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VOL. 6, NO. 1 Staff Co-Editors Peggy Lindquist David Milholland Jim Blashfield Lenny.Dee Design and Production Jim Blashfield Production Assistant Davjd Milholland Camerawork Paul Diener Ad Production Peggy Lindquist Stacey Fletcher Beverly Wong Ad Sales -Portland Lenny Dee Sandy Wal/smith Lisa Raven Anne Hughes Ad Sales -Eugene Laurie McClain Ellen Adler Tim Jordan Ad Sales -Seattle Linda Ballantine Danny O'Brien Proofreaders Stan Sitnick Theresa Marquez Betty Smith Steve Cackley Contributing Artists Claudia Cave Kate Gawf T. Michael Gardiner Henk Pander Mary Robben Steve Winkenwerder Contributing Photographers Jim Blashfield Paul Diener Leo Gabriel Stan Sitnick Typesetting Jill Wilson Archetype Printing Tualatin-Yamhill Press Public Relations Cramer/Hulse Thanks Lumiel Dodd, Eric Edwards, Denny Eichorn, Jeffrey Harmes, Martha Gies, Paul Loeb, Melissa Marsland, Doug Milholland, Charlotte Uris, John Wanberg The Clinton St. Quarterly is published in both Seattle and Portland/Eugene editions (Seattle Address: 1520 Western Avenue, Seattle, WA 98101, 322-8711) by the Clinton St. Theatre, 2522 SE Clinton, Portland, OR 97202, (503) 222-6039. Unless otherwise noted, all contents copyright ©1984 Clinton St. Quarterly. Position available for top notch ad sales person, call 322-8711 or write 1520 Western Ave., Seattle, WA, 98101. •••••••••••• SPRING 1984 (Above) The Official Screwdriver of the 1984 Olympics. Contents EDITORIALS Ah, Spring! After Jong and dreary months of winter, Spring reminds us like nothing else that we are not, after all, dead, but merely dying. But what the heck! The flowers are up, poking their perky heads triumphantly through the new linoleum on the kitchen floor! A riot of color! A Renaissance of nature! The Royal Order of Starfish is out in force too with the coming of the Spring months. Relentlessly cheerful, backed with big money from Taiwan, they become fixtures in every neighborhood in America, their gaily colored banners and brightly decorated donation envelopes reminding us that winter is over. "It's Spring," they cry. "Time to get echinodermic!" Old William down the street is out in his yard enjoying -the· balmy day, conscientiously spraying the dandelions with gallon after gallon of Agent Orange, thanking his lucky stars for the modern conveniences that have made gardening a pleasure. William's little dog Pepper barks when he sees the Starfishians coming. He knows that they have treats for him: little biscuits made from pulverized wheat germ and Karo syrup, wrapped in tiny ribbons. One year Pepper choked on a ribbon and had to be · taken to the veterinary clinic where he inadvertently· received the first heart transplant ever given to a Cocker Spaniel. Spring! The bears at the zoo are stirring! Yawning and stretching after their long winter's sleep, they bound exubera[ltly out into the main display arena, ready for a wake-up swim. They dive headfirst into the cast-concrete pool, still filled with last fall's construction equipment. Three are in serious condition. Ah, Spring! The heart fairly bursts with renewed thoughts of Jove, however indiscriminate and ill-considered. Spring! Only 272 shopping days left until Christmas! Spring! Spring! Dare thee call thyself by any other name? 4 - / �a. ' ANTIOUE CLOTHING JB C an you imagine Jiving in a democracy with one-third of its votingage populace unable to read a newspaper editorial . . . where over 60 million adults cannot read the antidote labels on a bottle of kitchen cleaner . . . where most citizens have to depend on 30-second television blips to understand this complex planet? Well, you do. The same good old U.S.A. which prides itself on being No. 1 is ranked 49th in the world in literacy, behind such "backward" nations as China, Cuba and Nicaragua. It is no wonder that we get such charlatans in office when so many cannot measure this year's promises against last year's shrewd betrayals. The current Reagan reading progra,:n budget allocates 90 cents per illiterate adult annually. It seems true that if 60 million poor white, black and Hispanic Americans were empowered to have access to the written word, chose to vote, and voted in their self-interest, they would certainly not vote for Ronald Reagan. It is quite understandable that a President ruling over a subjugated population is unlikely to make efforts to improve those who will vote against him. Unfortunately, the Democrats, with the· noble exception of Jesse Jackson, have YOU COULD BE READING Cover Jim Blastifield Sub in the City Leanne Grabel 4 The Family House John Bennett 8 Ethical Investing Joe Kane 11 At the Corner Store . Mary Robben 16 Life on the Streets Salvadorans in Seattle Michael Daley 19 Sex Education David Romtvedt 22 A Bitter Fog Carol Van Strum 27 Long Season Without Rain Sharon Lynn Pugh 28 also failed to see it in their self-interest to empower this disenfranchised group. Could it be that it is in neither party's interest to educate this slumbering populace? If the Democrats are truly the party interested in the welfare of all the people, as they surely will claim this November, then they must begin the call for universal literacy. Wouldn't it be exciting to think of America as a giant university? To fail to do so will further a gap as dangerous as any Pentagon fantasy. LD THE CLINTON ST. QUARTERLY IN HAWAII! C 0 "' 'OJ:::I C 0 Cl >, .D 0 0 .c Q. Although, of course, it's not very likely. Certainly we have no way of sending you there. Then again, who cares? What's there, anyway - a bunch ·of volcanoes, fish that would just as soon eat you as look at you, blazing heat almost guaranteed to bring on sun stroke. Big deal. Who needs it? We prefer the soothing rains and bleak overcast skies of the great Pacific Northwest. Less glare. Much better for reading. And what better publication to read than the Clinton St. Quarterly, the Northwest's multiple-award-winning journal of fiction, commentary, humor, and snazzy graphics. Join the growing armada of CSQ subscribers today! We insist on this. Best to do it right this second. OK. Enclosed is a paltry $5 for four issues. I could lose that much money down in the couch and not even notice it. Name _______________________________ Address___________ City _ _ _ State ____ Zip_ ___ You know, I think I'll send a subscription to a friend too - I'm feeling guilty today. Name_ __ _______________________ �_ Address___________ City______ State_ _Zip ___ _ From _____ __ __ _________________ _ Send the 2 free passes to: them D me D Mailto: 1520 Western Ave., Seattle, WA 98101 Clinton St. Quarterly 3 . ,.
