and maintained as many Caudillos and right-wing regimes as deemed possible, all in the name of democracy. In Cuba, the one that slipped away, the Soviet’s influence has proven to be a controlling factor rather than a stimulating influence. In the '70s, the Soviets refused to provide free military equipment or absorb huge trade deficits for Allende’s Chile. The ’80s have brought an unwillingness to open wide the purse strings for a hard-pressed Nicaraguan government. Unlike their bogged-down war in Afghanistan, the Soviets in Latin America have used a martial arts approach: turning the weight of a more powerful opponent against him. We seem to fall for the trap again and again, lining up with genocidal right-wing governments, causing potentially deep divisions on the home front and the spectre of Vietnam-like conflict. Washington's paternalism won’t let it believe that Latins will withstand the blandishments of the Soviets. Yet the Peruvians have not genuflected towards Moscow in spite of arms sales, the farmers of the pampas have not made Argentina a Soviet agricultural satellite even though providing massive grain shipments, and the Mexicans remain fiercely independent despite friendly relations with the USSR. With no sense of history, the U.S. is bound to repeat the mistakes of the past on a populace that still hasn’t forgiven us for either our interventions or our forgetting that they ever happened. LD WHY SUBSCRIBE TO A FREE CSQ ? I A / hen the first issue of the Clinton If If 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. 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PIANO FAMINE By Steven Bryan Bieler Drawing by T. Michael Gardiner There was no one behind the counter at Meats & Dead Things. Mrs. Gittleman banged on the counter with a can of Veg-Glop. “Well? Is anyone at home? So help an old lady already. ” Gittleman maneuvered her shopping cart down the Frozen Plant Sap aisle and into Breads & Inert Elements. As she turned the corner, her grandson Mendel reached out from his perch inside the cart and grabbed a loaf of all-natural whole wheat. “Mendel! Give me that," Mrs. Gittleman said. She threw it back on the shelf. “But Grandma — ” “But nothing. Is that what they feed you at home? Junk they feed you at home!” Mrs. Gittleman critically surveyed the selection of breads on the shelf marked with a skull and crossbones, finally choosing six loaves of Thin-Sliced Foam Roll with Burned-in Flavor. “Mommy doesn’t let me eat that,” Mendel said. “Your mommy didn’t learn to eat in my house or she wouldn’t be the undernourished stringbean she is today,” Mrs. Gittleman replied. She scooped a dozen plastic-wrapped ChocoBusters from a lead-lined hamper. The hamper’s radiation scale was holding at TOLERABLE. “With me you know you’re eating the right things. Don’t bruise the pizzas, you lousy kid.” They rolled into the next aisle, Used Paper Goods. “Do we need toilet paper?” Mrs. Gittleman mused. “Please, Grandma,” Mendel said. He picked up a two-pack of Squeeze 'ems. Mrs. Gittleman knocked it from his hands. “A smart shopper you’ll never be. Paper towels are far more absorbent.” She dumped several rolls on his head. “Make some room in there. Don’t sit on my ChocoBusters.” “Sorry, Grandma. Can we buy bananas?” “Bananas! Bananas are fruit!” “Mommy says bananas are good for you.” “Mommy says. So because Mommy says, you should believe it? Children are dying in China from bananas! I'll get you something special for dinner, maybe then you’ll shut up.” There was no one behind the counter at Meats & Dead Things. Mrs. Gittleman banged on the counter top with a can of Veg-Glop. “Well? Is anyone at home? So help an old lady already.” Arnie the Meat Man opened the door to the back room. A sheaf of play money filled the breast pocket of his overalls. “I've got a hotel on Park Place and it better be there when I get back,” he said. He shut the door and came to the counter. “Hello, Mrs. Gittleman. What an interesting appliance you have there.” “Arnie, you've got brains like a walrus. This is my grandson, Mendel.” “Hi,” Mendel said. “Could have sworn it was a blender.” Arnie peered closely at the grandson in question, not entirely convinced. “Well. What can I get for you today? A nice barnyard animal?” “I’d like two pounds of piano,” Mrs. Gittleman told him. “Lean, not much fat.” “I have a choice upright Yamaha. Tasty keys.” “Yamaha! Feh! I should feed Yamaha to my only grandson who is eating me out of house and home? Please let me have two pounds of Steinway like always." “Grandma, I don’t want piano. I want • bananas.” “If you eat bananas you’ll grow up to be a banana head!” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gittleman, I have no Steinway. I haven’t had any for a week.” “How about two pounds of Baldwin? I don’t mind a little fat.” “Nope,” Arnie said, “no Baldwin either. No Bosendorfer and no Schimmel. All I’ve got is Yamaha. It's the piano famine, you know.” “Piano famine? What’s that?” “Don’t you follow world affairs, Mrs. Gittleman?” “I have enough to do following my neighbors’." Arnie went to the blackboard behind the reptile peeler. He drew a graph illustrating piano supply and demand for the fiscal year ending in June. “You see, Mrs. Gittleman,” he said, pointing to the graph with somebody’s thigh bone, “when everyone demands a piano, the supply goes down, unless their checks bounce. This year the harvest was not a good one. There weren’t enough penguins available to make piano keys. Zebras, of Miiriam of the Kosher Patrol leaned her cart against a rack of Celluloid Party Snacks and came toward them. A holster on her belt held a large cotto salami. course, are a poor substitute. So we have had to import piano to meet consumer demand." Arnie activated his Garbage in/Garbage Out Data Processor. “I didn’t know piano was so popular,” Mrs. Gittleman admitted. “Well, it’s not just for music anymore." Arnie ran up some figures on the screen. “Now, if we compare piano supply with the evolution of industrial society, factoring in the seventeen principles of neoHegelian economics, we reach significant conclusions of possible relevance to something or other.” He changed channels, looking for the ballgame. Mrs. Gittleman hit the counter top with the Veg-Glop again. “All right already! So give me the Yamaha, two pounds. I’ll put some ketchup on it; Mendel won’t know the difference.” “I don’t want to eat piano,” Mendel said. “Maybe I should feed you fruit? When you get to be a grandmother you can eat 4 Clinton St. Quarterly
