The San Francisco Examiner from San Francisco, California on May 26, 1966 · 37
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The San Francisco Examiner from San Francisco, California · 37

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San Francisco, California
Issue Date:
Thursday, May 26, 1966
Page:
37
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Oiarlas Doiiton Thurs.,May26,1966 it ry.Jf.ExmtUtifr Paga 37 Dick Nolan lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllllilllllllllllllllllllllllH In Defense Of Marincello iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiii HROTIIER JUNIPER GRIN AND BEAR IT lll!llllllllltllllllllllllllll!lllltllllinilllllltllllllllllllllllllllllll!IIIIIIIMIIIIIIII!il Everything Is His and Hers RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIMIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiilllMIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIlin 1 '"sn -"im. i i. Hay For reasons that are tougher to decipher than a used car guarantee, a label that's catching on faster than "Doves and Hawks" or "Made in Japan" in the country today is "His and Hers." ' We've got "His and Hers" clothes, cars, pajamas and coffee cups, bedrooms, airplanes, towels and cigars, hair spray, cologne, eyelashes and wigs just about everything, in fact, except money and maternity dresses. . And it wouldn't surprise me much to see Martha Washington's picture show up on a $3.95 bill any day now. Really, there haven't been as many matched sets or male and female items around since Noah hollered, "Last one in sinks! ' SOME MEMBERS of the younger generation have carried it so far that the only way you can tell male from female is to offer one -a light and see whether it whips out a cigaret or a draft card. And certain scientist are even predicting that if it continues, we could wind up as a "monosex." Which I gather is scientific talk for monotonous. ' What makes this so hard for me to understand is that far from being a boost for togetherness (of which we already have more than a quart of oysters anyway), this "His and Hers" bit should be doing more to drive married couples apart than anything since the invention of the electric blanket. , I MEAN, can you imagine having pants that matched your wife's, for instance? That's just got to lead to more confusion and mayhem than a freeway on-ramp. You couldn't cause as many clinkers In matrimonial harmony by sending a husband a pair of bronzed booties from out of town. Because sooner or later he's a cinch to go slinking into the locker room at his golf club looking as frustrated as a fltngernail biter with the itch and say, very sheepishly: '- "Heh, heh, heh, say, you chaps will probably never believe the goof I pulled this morning when I got up. Claude, 6uld you mind unzippering me down the back?" AM) THAT embarrassment will be small compared to his chagrin when he gets home and finds out how his wife spent the ti ne in "his" pants. By hocking his gold watch. Honestly, the whole "His and Hers" concept has more traps in it than a collection of "Batman" comic books. Suppose they get their "His and Hers" cars mixed up, and she finds some lipstick-smeared cigaret butts in "His." With his luck, "Hers" will be out of gas. Or what if she talks him into "His and Hers" hair tints, which are very large right now? What are they going to think if he goes in to have his driver's license renewed, and under "color of hair" he puts "Arabian sunset"? . The most revolting development of all is the "His and Hers" wigs. I get a picture of a guy going into his friendly saloon for a belt, noticing the bloke next to him studying his scalp strangely and saying, like: "What's the matter? Didn't you ever see a man wearing a hairpiece before?" "Sure, sure, buddy," says the other guy, "but you're the first one 1 ever saw who kept his dandruff from falling with bobby pins." ' AND YET the fad keeps getting more and more popular." Frankly, it worries me, too. Because personally I've always had grave misgivings about overdoing ' togetherness between the genders. After all, nothing has more of that kind of togetherness than the angleworm. And how many of those have you ever known who were happy? Really happy, I mean? ; Guy Wright is on special assignment in Vietnam Sydney J. Harris Sour Wine Of Wisdom THOUGHTS AT LARGE: Hair, to women, must have some deeply symbolic or Se'sual meaning far beyond the mere physical appearace, for nothing else explains the vast amount of time, money and energy devoted to care of the hair; nor is this merely a -modern obsession in Biblical times, the Book of Timothy warns women against excess in attention to the dressing of the hair. ; Some wine turns sour with age, and some wine improves with age; so it is with wisdom and when an elder takes it upon himself to offer advice to a young man, he should first make sure that it Is the kind of wisdom that time has Improved and not turned sour. A good teacher will not only make his pupils aware of the half-truths and beguiling fallacies dangled before them by propagandists, but he will go further and guard the pupils against his own, the teacher's, prejudices and preconceptions. (This is perhaps the hardest task in teaching a "live" subject.) . IF CLEMENCEAU'S famous remark that "War is too important a matter to be left to the generals" is true, is it not equally tru-e that peace is too important a matter to be left to the diplomatists? Speaking of national conflict, few men in public life have the candor of Count