.. 4 9t{ ,olt •{ ll i<>" - B,, ']. t� I Ji c /, {lef (J{l, .,_/i11e• · 81 / / Jeartfte (]raief Clinton St. Quarterly t he \ l I !J nlroduclion • (_A-) HOWARD NEMEROV: Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no subject And be sustained upon style alone, Like the Holy Ghost cruising above The abyss... KENT MAK, AGE 12: Teachers I hate: all of them. Teachers I like: none ... In this article, I will write about substitute teaching in San Francisco middle schools (6th-8th grade) during December, January, and February - I have read a million books writteh by teachers and scholars. I have spent hours and hours within the classrooms, prodding the students to speak out their guts. I have questioned colleagues eagerly in the lunchrooms, listening to their responses in a leaning-forward position. I have reread my papers from college. I even skimmed all my notes on educational theory. I read Piaget. I read Aristotle. I read Rousseau. I went to a SEMINAR on disciplinary methods for the modern substitute, and NOT ONLY took home all the handouts, BUT ALSO read them. But The theme?? The all-encompassing basic tenet from which the total experience springs? That it expresses? That it confirms? I CANNOT FIND IT. Every single day out there has been completely different in every way than the one before it. I have never acted the same, and neither have the students. There seems to be no way, without the help of five or six clinical research teams, consulting statisticians, and the TIME it would take for them to find their conclusions, to separate the factors iovolved. And determine the reasons for the varying tones of each day. It could all just be random. So I have decided that this demands my falling way back to the basics - to THE LAST RESORT THEME-which always seems to work in a clutch. THE KEY TO SUCCESSFUL SUBSTITUTE TEACHING IS THE SAME AS THE KEY TO SUCCESSFUL HUMAN INTERACTION: It all comes down to a matter of love. ! J nlroduclion ( /J} JULIE, AGE 13: The teachers I don't like are my science teacher because he's fat and ugly . . . he'll yell at anybody for any reason.He never knows what he's talking about either. Also I dislike my typing teacher because... he picks his nose with his fingers and his pencil lead and eraser. ARISTOTLE on the master/ disciple relationship: It is a moral type of friendship, which is not on fixed terms: it makes a gift, or does whatever it does, as to a friend. • 1J 1,
Really, teaching is the most like· a romantic relationship.On the good days, it thrusts you to an apex of hope, gushing enough juice to refuel OPTIMISM. You become convinced that the devils are outside.And the goodness is inside.And the goodness can blast all the devils to he B ll. ut on the bad days, it can scrape out your soul. You see the vehemence in t h h e e m se en 1 c 2 e -y is ea e r- d o g ld ed be ii i k n e gs a . A sw nd itc t h h b e la v d e e . You see the fury, the fear, and the hatred. And you wonder: Is it me? Is it my voice? Is it my face? Or is it them? Is it their homelife? Is it the times? Is it the place?? ing W th ith e s th u i b n s e ti d tu g te e t b e e a t c w h e in e g n , p y u o r u e a lo re ve w a a n lk d hate IN A DAY.You rub up against 150 •12-year-old people in your life, and you try and wow them with your brilliance. t B e e a I f c o h s re e p r e th n h e t a y te 4 p . 0 e - l o t d y d ou d w a i y th s th in eir th s e ubs s � c it h u o te o l zones of San Francisco. I have thought that teaching was truly TRULY beautiful. I have thought that teaching was the most horribly frustrating thing I have ever done.I have been awed by the explosive light within my students. And I have thought they were the most idiotic and r fo id r i t c u u n l e ou t s o b m e e in e g t. s I I ' ' v v e e t e ri v e e d r . t h o ad lov th e e th m e is m throughout it all, because I KNOW that must be .the key. A CfaJJic Bad :lJa';f, . !Jn Jwo ParfJ AMANDA, AGE 13: Tip: I- think that when teachers have a roughty class that is making fun of the d te r a e c n he m r a , k th in e g o s n n ly id w e a o y r is sm to a i r n t s r u e lt m th a e rk c s h . il I t always works best.I know it sounds crule but a smartmouth kid has to be told to shut it up. THOMAS AQUINAS: It is an act of love and mercy. It is always a luxury for the teacher and a form of leisure: an activity meaningful for both, having no ulterior purpose. It is 8:18 a.m. at a middle school near the oddly placed projects in between North Beach and Fisherman's Wharf. The classroom I'm in charge of is in the annex, down the street and around the c e o ra rn l a e d r o fr l o e msce th n e t c b h e a ll o y s o e f n th s e ue s s ch a o m o i l d . s G t e th n e 33 members of the 7th grade class, which ·includ S e c s reaming Darting about Hitting Pushing Tugging Stomping Desk pounding Pencil throwinQ Tearing up papers with which to litter the floor. The bell° rings. Absolutely nothing changes in the tone of the room, except I get up and stand in the front and say, "Okay.Let's sit down now, ok?" Absolutely nothing changes in the tone of the room. Suddenly a large Mexican boy stands up in the rear of the classroom. He is very large for his age. And very beautiful. In a voice throwing knives in my face, he says, "YOU SIT DOWN, BITCH!" The room falls silent.Several pairs of e p y a e ti s on da fo rt r t mo y m r y e f a a c c t e io , n b . u I rs s t a in y g , " w O it h h , a c n o t m ic e i on!" He says, "You come on, bitch!" I say, "Leave the room!" He says, "You leave the room, bitch!" I say nothing. i am stunned. I feel hurt. I feel mad. "MANNNNNNNNN .. ....!" I say. Voices whisper: "Teacher said 'Man,"' "The bitch is cool," "T�acher's cool ..." Falling into a familiar dictatorial mnu a t c e h s is t mo o r , e I ad blu p r a t, ge " s Yo 1 u 1 'v 2 e -12 g 4 ot in 32 yo m u ir b sw o I o e k w r a o th l n k e A t q o m u m e e r s y i t c io a d n n e s s c k o o l n a o n n p d i a al g s iz e it a d 1 tio o 2 n w 4 n a n . n o I d w f a ! e " n e l c a e w n fu t l c . h Wao it s hi e n ns s u e e c s o . nds, general adolesIt is 1½ minutes later.Approximately four students are reading the chapter (three Orientals and the only blonde son in class ). The rest of the class p a e r r e either pushing their desks loudly across the floor, throwing pencils or papers across the room into the farthest garbage can, sharpening their pencils, staring out the windows at the loud gym class screaming below, combing each other's hair, or glancing at me.I say nothing. era S l u p d l d a e st n ic ly b a ar s re ki t n te n s y i b n la h c e k r h g a ir i l r w s i c th re s a e m v s r a e t t a te f s at in bl h a e c r k h g a ir ir l w a i c th ro s s e s v t e h r e al ro p o la m st : ic "H b e a y r! Shuddup, girl!" The fat black girl screams: "You shuddup, bitch!" The skinny black girl screams, leaping from her desk: "Make me, bitch! Come on! Make me!" A major girlfight ensues. Desks are tumbling, jive talk's screaming, muscles punching, skin is slapping, scalps are tugging, whines and shouts are razing my ears. I get up slowly. I walk over and lean into the fight.The tangle of them is twice my size and nerve str�ngth. They are punching each other and gouging out eyes.I think twice.I lean back.I stare.I am stunned. Finally I remember my hot line.I walk slowly to the phone in the front of the room, which immediately connects me to the office down the street and around the corner.Before I even get the receiver to my ear, all chaos stops.Cold.There is silence. The two black girls collect the 20-odd barrettes on the floor, sit down, take out their combs, and calmly rearrange their ruined hairdos.That is it. i cannot believe it. We all sit down and wait for THE REAL AUTHORITY to arrive. The girls collect their things and wait, looking happy as hell to be taken away. "You little phonies," I whine, bruised in' the heart. me A n t t l . u " n I' c m ht s imor e ry , , I " r I e s s a ig y, n " t b h u e t t d h a e y y 's w a h s ip si p g e n d me." !Jn Relrojpecl ALBERT EINSTEIN: It is a very grave mistake to think that the enjoyment of seeing and searching can be promoted by means of coercion and a sense of duty. MARK, AGE 13: The awful teacher is the teacher who v se id e u mal in s g t l u y de h n a t s s . , n b o ut u w ni i o th n th w e ith tex th t e bo in o d k i s arid other typical teaching objects. This t d e e a n c ts her thr o o n u ly gh co fa m ls m e un a ic c a c t u e s s ati w o i n th s s a t n u d threats. The supposed good teacher is the exact opposite of the stuff above. AMORETTE, AGE 12: But what do you expect from a teacher? Do you expect them to ch'ange into a fairy godmother? Horace Mann Middle School. James c L i i o ck n MVa id ll d e l y e . S T c h h e o b o a l. d F s r c a h n o c o is ls co ab a o n u d t V w is h i i t c a h I was warned.They are the schools that always need substitutes. The regular teachers stay home. I really thought because- I was dark. I really thought because I wore purple. I thought because I knew anger.I thought g th r e e y ss w io o n u . ld I w gi a v s e a m f e o c o o l n a t g ro a l in -. without agLAURENCE, AGE 14: Good teachers know pupils as who they are, not what they are. They don't make you feel like you're locked up. On the other hand, bad teachers treat students like animals. They don't care about your feelings. I don't know if the bad days were my fault.Maybe I forgot they were as young as they are.Maybe I forgot just how mad youth can get.Maybe I forgot what being born in the pits of the city in. a world with no myths could be like. I just wanted to show them my spirit.And drink some of theirs. But Theirs are scarred.Already.They keep them locked.. That is what always drained out all my j d u r i e c n e. -Thes w e ith you s n p g ir , its brig a h lr t e -s a k d i y nne b d ru c ta h l i l l y wounded. They already hated without ANY proof.Even the babies. Bab';! Jamej During the Christmas holiday, only the children's centers were open - where the "disadvantaged" 2- and 3-year-olds spend their time.Two years old and they are already whirling being buffeted by the boisterous they do not bounce off at all correctly. I was substituting in a children's center in the Lower Haight. I noticed this one little boy instantly. He looked just like James Brown: strong, thick, dark, in- \ tense, with a face that showed pain with knit brows.He was only 2. Before the teacher finally turned on the music, he spent his time knocking down all the little boys he could find.And taking toys away from all the girls. He would push into everybody with all his might. They would fall over, and he'd push them again. Then the music was turned on. He began throwing himself in the air.And falling down as hard as he could.Then he jumped onto a chair and threw himself down.Over and over, falling limp.All this aggression. All this defeat. Two lousy yea(s old. When the teacher turned the music off, he ran directly for my legs and clutched my calf.The strength of his grip was a shock. I tried to release him, but he wouldn't let go.So I moved, and he let himself be dragged along the floor.And still he clutched. Then suddenly he let go and jumped into my lap. · And hugged me. The strength of his hug was a shock. · rea O H d e n y h t e h a x e d pe b l r i a n ie d e n s d ce a in d ys h h , i e s it ll b . s r H c o r e w ap w l e i a k s e s o 2 h u . e t 'd yo a u l r soul. A (}ooJ :lJa';f At J!ajf OM/, AGE 13: What makes a teacher enjoyable is when he/she knows how to relate to students so that they become involved. Nothing is worse than a class of idle statues - or a class of ear piercing rioters. A teacher should try to put theirself in a student's shoes. I actually had a perfect day one day. I don't know how much it had to do with my teaching skills.I think it may have had a lot to do with love. Because it had a lot to do with Michael jackson.I used him. Out of at least a thousand preteens I • have met, and everyone else I have talked to in three months, there has only been one skinny blonde guy who didn't love. him-with a TRUE and HOLY love. (And I'm sure that kid'.s problem was sour grapes.) I mean, the world LOVES Michael Jackson.And to teenagers, he is GOD.