Clinton St. Quarterly 5
what you want, you should live so long.” Arnie weighed out two pounds of fresh Yamaha. “Do you like bass strings?" he asked. “A few would be nice. I’d like a leg, too.” Arnie gave her a neatly wrapped two- pound package of Yamaha piano. “Here you are, Mrs. Gittleman.” She sighed. “I never thought I’d have to buy Yamaha to feed my family.” “You don’t have to,” Mendel said. “Mendel, my love, if you don’t behave, I’ll let the Pac-Man into the house tonight to eat you.” Mendel cowered behind a bag of Chip Chunkies, the Cookie with More Chip to the Chunk. “Goodbye, Mrs. Gittleman,” Arnie said. “Interesting blender you have there.” “I’m not a blender,” Mendel corrected him. “That’s right,” his grandmother said. “He's a banana head.” They were rolling into the Take Your Chances Bake Shop when they heard a siren behind them. It was a two-wheeled shopping cart equipped with flashing red lights, pushed by a woman in a blue and white uniform. The woman was making the siren noise by screeching through a cardboard tube. Mendel recognized her from his readings in various comic books. “It’s Miriam of the Kosher Patrol!” “Oh, hell,” said Mrs. Gittleman. Miriam of the Kosher Patrol leaned her cart against a rack of Celluloid Party Snacks and came towards them. A holster on her belt held a large cotto salami. “Identification, please.” Mrs. Gittleman opened her purse and extracted a small square of cardboard. She handed it over. “Mrs. Ruth Gittleman, second base,” Miriam read. She studied the data on the back of the card. “Too many strikeouts last season, Mrs. Gittleman.” “Excuse me for living.” “Is that your blender, Mrs. Gittleman?” “I am not a blender!” “Mendel, stop yelling! You’ll never catch a husband the way you’re going. Officer Miriam, this is my grandson, Mendel the banana head." “I see.” Miriam returned the card and began searching the contents of Mrs. Git- tleman’s cart. “Ah,” she said, holding a loaf aloft. “Thin-Sliced Foam Roll!” “Do we have to put it back?” Mendel asked, hopefully. “No,” Mrs. Gittleman said. She grabbed another loaf and read the label aloud. ‘“This product has been ritually slaughtered to conform with the strictest kosher standards.’” Miriam consulted her handbook, frowned, reluctantly tossed the bread back into the cart. “It’s okay." “Maybe you think so,” Mendel said. Mrs. Gittleman whacked him on the head with a package of Two-Ply Wipe Ups. “A shoe!” Miriam cried. “My foot is in that," Mendel said. “Would you please hurry?” Mrs. Gittleman asked. “I don’t want to miss my favorite soap opera. Leslie is going to blow up Bruno's dog on Life’s Tender Moments." Miriam yelled in triumph. She had found the package of piano. “Is this Yamaha piano?” “No,” Mrs. Gittleman said. “It’s a double-neck Stratocaster with reverb. What difference does it make what it is?” “Mrs. Gittleman, Yamaha piano is not kosher. I’ll have to read you your rights.” “Arnie the Meat Man wouldn’t sell me piano if it wasn't kosher,” Mrs. Gittleman said. “Yamaha! Feh! I should feed Yamaha to my only grandson who is eating me out of house and home? Please let me have two pounds of Steinway like always. ” “You have the right to remain silent. If you do remain silent, we’ll make something up.” “I was only thinking of my grandson!” “Stop thinking of mq,” Mendel said. “You have the right to representation in court. If you cannot afford it, the court will appoint an Orthodox rabbi to represent you.” Mrs. Gittleman hefted her can of Veg- Glop. “Get out of my life, Miriam, or I’ll tattoo your teeth.” Miriam backed off. “I’m reporting this to Central,” she said. “You can’t get away with it. And as for your grandson or blender or whatever, he can just forget his Bar Mitzvah!" “You're too late,” Mendel said. “I’m thirty years old; I've already had my Bar Mitzvah." “We can make it retroactive!” Miriam yelled, pushing her cart at top speed down the Piss & Vinegar aisle. Mrs. Git- tleman’s can of Veg-Glop sailed after her. Scratch one can of Veg-Glop,” Mendel said. “Scratch two pounds of Yamaha piano.” Mrs. Gittleman wheeled the cart around. “I’m trading it in. It’s not worth the aggravation." “What are you planning to trade it for?” Mendel asked, fearfully. “Saxophone," Mrs. Gittleman said. Mendel climbed on a sack of Neolithic Burger s. “Abandon ship,” he cried, dropping over the side. “Miriam, wait for me!” Mrs. Gittleman stopped the cart. Choosing a Magenta Crayola from her purse, she amended her shopping list to read: “Stop dept, store-way home — buy blender.’*And she continued on her way to Meats & Dead Things, and the smiling assistance of Arnie the Meat Man. • Steven Bryan Bieler is a Seattle writer who has just finished a two-year adventure in self-publishing. T. Michael Gardiner is a Seattle artist who is designing this year’s Bumbershoot poster. IWALLINGFORDI Great Winds C L ___ BACON AND EGGS TO PASTA AND PRAWNS IN A SPARKLING NEW, SUNNY LOCATION 4401 WALLINGFORD N. 633-1175 dinner ’til 10pm mon-sat breakfast from 6am mon-sat 7am-2pm sunday In Pioneer Square Just North of the Kingdome 402 Occidental Ave. S. 624-6886 FRESH • FAST • FRIENDLY 2305 EASTLAKE E. 324-1442 DINNER’TIL 10 MON-SAT 1st &Yesler 623-3409 Zenith Supplies 6319 Roosevelt Way NE, Seattle, Wa. 98115 (206) 525 - 7997 6 Clinton St. Quarterly
