Politics: Part One

Politics were not something that my family engaged in.  We talked about school and friends and the news.  I remember sitting at the breakfast table and my mother telling us that a great lady had “passed away”—Eleanor Roosevelt. My mother could never say, “died.”  She was the queen of euphemisms.  And I remember her pain when she explained to us about the bombing of the little girls in a church in Birmingham.  But politics never entered the conversation.

My very first glimpse at “politics” was when I walked by the kindergarten enclosure at Ivanhoe Elementary School.  One of the kids was wearing a large button that said “Elect Pat Brown for Governor” It may have even said “re-e-elect.”   His father was a judge who would go on to mentor another judge who would come to national attention with the O.J. Simpson case.

The next time I became aware of politics was when I was in the fifth grade and in Mr. C’s class.  One of the students was wearing a large VOTE FOR KENNEDY button and it fell off.  Mr. C said  “That’s where he belongs…. on the floor.”   He also told us that in our lifetime a man would walk on the moon.  I thought he was nuts.  And, besides, my parents were voting for Nixon.

Shortly before President Kennedy was assassinated, I asked my mother who she would vote for in the next election.  She was no longer a Nixon fan.

Another political memory were bumper stickers that said “IMPEACH EARL WARREN.”  I thought he must be a very bad person.  And I learned what “impeach,” meant.

I don’t think there is a descriptive title for the group of people who were just a tad bit later than the beatniks and just a tiny bit earlier than the hippies.  But my friend’s parents were in this category.  They slept on a mattress on the floor, dogs were everywhere and the walls were black. Instead of putting butter on their corn they rolled the cobs in the stick of butter.  And they served me ox-tail soup for dinner.  Our families were quite different.

My friend’s cousin had a VW Beetle with a sunroof and we were allowed to stand up in the car and stick our heads through the roof while he drove on the freeway. I never told my mother about this. From this girl I learned the words “atheist” and “agnostic.”   I think we were twelve.

 Later, the cousin and the family acquired a Chinese junk that was berthed in Long Beach.  On a weekend visit, we went to the Pike and took in the rides, cotton candy and oddness—all barefoot.  My mother would have been appalled.  And after, with very filthy feet, lying in the upper bunk on the junk, I listened to Petula Clark singing “I Know A Place” on the radio while the waves rocked me to sleep, This was despite my fear of having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night on a strange junk. 

This friend was the one who informed me about a “proposition.”  It was to make sure that landlords didn’t discriminate against potential renters because of their color.  There was a rally in my junior high auditorium and my parents came.  Things were starting to change.