(Thank God he's sweet.) All I had to do on said day was bring Michael Jackson's name up once, and the whole day became like a dream. I was in a great mood to begin with, and wore a cornflower blue cotton dress with ruffles that my ·mom bought me in Stockton.I had seen a picture of Michael Jackson with his hair steaming in the morning paper.I cut it out. I passed the picture of Michael Jackson around with the rollsheet. For a change, I introduced myself as a writer and poet.I told the students I was 'writing about them. I said, "Those from the north think you Californians are a little weird - a little perverse - and definitely wild.They think the schools down here are totally berserk. In fact, northerners · mnia a n y s b . e I a am little the fr i i r gh c t o e r n re e s d p o o f nd yo e u nt, Ca a l n if d orI want to write an article that really tells · what is happening in California middle ·schools. I want you to tell me what you think." Instantly the classes fell silent. They began writing with an intensity that lasted t n w it e y n in ty th m e i s n e ut s e it s u , a w ti h o i n c s h . i T s h u e s y u k a e ll p y t a w n ri e tin te g r . Finally I stopped them and ·asked them to read an article in the latest Junior Scholastic. And answer the questions at the end. They did it quietly with smiles on their faces.At the bell, they crowded about my desk.They asked me personal questions about my life. It was a coup. Pubejcenl Profile s d it e e e A l n v t s e t s h s I i . n ma I g e a s l n , s o t k t i w o e o n d h f e a th d t q e e u m t a e h r s e a li t y e b io r o n , a u s I t t e a a a , s l l k b t w e o h d u h e t a i t r h t f t e a h t v e s h o m t e u r y dreamed about, and what they thought of Ronald Reagan. Without interpretation, I now offer you the majority answers. There was not much individuality here; in fact, I was a little disappointed and stunned that all the answers were so much the same.But it IS a time for fitting in. Favorite food: pizza Favorite drink: Coke and fruit punch Favorite TV show: A-Team/MTV Favorite movie: "Return of the Jedi"/ "The Evil Dead" Favorite album: "Thriller" Favorite single: ''.Beat It" Favorite singers or bands: Michael Jackson/Def Leppard/Quiet Riot/ Duran Duran Favorite candy: Nerds/Snickers Favorite car: 1;3Iack Firebird/Lamberghini/ Ferrari Favorite clothes: jeans/steel-toed boots Favorite movie star: Mr.T (one vote.for Mickey Rooney ) Favorite weekend fantasy: unlimited sex Normal weekend: watching TV/chores/ shopping Normal breakfast: eggs/toast/juice Normal lunch: pizza/Coke Normal dinner: meat/potatoes or rice/ vegetables (Winner of the worst diet award goes to .one 11-year-old girl who eats Lucky Charms for breakfast, donuts and punch for lunch, and pizza and cookies for dinner.) Biggest worry: the future/bad grades/ no sex Worst nightmare: Most had never had one.Of those who did, their parents died, or they were attacked by rats, monsters, or ghosts. Best dream: unlimited sex and money As far as Reagan goes, just about 50 percent of the students thought he was "OK," "cool," "good and powerful," or "the best"; while the other 50 percent thought he was "a bad man," "a bumb," "the pits," or "sucks eggs." And although the majority believe e th r e sp re ac a e re , d if e g fi i n v i e te n ly th li e vin c g ha c n re c a e tu to re c s h in ec o k ut i t out personally, they wouldn't take it. I also asked the students to give me a list of several items they thought should be included in a time capsule for their generation to sum up what is really going on with them. Ian, a 12-year-old, had a list which just about sums it up. 1. Michael Jackson ,. 2. Michael Jackson's hair getting burned off Clinton St. Quarterly 5
3. "Thriller" record and video 4. Model of a Transam 5. Model of a nuclear bomb 6. Model of. a plane 7. Model of a boat 8. 45 Magnum 9. Laser 1 0. Rachel (a girl in the class) 11. Football and jersey 12. Any war 13. Blonde hair and blue eyes 14. Grey Poupon dijon mustard 15. 