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Coupled with more than 250 stunning, full-color visual reproductions, the text illustrates how this machine combines new technology with traditional art forms. The book reveals for the nonspecialist as well as for the computer professional the potential of computer graphics in many fields, including medicine, architecure. and fine arts, in addition to providing a fascinating insight into our future. 200 pages. $16.95 CRACKED By Andy Robinson Linocut by Jack McLarty rney brought that White Train through town again the other day. Don't ask me why they keep bringing it. We stopped it the first time back in '84. Bunch of people lying on the tracks, primitive but very effective. Three hours in the rain, the cops peering at us and us peering back at them. After that all hell broke loose. They decided, forget about Portland. So they routed the train up north through Yakima, over the Cascades. Problem was, the train derailed in six feet of snow. The folks up in the mountains were not too pleased about having a couple hundred nuclear missiles just lying there in the snow, waiting for spring. Once the train got out, the locals blew up the track. Now that’s what I call direct action. Next time they brought it down the Gorge. Figured they'd sneak it through Vancouver and then up to the submarine base. They got it through Vancouver all SOMEBODY DROVE TO THE COAST AND LOADED UP A COUPLE OF TRUCKS WITH THOSE PURPLE JELLYFISH, THE ONES THAT STINK. PICTURE THAT, A WHITE TRAIN COVERED WITH STREAKS OF STINKING PURPLE COO. right, but up around Castle Rock they ran into trouble. I mean, literally. A wall of dead television sets. Hundreds of ’em, all shapes and sizes. Ancient Philcos with round picture tubes, Magnavoxes, Sonys, you name it. Each one had a photo of Ronald Reagan glued to the screen and he was saying things like, “Progress is our most important product." Anyway, they got to Castle Rock about four in the morning and boom! Right into all those teevees. Glass and plastic everywhere, Reagan’s speeches cut up into little transparent pieces. The Department of Energy called up the FBI, they did a big investigation, lots of headlines. They never convicted anyone, though. The district attorney didn’t want it in court, Feds or no Feds. Cost the taxpayers too damn much to convict a bunch of pranksters, is what he said. Lots of folks were speculating that the D.A. was a sympathizer, but he was up for re-election and won, which says something about something. Since the televisions, people have been blocking the tracks with all manner of things. Dumpsters. Old tires. Tons of surplus grain, if you can believe that, with a sign saying, Bread not Bombs. Somebody drove to the coast and loaded up a couple of trucks with those purple jellyfish, the ones that stink. Picture that, a white train covered with streaks of stinking purple goo. Looked real artistic. I went down to the railroad yard the other day, thought I’d watch the fun. Sure enough, somebody had taken half the animals from the zoo and tied ’em to the tracks. The police didn’t know what to do. The zoo wasn't answering the phone and no one wanted to mess with the lion, not to mention the wild boar. Even those cute little panda bears; they cost an arm and a leg. You let one go by accident, it wanders all over and you might never see it again. There goes a lot of taxpayers’ money right there. You know what they did? They backed the train up. When they got to Troutdale they found that somebody had built a suburban ticky-tacky right on the tracks. Four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a fine house. Threw it up in a matter of hours. City inspectors came out, gave it the OK, went home to watch the news. Union Pacific had to dismantle the house. The guys were bitching and swearing the whole time. Last we heard, that train was back at the plant in Amarillo. Can’t be sure though. Since Reagan got his fourth term they confiscated all our walkie-talkies and CBs. Nobody can afford a goddamn telephone. I hear they're still testing bombs down in Nevada. Drill a hole into the heart of the earth, blow up another bomb, watch the meters jump around. The place is filled with cracks and crevices; it’s just waiting to collapse. They’re in my heart too. Cracks, crevices, fissures, you name it. Every bomb they make splits me a little wider. If they can’t make a train run down the track, how are they going to put my heart back together? Do I bind it with hope and linament? Ah, well. To the tracks. • Andy Robinson is a Portland writer and peacemaker. Jack McLarty is a Portland artist. Clinton St. Quarterly 7
For more than a decade, the Eugene-based Hoedads and some thirteen affiliates of the Northwest Forest Workers Association (NWFWA) have offered a working model of on-the-job democracy in action. At their height, the Hoedads were the Northwest’s largest worker-owned business, with 325 members controlling a two-million- dollar-per-year company. Products of the idealism of the ’60s and ’70s, they rose to impressive economic and political strength, only to be dashed against the recessionary shoals of the ’80s. Eight NWFWA groups have perished. Others have been forced to retrench. By Bill London With David Milholland Photos and Drawings by Forestworkers Today, NWFWA Executive Director Gerry Mackie is angry, and his language vivid, as he describes the despair of the last few years, when most of NWFWA’s member co-ops dissolved, and three- quarters of the forestworkers — many of them his friends — lost their jobs. “We’ve been held down in an alley and choked to death, or almost to death,” he summarizes, sitting in his cramped Eugene office, chainsmoking and twisting paper clips unmercifully. Many factors have contributed to the forestworkers' malaise: the economic downturn, a government-forced reorganization, unfair competition, and divisions and squabbles within the co-ops themselves. Most important has been the economic recession of the early 1980s, a severe depression for the Northwest timber industry. By 1983, the reforestation market had plummeted to 40 percent of normal, with increased competition for the jobs remaining,- -as unemployed loggers and other laborers crowded into the marketplace. Bid prices, in real dollar terms, fell to half of what they had been four years earlier. Then co-ops and private contractors alike, unwilling or unable to bid low enough, were forced into dissolution. Stable, fully financed co-ops with long histories of proven ability and sound management folded. Both Homegrown, , a seven-year-old business and the largest private employer in Tiller, Oregon; and the Marmots, a 10-year-old Seattle co-op, failed. 1984 may not be a substantially better year, but Mackie is cautiously optimistic. He predicts that all the co-ops that survived 1983 will be able to continue operations. “Everyone has cut their costs and everyone is dedicated to keeping their jobs and keeping alive the co-op idea.” A Growth Industry Emerges T■ he Pacific Northwest, the last JL bastion of Old Growth timber in the lower 48, was so heavily cut through the mid-century that everyone involved could see the end of it all. Replanting had been haphazard, and no one was quite sure if there would be any marketable trees in fifty years. The industry, which had cut an immense swath across the continent, was poised to move on once again. Yet the cost of forest land, and the value of the remaining trees was increasing. For the government agencies, like the Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the principle of sustained yield — guaranteeing that timber would not be overcut and that there would be forests in perpetuity — became their congressionally mandated foundation. Some of the large private timber companies joined the federal agencies in massive reforestation efforts. Treeplanting suddenly boomed. Foresters had experimented with treeplanting for years. The science of treegrowing (silviculture) evolved into a college-trained profession, and the earlier methods of dropping seeds from airplanes or allowing natural reseeding to occur were not proving good enough. The best way to ensure a new crop of trees was to plant young nursery seedlings in the site. But that is, in itself, an incredibly difficult job. Trees are planted in the wet seasons for the sake of their survival, which is no help to the treeplanter who must then fight the rain, sleet, snow and, of course, mud common to that time of year. Trees are generally planted in remote mountainous areas, very distant from some of the common pleasant touches of civilization, like hot showers and dry socks. The work itself is physically demanding. Planters outfitted in bulky rain gear with a minimum of 40 pounds of seedlings in waistbelt bags and carrying the heavy planting tool known as a hoedad, climb up and down steep and rocky slopes and over, under and around all the logs, roots and branches on that hill. At intervals of every These new forestworkers were very different. They were energetic and responsible men and women, who shared work equally and made their own decisions, without bosses. They were dedicated to the task of helping the trees grow. ten feet or so, the planter jams the hoedad into the ground, opens a hole in the earth and drops in a tree. That is repeated hundreds of times daily on huge clearcuts that seem to grow larger, not smaller, with every passing day. The foresters were having some difficulty locating workers willing and able to do that job well. They usually relied on contractors who brought in crews of transient laborers, winos, undocumented workers, and people found hitchhiking along the road to the worksite. Predictably, such workers often left soon after they arrived and, while they were on the job, took no interest in their task or in the survival of the trees entrusted to them. Heirs to the Wobblies 17■ i arly in the 1970s, young, impov- JL«< erished counter-culturalists were looking for a “clean” way of making a living, all while allowing them to do something healthful and ecologically positive. An ideal business would allow democratic management, be labor intensive and require a very low capital outlay. The match with the reforestation industry was made in heaven. These new forestworkers were very different. They were energetic and responsible men and women, who shared the work equally and made their own decisions, without bosses. The first crews were known by colorful names like the Ents, Marmots and Hoedads. Their work camps were curious amalgams of tipis and yurts, old schoolbuses and tents. They appeared to enjoy the hard work, and were dedicated to the task of helping the trees grow. Motives among the workers varied. To some, it was a job, well paid and enjoyable. To others, it was a chance to control their own Jives, to live comfortably apart from the capitalist system, and even to form a vanguard or an example for a major reorganization, revolutionary in scope, of regional institutions. Whatever their perspective, the forestworkers formed a unique and positive 8 Clinton St. Quarterly