1984 by George Orwell and a note saying it isn't true mojl Poignant cfeuerAward GINGER, AGE 12: I think that I don 't like school because of c th a e us f e ac I t d th o a n t 't I lik g e et s b o o m re e d of a th lo e t. te A a n c d he b r e s. I think the teachers should not kick the s k e id l s fs o h u o t u o l f d c m la a s k s. e I t t h h e in k k id th s e o t b e e a y c . h S er o t mhe e m o f my teachers yell and scream a lot and that makes me feel different.Itmakes me feel like I want to be dead. But I don't w ca a u n s t e yo I u th to in t k hi t n h k ey tha a t re I h d a o te ing tea th c e h r e e rs v b e e ry best of trying to get us to learn about life and get a good job.And I also think that it is great that some man or woman would take the time out to teach or help a child like me.But I want to tell you that the reel fact is that I love school myself but I can't keep my mind on one thing. And I also want you to know that 6th graders should be able to work with the computers like the 7th and 8th graders can.And as you also know that in the newspaper the other day i t was talking about Everett Middle School and how a girl got raped and a 1 1 year old boy got hung by 3 other boys. I just wanted to b sa o y dy I i h s o g p o e in Mg r. to R s o t n o a p / R th a is g . e A n n o d r t s h o a m t e is how I really feel. :Jfie Unconc/ujion Of course, I thought back on what it was like when I was 12 years old at El Dorado School in Stockton, California, on the days when we had a substitute in the classroom.First of all, it rarely happened. m B si u o e t n m w b a h e me r n o a n l i l g t t d h u i e d s , r f e I o a r r l e ly t mh b a e a t m d o b d f e a d r t j a b o l e k l i e t n h s g e . a d b I e o re r u it KING of ROME SELECTED HIGH QUALITY PRE-READ BOOKS PRINTS; OLD (LEAD) TOY SOLDIERS; MI LITARIA 231-9270 8133 S.E. 13TH OLD SELLWOOD PORTLAND, OREGON 97202 UJl!lW'illllWC$�'il 1]0(B��(1(3� We moved, finally! �Ull1ls� S �lse3l!JO�ls B1B NW 21•t PORTLAND, DREGIDN 97E!'ID PHONE (503J 24B-B142 CLUB SATYR/CON • • • • RON HINCKLEY MATT LABADIE Fills the Void • 125 N.W. 6th (in Old Town} 243-2380 • • Coming i n Apr i l : F i lm at 1 1, The Gr ip, The Conf ident ials, Theat re of Sheep, & More piano-playing Miss Esplin. About her breaking the seat and everything. I never made them myself, but the only time I ever got sent to the office in my school life was in the 6th grade. When we had a sw s e u rs bs t t o itu t t h e e . J Aunnd io r w h Se cn h ol I as st to ic le te t s h t e fr a o n m Mr. Corkery's desk, made several copies of the answers, and passed them out to all willing cheaters.As usual, whenever I did anything wrong, I got caught. But I had to stand up and admit my own guilt. And only about 60 percent of the other willing cheaters even stood up with me. A i A n n L g d L mY I e m re a a m d d e . o mB ll b u a e t r r m- i y t m f fo a a r th d me e r y me h n e o d n r e e e d a s l u t l y y p . R g B i E u v t Mrs.Frieberg, a mother of one of those who didn't stand up, got mad anyway. She said that CHEATING, not honesty, was the point. And the dollar was a mighty disgrace. Well, I don't mind if I never substitute again, to be frank. It is too hard to win t c le h ia n e l c l r y e es b s p e o e c t c a h t u a o s t e f h th e to e ar s m in e e g k , i c d r a e s s n i p n g e o a ct o d ma n y . e . I a n E n s b s p o s e t i h directions.And since most 12-year-olds don't have any tendency at all to be quiet, psu f i lm committ ee I assume I just can't stand fighting human nature. But maybe you can. WRITE YOUR ANSWER HERE: _ _ (You may use your ownpaper to continue.) Name _______ _ __ _ Age ___________ _ _ # _____ _______ _• Leanne Grabel is a Portland writer whose first story in the CSQ was "Bye Bye Baja." T. Michael Gardiner is a Seattle artist. whi s t les far and whee and i ts spring ! american avant-garde fridays lesbian/gay fi lms saturdays blockbusters mondays +1 tues info : 229-4454 , 229-4452 DANCE THEATRE of HARLEM May 8- 1 1 , CIVIC AUDITORIUM EVERGREEN EVENTS OPEN 1 0-5:30 - 1 2 1 6 NW 2 1 st Ave. To Charge Tickets, Cal l 224-335 1 t e t a )' ) 6th ( a 0122 �-� I I : I
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8 -m\HE. . . · . .1.. ; . FAIVi ILY HOUSE I talked with the District Attorney in Indian Gulch on the phone today. They've got bail on Drake set at $10,000. They've got him for a stolen car, a count of theft, one of burglary, two more for something else. Several of those charges carry maximum 10-year sentences. Trial date is set for June 22, and then they send him to Harmony .to stand trial on another count of burglary, the one they were trying to nail him for, the one that made us keep him in Portland, hoping he'd go into the army before they caught up with him, hoping things would straighten out. He did it all on the day he turned 18. The DA called what he did a spr:ee. I have to look that word up -spree. I told the DA I think Drake needs psychiatric help. He didn't think so. "He talks perfectly fine to me, " he told me over the phone. "He ain't seeing no green Martians or anything like that. " By John ' T he passage of time bludgeons us into submission. To challenge it is like a frail man trying to walk on stormy water into the eye of the typhoon and the peace he knows awaits him there. Wh0's • ever made it. Typhoons and time- they drive us to our knees and cause us to invent mythologies, and right there is where we begin to go astray. We cannot tolerate our limitations. Our ignorance. Our mortality. And so we begin constructing a social mythology that we pass on to our children as "the real world." I had the idea when Drake was born that this would not happen to him. I-would personally see to it. I was going to make him impervious to things I couldn't hanple myself. His mother and I - ages 19 and 23 respectively - were living in a single room in a slum tenement in the heart of northwest Washington D.C. She was working as a typist for a rich old German and I was going to a university to learn to be a teacher, although I wasn't going to send my child to school once he was born. I had a head full of dreams and half-baked ideas. · ves, weir, make a long story short. Al l the ingredients we�e there for disaster. They were there from the time I first set eyes on Drake's, mother. Fate! She swung the heavy circus hammer down hard and rang the carnival bel l of life. My eyes rolled back, my tongue came lollygagging out of my mouth, and my son was born. He was born screaming and he never