partnership with the timberland managers. The foresters found someone to plant the trees well, and the forestworkers founded a fledgling industry that allowed their very special kind of management philosophy to define itself and prosper. By their competition with contractor crews, they raised the standards of the whole reforestation industry, bringing it to new levels of sophistication, professionalism and environmental commitment. These early forestworker crews were usually partnerships, not true cooperatives. Often a group of neighbors and friends would band together, pool their resources, and bid on government contracts. The lowest bidder was, by law, awarded the contract. As the partnerships gained experience, they bid and won more contracts. And as they became more adept at their own brand of democratic self-rule, some of those forestworkers were ready for the economic stability and political clout of a large company, a strong worker-owned cooperative, comprised of almost autonomous work crews. The Gravy Days I n Eugene, it was the Hoedads that decided to expand, and who, in 1973, issued a general public call for new workers. The recruitment drive brought in 60 new members, some of whom had never planted a tree and some experienced workers who joined along with their whole crew. New crews selected their own zippy names, including Thumb, Mud Sharks, Cheap Thrills, and Natural Wonders. By 1974, the more than 100 Hoedads had established their cooperative. Within three years they were grossing two million dollars per year and were operating 13 crews in forests throughout the West. It was the boom time, the “gravy” days for the reforestation industry, when making more than $100 a day treeplanting was commonplace. J.D. Ogden, current Hoedad president, was in the late 1970s their corporate treasurer. He remembers those days with one of his characteristically laid- back, eyes-partly-closed smiles: “Our biggest problem in those days was dealing with our surplus.” The Hoedads solved that problem by loaning or donating money to a large number of progressive causes or businesses sharing a similar philosophy. Eugene’s community- owned WOW Hall, the feminist worker- owned whole foods distributor Star- flower, Cascadian Farms in Washington, and Zoo Zoos, a local natural foods restaurant, are among the surviving beneficiaries. Starflower Treasurer Jain Elliott, whose business has borrowed (and repaid) a great deal of money over the years, in $10,000 to $30,000 chunks, states that, “Hoedads are still finding ways to lend us money, even though their cash is tight. I’m impressed that ' cooperation among co-ops is still important to them.” And commitments were made to continue bringing untrained men and women into woodswork. Female forestworkers were virtually unknown until the Hoedads established the goal that at least one- third of their workers would be women — a goal that was met or exceeded every EVEN HOEDADS GET THE BLUES year until 1983. Tne Hoedads floundered in an attempt to create an autonomous Spanish-lan- guage crew within their own structure. These workers, some of whom were illegals, found it hard to believe the barebreasted women working a job near theirs were members of the same organization. Differing expectations, miscommunication, and a number of cultural and language difficulties made the experiment a short-lived one. The Hoedads were also establishing industry standards for jobplace exposure to toxic chemicals. Their first fight was against Thiram, a deer repellant applied to the seedlings. After a long day of work with the contaminated seedlings, transplanters often found themselves getting sick following an after-work beer. An investigation revealed that Thiram was chemically very similar to Anabuse, the drug given alcoholics that induces vomiting and nausea if mixed with alcohol. Their campaign — based on that undeniably All-American right to drink a beer after a hard day’s work — was successful and Thiram was banned. Their next fight was against herbicides, the chemical weedkillers commonly used to kill bushes that foresters thought were competing with trees. Hoedads feared that the chemicals in their air and drinking water were physically harmful, and blamed the instances of nausea and other ailments which occurred while working in or near sprayed areas on their exposure. In 1975, the co-op contributed money to Citizens Against Toxic Sprays, in the first Oregon case that challenged a public agency’s use of herbicides in forestland. The president of Hoedads also testified in the case, presenting the idea of a manual alternative to herbicides — employing people to cut brush with chainsaws. Hoedads have continued their commitment to pesticide reform, persuading the Forest Service to test manual alternatives and helped develop other nonchemical methods of brush control (thus developing a new category of forest work that still offers employment opportunities throughout the Northwest). Groundwork Inc., a Hoedad offshoot, was formed in 1978 to test agency claims about the need for brush control. Hoedads also helped establish the Northwest Coalition for Alternatives to Pesticides (NCAP), the nationally known pesticide reform group based in Eugene; and two of its members, Fred Miller and Norma Grier, became the first and current directors of the organization. As forestworker cooperatives throughout the Northwest grew and multiplied during the 1970s, the Hoedads remained the largest, most well known and influential. In its heyday, Eugene Central kept track of crews working throughout the entire region, including Alaska and Montana. Hundreds of thousands of acres were planted and, due to the strenuous work, and resultant high turnover, more than a thousand workers passed through the co-op’s ranks. Local and national media attention was drawn to the group because of its increasing economic and political significance and the outspoken and colorful individuals which comprised its membership. The successful battle against Thiram, the election of Jerry Rust (a co-founder of Hoedads) as a Lane County Commissioner, and their easy access to local and national political fiClinton St. Quarterly 9
gures extended their influence. To do some of the public relations and political lobbying work that benefited all forestworker cooperatives — but increasingly fell to the Hoedads—the NWFWA was formed. Enter the Taxman T he Hoedads’ growing clout A aroused the interest of both the competition (the private reforestation contractors) and governmental regulators. The private contractors recognized the forestworkers as formidable competition, and created their own trade grouf), ARC (the Association of Reforestation Contractors). ARC didn’t really believe that a 300-person organization could be, in fact, worker-owned, and that as employees, forestworkers should not continue to avoid paying the common deductions for workers’ compensation, social security and unemployment benefits. ARC hoped to halt the burgeoning movement by forcing the deductions, and thus lowering their take-home pay. At first, during the glory years of 1975 and ’76, ARC was unsuccessful in lobbying the Oregon legislature to enact restrictive laws applicable to cooperatives. Then they began pressuring state and federal agencies to investigate the Hoedads. The forestworker groups began to expend more and more of their time and money responding to agency inquiries and legislative attacks. At one point, four of the five Hoedad officers were working almost exclusively on the regulatory battles. They spent thousands of dollars trying to carve a niche within the employer-employee economic structure for a worker-controlled business. In the end, the effort proved futile. It was impossible, the forestworkers decided, to fit the round peg in the square hole. They surrendered their fight, restructured their prganizations, and by 1981 began to reorganize their bookkeeping methods and pay the normal employee deductions. But money that could have been spent on training and diversification into other types of work, on capital acquisition, or even savings for any potential hard times ahead, was instead drawn into the Black Hole of legal and regulatory controversy. The terms of the defeat were also a serious drain, as the more radical members wanted to limit the restructuring effects of the decision. Within the Hoedads, for example, the decision to eliminate the autonomous work crews in order to unify and centralize the bookkeeping was viewed by some as cowardly “selling out.’’ Others saw it as the only practical legal option. These serious differences produced major rifts within the Hoedads, weakening, sometimes tearing the bonds of trust and cooperation that created the organization. Many individual members quit in disgust. Other co-ops disbanded rather than knuckle under to the governmental decree. Personnal problems were compounded by the co-op’s lack of familiarity with the new procedures and the resulting mistakes and delays. And workers accustomed to wages kept artificially high without employee deductions were very disappointed in their shrunken paychecks. This all occurred as the forestry depression of the 1980s came on, causing bid prices to nosedive. The hard times had indeed begun. W e found contractors who hired illegal aliens and ripped them off mercilessly. ... It amounted to slavery.” Los Illegales Some private contractors responded to the problem of falling bid prices and a narrowing (or non-existent) profit margin by illegally cutting their labor costs. The practice of hiring illegal aliens, paying them less than minimum wage, abandoning them, or having them arrested and deported when payday came around, has been part of reforestation work for years, but the timber industry Excerpts from the Hoedad newsletter, Together Iwant to get back to the crummy I want to get off of the slope My lunch has been waiting for hours Somebody might smoke all my dope My back feels like it’s on fire There’s snowflakes riding the breeze I’ve got to get back to the crummy But first I’ll plant fifty more trees! Oregon is known as one of the cleanest legislatures in the USA. This is true, but not very satisfying when you get close to this bought-off zoo. Big-money lobbyists scurry around like a multitude of cockroaches. We all heard the story of one legislative “leader” playing poker with a lobbyist and continually winning. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Gerry Mackie I’d like to see Hoedads move more in the direction of balancing out sexually and every other way. The different experiences and viewpoints of men and women alike make for a broader and less naive approach to new situations. I’m talking about sharing ideas on everything from rebuilding engines to self-criticism to natural childbirth, sewing machines, and the proper way to run to first base! I dig learning from people who have experienced trips that are much different from mine. John Hakanson After six years of frustration with Hoedads’ lack of political/ cultural leading within the community and the state, I have finally realized there may be more value and influence in perfecting Hoedads as a temporary educating experience in people’s lives. I’m going to try to apply what I’m learning to other areas and people. I wish you all high times and valuable struggles. The revolution is our lives. Chris What’s the difference between a stump and a treeplanter? A stump is dead. A treeplanter is too dumb to die. depression made the practice more attractive to unscrupulous contractors. It also became more visible, as those contractors were able to keep bidding lower and lower, winning bids at prices too low for their workers to be earning full wages. The practice became intolerable to honest contractors and forestworkers alike, since the restricted market conditions left no room for the coexistence of the scrupulous and the unscrupulous. With all the righteous indignation of the recently converted, the forestworkers demanded that all contractors be forced to abide by the labor laws. As Hoedad President Ogden explains, “Now that we’re legal, we want the others to play that game, too.” The forestworkers began searching out examples of unfair competition and labor exploitation. According to NWFWA’s Executive Director Gerry Mackie, the unscrupulous activities were easily located. “We found contractors who hired illegal aliens and ripped them off mercilessly — workers were paid well below minimum wage, were abandoned