stopped. By the time we had him tucked into his bassinet in that small room on 1 5th Street (the landlady banging on the door and asking in a loud, alarmed voice, "What are you doing to that child?") my elaborate plans that stretched 20 years ahead of the winds of time were already coming unravelled. Y esterday Drake's parole officer, according to plan, brought him from the county ,jail and dropped him on our doorstep with the understanding that we'd drive him to Seattle and deliver him to the Family House. A small thing to do, a stopgap measure, but that's what it's come down to. I stand on the sidelines like a coach or a· waterboy, ready with a bucket of water or a towel or an Ace bandage. A little smelling salts up the nose, some coagulant to stem the flow of blood from a nasty gash in the eyebrow, and then he goes back onto the field. The years have taken their toll, and my grand schemes to keep my son from getting tangled in society's insane web have been honed to such small services as these. The 20-year game plan has almost run its course, and one of these days when he comes trotting to the sidelines, I won't be there. Or he'll go trotting back into the game, never to return, and I will always be there. It's a nice p.lace, this Family House. Nicer by far than I expected. I expected something more like Synanon. These places always have to be somewhat like Clinton St. Quarterly From "A Failure to Communicate" Benne t- t - • • • . . . .. . . : • . . . . . • • • • • • . .. . . • • • • • • � . . . . . . . � • e • • Cl e . . .. . . . . . • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 9 • • • • • • •• • • •• • i • •i . � . -• � • • ••• .. . . , . . .. , • • ;•( • . j. • . ·•-� • • • •+: • • • .. . ."! • • • . -•� • • . (' • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •- • • • • .,. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • . . . . . •· . , . . • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •• •• •••• •••• ••• •••• •· • � ..... ••••• ·---�----4·- ....� ....... ....�······· ........... . ............. � ..... . .. ·· ······•·�--..-•····· � .. �•---�••·� ·�··· .......... . �Ml�♦----- ·�•••♦♦M••·•• • ��-•---•t...••············ • • ••••••• • • •••••• • ••••••• • • ••••••• •i�H�••MH�•�a.�---.-♦♦♦♦•• • • •••••• • • •��N�••• ♦... ♦• • • �IMN�•._NM4+•-♦ .. • • • ••����MNH���•••• • • M���•�••••�••��-♦��••���•• • • • ►��"H�••••• ....... • • • • • ►• ....... 9'4.. ► •••••• •••• • • • • • • ►• �---- , .•••••••••• • • • • • • • � ...... . . . . . . 0 . ••••• • • • • • • • • . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . � . • • • • • • • • • •• • • •
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Synanon, like the idea behind Synanon; they're all for people who are fucked up. It's not necessary to go to prison first (like Drake did ) to qualify. You just have to know you're fucked up and want to try to do something about it. Get off the streets for awhile. Get out of society's web. Drake got out of the car and went 'in to check it out. Wearing those one-way sunglasses , a Winston dangling from his lips, peach fuzz under his nose and on his chin. A bandana wrapped around his head. Mr. Tough Guy. Six-foot-two, 1 80 pounds, 1 9 years old. He came back out i a n n g d s g fr o o t m his th d e u t f r f u le nk b . a " g Y o o f u w c o a r n ld c ly ombe e lo i n n g i f you want to," he says. Sandra and I go in. sp I h t' e s re a , l c o l c e a a t n ed pl h a ig c_ h e o w n it Qh u a ee b n rig A h n t n a e tmHi o ll . You enter through a corner gate into a tidy complex of small houses. There' s a sandbox just inside the gate with some small children playing in it. Someone with tinted shades is watching over them, one child - apparently his - clinging to his leg. We talk briefly, and he tells us he's been in the program for 1 O months. I get the feeling he's been deeply wounded, will always be deeply wounded, that the Family House is outfitting him with and · training him to use an array of spiritual prostheses. We cross the yard passing young men o a u nd s. w D o r mak e e n b w e h g o in a s re s a m ll ili s n mg il t i o ng o. a T n h d is vi i g s o n r ' t going to be as bad as he thought, he's thinking. Better than going back to prison at Walla Walla. A boy about Drake's age d en ir c e e cts ta u b s le int in o a it. ro H o e m s w its ith d a ow lo n ng w c it o h nf u e s r . Every ins tinc t in me from ve ers away ins ti tutions_ , any ins titution , and my son has be en dragging me through them steadily now for the pas t four years . turned It all ass -backwards , who ' s educat ing who? • : ! � ! : ::; : : : : : : : : . . : . . . • · · : : :;::::.:: : ; : : : : : : : : : . : : : · : : : ::: : ::·· · · · · • : ; : . . . . . . . . � : : · : : ::,:·a· · : · : : : : : : . : : · · . . · . . . - . . . . .... . . . . . . .. . . . . . ' . . - · - • · · ··· ... .. - � · · · · · · · · · · • · · · · · · · · · · ··· ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · . . . · · · · · · · · · · · · ... · · · · · · · · · · · · · . . . . . . . . . · · · · · · · · · · ··· ··· · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · . · · • · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ······ ·· · · · · · · • · · · · . · · · : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :i:::: · :::: : : : : : · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·••• ··· · · · · · · ... . . . . . . •• . . • . . . . · ·· · · · · · · .. . . . . . . . .. - . . . . - . . . . . . . . . . . . . .- ·. .· ..· · • ••• • • ••• . ... . . . . ..... ..... • • • • •••••••••• • • • • ••••• • •• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • · · · · · · · · · · ·· · . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·. . . .. . . . . . . . . • · · · · · · · · · · · . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . · . · .· .· .· .· . We're waiting for the director. Ah, sweet Jesus. We've been going through this sort of thing in one form or · another for four years now - directors, counselors, parole officers, cops and robbers, judges and lawyers - but the shock waves continue to ripple through m ing e . ; E I v s e til r l y c i a n n s ' t t in b c e t li i e n v me e a v ll e th e i r s s i a s w h a a y p f p r e o n m institutions, any institution, and my son has been dragging me through them steadily now for the past four years. It's all turned out ass-backwards; who's been educating who? No one educates anyof'!e, that's one card I' ve turned up. We live, we experience, and if we're lucky, we perceive a thing or two pretty close to how they really are. The kid who showed us into the room is talking away.It's the party line. It's his hope for the future, the alternative that they're offering him to drugs and ripping off his mother and everyone else who crosses his path. His alternative to prison, where he's been, where Drake's been. The kid keeps talking and f inally lets a few things slip that make it possible for all three of us to get a glimpse of who it is behind the program rhetoric, who it i in s g , . ev D e o n e , s be t h h i e nd . p t r h o e gr d a r mugs co a mnd e th to e t s e te rmal s with that ing aroun p d e h rs imon ? , Wor il d l t o he th y e b y re ru a n k t D h r e a ir ke w o irr help him? Will they do either? Will Drake -be able to handle what they're going to lay on him and balance it with his inner self, make the two compatible? His inner self that I so brazenly and in my fragility tried to protect 20 years ago like a mother hen doing her dance around her chicks when the snake slithers into the coop? That balancing act that I never stopped trying to teach him? Until now (when the shock of watching him get thrown again and again in his attempt to ride life's tornado has gone from sharp and piercing to dull and throbbing ) , I see that I have to pull away from him and let him go it alone. I cut the kid off in mid-sentence, not unkindly, not with anger, just knowing the scene too well, what can and cannot be said, knowing it's not going to be good, it's going to be bad to wait for the director to get out of conference and run it all down again , tell us what the kid is saying and much more, knowing how my brain works on Drake's and his on mine so that it is next to impossible for us to be in the same room (the silent ride over the mountains ) , when he's around all my thoughts, words and gestures are in hock and I'm as sure as sure can be that i t works both ways, all this tied up with the tattered dreams of 20 years ago . . . I cut the kid off as he's telling us what Drake will be like in 1 O months (he' ll be just like this kid), cut him· off and say, "Well, yes, but I think all this is premature." He stops· talking abruptly and looks at me for the first time since we all sat down. "And I think we'll go, Drake, before the director comes, you know?" "Either way's ok with me," Drake says: We all stand up. I hug Drake, Sandra hugs him. The hugs are real; it's the only way we communkate, the only way we can be reassured that down under all this mind-boggling maze, there's love for each- other. W re drive around the block, a fine, quiet neighborhood, and there is a co l m ittl p e a o s v se e s rlo th ok e p e a n r ti k re w c it i h ty a o v f i S st e a a t t h tl a e t a e n n d all of Elliott Bay. On a day with no haze, the Olympic Range should be visible, too. From a Washington D.C. tenement to this - not bad, not too bad. Some morning, after Drake's gone through his first three months of Black Out, in which t o h u e s y a c t o te n m ne p c t t t io o n is s ol i a n te li h fe im , p fr e o r m ha a p ll s pr h e e v ' i l l stand alone in this small park. The sun will rise over the mountains to the east and turn the city and the bay golden, and whether he's come to terms with society or not, the inner man in him will sing out l i e n s r s ec p o ri g s n m it s io o n f a e n t d er s n h a a l t b te e r a t u im ty e , i mnt a o k c in o g un a t l l my dreams come true at last. • John Bennett is an Ellensburg writer and the publisher of Vagabond Press. Clinton St. Quarterly - ,. 9 • • • • •· • • • • • •• • • out • • •• •• ••
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ETH I CAL BY JOE KAN E -------------- rop the term ethical investing in casual conversation and the reaction you're l ikely to get is, "Wasn't that what Jerry Rubin was into before he started his · networking parties at Studio 54?" That is an unfortunate, though common, association, for Rubin is to ethical investing what Gerald Ford is to the game of golf. Ford once earned an asterisk in the record books when he bounced a golf ball squarely off the head of an innocent spectator, thereby becoming the first U.S. president thus to distinguish himself. Rubin made an equally graceless exhibition in 1 980 when he announced his intended foray into investment advising with John Muir & Co. , a New York-based financial consulting firm. Ethical investing is a financial revolution as solid as Muir was evanescent. It is not easily defined, for it is· as complex as any other field of finance, a mesh of styles and opinions, statistical shell games and rude facts, hustlers and saints. One person's ethical investment is another's moral transgression, one's notion of safety another's ungodly risk. But taken as a whole, the idea that one's dollar should be invested with regard to social consequence has mushroomed into a