in remote worksites and Jill C. Cheap Thrills overcharged for food and shelter.” “It amounted to slavery,” he added. “The threat of coercion is so easy at a remote jobsite where workers have no possibility of leaving and no legal rights.” The Northwest Forest Workers Association began campaigning to expose these illegalities, but found that the federal land managing agencies “vigorously ignored” the problem, because lower bid prices worked to their advantage — they got more work done per dollar. And aliens, who were not working legally, could not, and would not, complain. But after years of effort, including a media blitz and relentless prodding of regulatory agencies, Mackie states, “We’re now finally getting some enforcement, and the substantially crooked contractors are beginning to be driven out of business.” The Hoedads must stay in business and be able to take advantage of the new situation. And to stay in business they are trying to identify their past weaknesses and errors. They have found quite a few. Major inefficiencies in their operations were remedied with reforms such as cutting office overhead costs, revising their bidding strategy and raising worker consciousness about on-the-job safety. Half and Half MI W ■ ore difficult was the seemingly X A perpetual conflict between progressive social goals and economic survival. To some degree, in the views of J.R. Ogden and the rest of the Hoedad leadership, their idealism would have to be sacrificed to give the co-op a chance for survival. “We had compromised our economic well-being with too much emphasis upon social goals — like involving women or having too much tolerance of poor work habits,” Ogden explained. According to Jack Viscardi, the president of another Eugene forestworkers’ co-op, Second Growth, “The Hoedads have always been very out front politically. For example, they were more committed to recruiting women than anyone else.” Viscardi explained that Second Growth has always been very different from Hoedads, with fewer workers forming more stable homogeneous crews of generally older and more experienced males. Second Growth does hire women (now about 15 percent of its workforce) and does support progressive forestry (they were the first to begin a multi-year land stewardship contract), but their priority is economic. “Our mission,” Viscardi explained, “is to create a successful worker-owned business — which is a fairly hefty thing to take on.” Second Growth recently decided to amass capital with the long-ternrgoal of diversifying and strengthening the group. Their restructuring meant that the co-op will retain more of each individual’s earnings, intending to use the money to purchase tools and a building for an office and shop. “Everything we do now is for the benefit of those who stay — too often co-ops reward transitory workers. We had members who never participated, but got all the benefits of membership,” Viscardi noted. “It’s easy now to see that the open door was a mistake, but it sure was fun then.” The Hoedad leadership has been trying to develop that long-term perspective in its work force too, but at a considerable cost. Faced with declining income due to depressed market conditions and the costs of the new bookkeeping system, the Hoedad management suggested a reduction in pay. The general membership vetoed the plan in April of 1983. In the fallout the bitterness of that battle, and others about restructuring the co-op, many Hoedads quit. Those who left, according to President Ogden, were those with a short-term orientation, leaving behind an organization strengthened, unified and much more likely to survive. Bruce Maederer, Hoedad president in 1978, has recently returned from a short retirement to assume the vital job of secretary and bidding coordinator. Maederer sees the recent changes as positive ones. “For our survival, we need our most productive people only, so we will accept fewer trainees and have already — for the first time ever — begun laying off those who could not produce at the level we needed. In 1984, we have to prioritize, and some of our social goals will have to be deferred.” Deferring progressive commitments may seem like sound management practice to some, but to others — especially to the female Hoedads who quit in droves during 1983 — it is selling out. Betsy Reeves joined Hoedads in 1978 and worked on the all-woman crew, Half and Half. Though she has not formally retired from Hoedads, as have most Half and Half women, she is not working with the co-op and doesn’t expect to. She is blunt in her accusation: “There are many clear examples of sexism in Hoedads, and that created the breakdown.” Half and Half had from its inception struggled to devise a means of reconciling the nature and challenge of treeplanting, which is basically piecework, with the wide range of capabilities and experience among its members. Workers were thus paid half for their personal production, and half for what the group made as a whole. Half and Half also served as a metaphoric goal for male/ female membership in the entire Hoedads organization. Especially over the last two years, Reeves noticed a mutual mistrust developing between the Half and Half crew and both the generally male Hoedad leadership and other crews. Their approaches to work were very different. On the women's crew, the emphasis was not just on money. “There was much more nurturing on our crew, hugging, combing each other's hair, massages, making music together," she explained. “But eventually there was just no room made for variable work ethics by the majority of Hoedads.” With the organizational restructuring and new bookkeeping system that was 10 Clinton St. Quarterly
Chips off the of Block AT A p (Northwest Coalition for Alternatives to Pesticides) has its roots in the I N forestworkers’ struggle against Thiram and later 245T. Several forestworker groups were in attendance at a meeting in 1977 in the Oregon Coast Range, when 17 organizations got NCAP off the ground. Current NCAP Director Norma Grier joined Hoedads about that time. “A lot of people attracted to pesticide issues went into Hoedads. Many were women who wanted to work with other women. They were brand-new skills for most of us . .. operating a chain saw on a production basis.” While working in the Coast Range, a co-worker became ill from Silvex. That led to testimony in the 245T cancellation hearings. For several years legal success was limited, but in January 1984, Federal District Judge James Burns ruled against the federal agencies using herbicides and ordered them to write “worse case analyses” before again applying the chemicals. NCAP had filed the suit, based on previous litigation, along with the Oregon Environmental Council and the Portland Audubon Society. When Burns was informed in March that none of the agencies involved had complied with his request, he issued a full injunction against herbicide spraying, until the issue was resolved, and threatened to throw both the secretaries of Agriculture and Interior in jail. The precedent set by the case has far-reaching implications id there ip now a case being tried to curb clearcutting on the Mapeleton Ranger Disti near Eugene, calling for a worse case analysis due to the impact on fish habitats. Needless to say, the federal agencies involved are scrambling to find a way to avoid compliance with Judge Burns’ requirements. But it’s a major victory nonetheless, and Grier happily asserts, “It has given us a lot of credibility. Our morale is very raised. We can make a difference.” 1 0 7 0 when the Northwest Forest Workers Association was formed, a 111 J. f health insurance program was created as a concrete benefit for the member cooperatives. Successful from the first, some 450 members were enrolled at the program's height. “Then the depression hit treeplanting,” remembers Rick Koven, the first NWFWA director and current president of Workers Trust, Inc. In October 1981, the NWFWA Board ceded off the program, urging Workers Trust to go national, to help ensure the survival of the critical insurance program for its members. Two and a half years later, Workers Trust is a totally autonomous health insurance company, with 3200 member owners representing 400 organizations in 40 states. Membership is currently limited to worker-owned businesses and self-employed individuals. Koven is interested in “acting outwardly as a stimulus for transforming American business in a democratic fashion. We believe the workplace should be democratic. Insurance is just a product. It’s not ultimately what we do.” Future plans include expansions into group buying, telecommunications, networking and pension plans. Koven sees Workers Trust as both the beneficiary and second generation of the forestworker co-ops. “No one in the Hoedads could see past tree planting. And the conditions of the time pass by. In order to create economic institutions to make a lasting contribution to communities, they need to be sustained. Here we want to create a lasting economic institution.” Though his years in the woods are happily behind him (Koven was a member of Great Notions Co-op), he feels the experience was valuable. “What about the thousands of people who went through, picked up something and carried it elsewhere? We’re not doing too badly for ex-tree-planters.’’ forced on the co-ops, the Hoedads decided to eliminate the autonomous crews. That meant the end of the separate women’s organization. The women accused the leadership of bowing unnecessarily to government pressure. “In the past, Hoedads was more willing to make a stand. Now they aren’t bothered with issues, only money,” Reeves stated. She also cited the rift between treeplanters (generally men) and those crews that preferred other types of forestry work, like timber stand examinations and cone collecting (generally women). The Hoedad majority believed that the women’s crew was the cause of major financial losses. But in fact, Reeves said, it was the treeplanting crews that incurred 70 percent of the losses, and the work that the women’s crew performed actually made money. Whatever the case, the percentage of women in Hoedads dropped from 35 percent in early 1983 to the present 15 percent. Back to Basics 1■ 7» or reasons good or bad, the Hoe- A dads and the other surviving Northwest forestworker co-ops have tightened their operations to withstand the current economic and political pressures. There are those who can envision another period of growth. Gerry Mackie foresees a NWFWA again composed of 14 co-ops. “We’ve learned from this experience, and we’ll grow with a stronger footing and in a more businesslike manner.” Yet there aren't many 40-year-old treeplanters. The work is so physically demanding. Many have moved on, their in* volvement with these worker-owned businesses a watershed experience in their lives. With reverberations felt throughout the culture of our region. As J.R. Ogden muses, “The founders are getting old; the gypsy days are behind us. If we get through this year, we will have to recruit new people and educate them to continue this idea.” Though in their darkest hour this winter he gave the Hoedads only a 75 percent chance of survival, things have rebounded this spring. Both Hoedads and Second Growth garnered large contracts planting in the ashes of Mount St. Helens. Reminds one of the phoenix. • Bill London is a free-lance writer living in the North Idaho woods who writes on forestry and environmental topics. futons • blankets • cushions flannel sheets • tatami mats bed frames • pillows unfoldings 2107 N. 34th Seattle, WA 98103 (206) 634-0630 s uccess A Modem fairytale OPENS JUNE 29 “A FASCINATING CONFRONTATION OF EXTREMES" G. GORDON LIDDY TIMOTHY LEARY Clinton St. Quarterly 11
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