multi-million-dollar investment movement. Measured against the hard gray standards of Wall Street, ethical investing is at best a guerrilla campaign, but it is one that has, in the past 15 years, redirected hundreds of millions - some think billions - of investment dollars away from the dark side of corporate America toward what Next Economy au- ·thor Paul Hawken calls "areas that address real human need": consumer coops, inner-city redevelopment, alternative energy, small businesses, family farms, worker-owned companies, corporations with enlightened policies toward their employees, their products, the environment. Like any successful guerrilla campaign, ethical investing is a series of pincer attacks, strong steely fingers reaching into the American economy, manipulating it from many sides: It is a new breed of financiers come of age in the 1980s, social activists who have earned the tools of power on Wall Street but whose vision is firmly rooted in the activism of the '60s and '?Os. It is religious leaders who have marched down from their pulpits and into the boardrooms of the nation's largest corporations, backing their message of moral courage with economic muscle. It is an increasingly aware economic elite following through on its sense of noblesse oblige with the millions of dollars at its command. And it is a growing army of good common folk who have tucked away a dollar here and a dollar there, and who now, in the words of economist Hazel Henderson, "have stood on their doorsteps and smelled the rot and can · no longer let what they do with their money counteract what -they do with their lives." If the range is broad and the boundaries vague, the results are real.A few recent examples: • The Lutheran Church loaned half a million pollars tq the Alabama Rural Council, giving the ARC the financial leverage it needed to secure $2 million in Small Business Administration loans to build lowincome housing. • The Teachers Insurance and Annuity Association/College Retirement Equities Funds, the nation's third-largest private pension fund, voted to screen its $9 billion in investment capital through a strict set of ethical criteria. • The Calvert Group launched its $20 million Social Investment Fund, which went against all the rules of Wall Street by basing its money market and mutual fund portfolios on ethical considerations.It invests only in businesses that are nonnuclear, nonmilitary, proconsumer, proenvironmental. Its board of advisors includes the likes of Armory and Hunter Lovins, Robert Piodale, and Hazel Henderson.And it defies all expectations by outperforming both the Dow Jones and money market averages. • Three manufacturers of infant formula - Nestle's, American Home Products, and Bristol-Meyers - succumbed to shareholder pressure brought by groups affiliated with the . Interfaith Center for Corporate Responsibility and agreed to conform to marketing codes that will end "baby-bottle disease" in the Third World. The list goes on, solid evidence that the most basic unit of American capitalism - the investment dollar - is being used to fight the good fight. "Ethical investing is really survival investing," says Duane Elgin, author of Voluntary Simplicity. 'The American public has begun to realize that the game of Wall Street roulette, of stockbroker speculation based on greed and fear, is a self-fulfilling dynamic that just doesn't promote a healthful economy.What this sudden rise in conscious investing is telling us is that there is hope beyond the current economic madness. " whe,eve, you go ; n the world Qf ethical investors, two names keep popping up: Zevin and Schwartz. If ethical investing is a guerrilla campaign, Robert Zevin and Robert Schwartz are the generals. Robert Zevin has been wrapped up in one radical cause or another for most of his life. He was an original ·member of both the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and the Congress on Racial Equality. With Mark Raskin and Benjamin Spock during the Vietnam war, he founded the antidraft organization Resist; he was the principal author of "Call to Resist Legitimate Authority," for which Raskin and Spock were later indicted.He founded the U.S.Servicemen's Fund to support the GI antiwar movement.Over the past decade he has involved himself . in neighborhood organizing and anti-nuclear and environmental campaigns OVER MORE THAN A DECADE OF SOC IAL I NVEST I NG, SCHWARTZ HAS CONS I STENTLY OUTPE RFORM ED T H E Dow JON ES AVERAGE, AN D H E CAN CONV I NC I NGLY D I SPEL TH E MYTH THAT SOC IAL I NVES.T I NG I M PL I ES GR EAT F I NANC IAL R I SK. across the breadth of his home state, Massachusetts. Given this background, you'd hardly expect Zevin to be a vice-president of investment firms, or to direct some $350 million in investment capital. But that is exactly who he is and what he does. For Zevin, the jump from political activist to portfolio manager was both logical and simple. While teaching graduate students in the 1960s, he became active in the antiwar effort, devoting much of his free time to fund.raising. At the same time, he held a small portfolio of stocks, which, he says, "were a hobby for me, the way chess and poker are for other people." The portfolio was a game, a test: · How well could he do with stock selected · · for their political merit - specifically, their nonsupport of the war? Not too badly, as it turned out, and when friends began asking him for investment advice, Zevin took the next step, registering as an investment advisor. "It took about an hour," says Zevin. "It was the easiest thing in the world to do." Meanwhile, his fundraising had introClinton St. Quarterly 1 1 INVES ING
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