Cavour, when he exclaimed: "What scoundrels we would be if we did for ourselves what we stand ready to do for Italy!" The character of a man consists of three elements: what he believes, what he does, and how he reconciles what he does with what he believes and it is in the last operation that the ultimate assessment of character must be made. A ir it PEOPLE ARE FRIENDLIER in the country, but freer In the city; and the price one pays for having a neighbor who will take a kindly interest in you when you need him is having a neighbor who will take an officious interest in you when you don't want him to. The meanly ambitious man can be distinguished from the decently ambit'ous man by the fact that the former has no moderation of posture he is either groveling before his superiors or strutting before his subordinates, but is Incapable of standing easily erect for any sustained period. What the behaviorists fail to understand in all their experiments with sexual practices was tersely expressed by Rosenstock-Huessy many years ago: "Sexuality throws no light upon love, but only through love can we learn to understand sexuality." The way of the transgressor Is hard because the traffic Is so dense mi his road. ". . . and is another glorious fringe benefit of our five-year food plan, comrades! You all have twice as many ancestors to worship!" j . M Kenneth Rexrotli The Real Fame of S. F. Went to Poly High to see my daughter Mary play the madwoman in the "Madwoman of Chaillot." Daughter or no, I thought she did pretty good. Lord, what a line load! More to memorize than Hamlet. Many of the cast were excellent, better than lots of people in the local little theaters. The two other madwomen, the President, the ragpicker, acted like real pros. President was Steve Tookas, the young man I wrote about recently who does the column for the neighborhood newspaper. Some radio or TV station should give him a regular spot as the authentic voice of youth. He's sure a lad of many talents. Once again, all that work, and only two nights' performance. It was the most mature and ambitious high school drama department performance I've ever seen and deserved to tour other high schools. WHEN ARE we going to use the rich resources wa have? When are we going to put the main emphasis on the development of indigenous talent and stop using Foundation gold to import unemployed hams from Broadway? When are we going to set up that complete curriculum in the performing arts, from Frederick Burk Grammar School, to Lowell, to S.F. State? We need a ballet department that starts in kindergarten and goes all the way, because for ballet there is no other way of doing it. The best start at about five or even younger. As it is, the people we do produce go away, from Ye-hudi Menuhin to Isaac Stern to Mort Subotnick and now to Robert Erickson. They don't all leave for the bright lights of Babylon either. , Erickson goes to UC San Diego. At least these people had minimal employment, considering their talents, while here. For jazz, it's Nowhereville. Where is Charles Mingus? Where is Ornette Coleman? Where is Dave Brubeck? They were an here once. Even most of the Dixieland Revivalists have left. I'll lay you bagels to chitlins that soon John Handy and then Vince Guaraldi will find they can no longer afford to live here. SAN FRANCISCO is not famous for Josef Krips. It is famous for its artists' culture, which it can no longer afford, which it scarcely knows exists, and which it actively discriminates against, whenever it happens to notice it. Probably the person with the biggest world reputation now living here Is the poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Believe you me, the cops don't come in to the Opera House and say to Josef Krips, "Clean this place up or we'll take you In," as they did to Ferlinghetti in his City Lights Bookshop. Not one person in a hundred will believe I'm not joking when he reads that Ferlinghetti is so famous and that's the joke. n sj Donald Stanley's Book Corner A Crime Out of Context "The Investigating Officer" of Frederick L. Keefe's long first novel is a Captain Rankin, assigned by divisional headquarters to look into the killing of two SS soldiers by an American officer who was transporting them to a prisoner of war compound. Did Lieutenant Maddox shoot the two men during an attempted escape as he and his driver claim? Or was it a . cold blooded execution as two civilian witnesses attest? The place is Austria and the time just a few weeks after VE Day. Keefe is a New Yorker editor who served as an occupation officer in Austria after the war following service as an artillery captain during the fighting. He says his book is based on 'an actual incident, of which there must have been many similar examples. HIS BOOK seems overly long and his interminable cast of characters tends to be tedious and confusing, since they are often differentiated only by name, rank and serial number. One is -also put off by the way in which he fragments his realistic narrative into short, quick cut chapters. This device bringing one situation to a crucial point, than suddenly dissolving to another scene comes out looking like a fairly transparent tension builder. Unfortunate, because the technique would seem to be perfectly suited to Keefe's real point, which is the breakup of one culture, the rising of another at odds with It War is the most primitive of social Institutions, its traditions rooted in a tribal past that has no relevance to modern conditions of peace. . The fictitious 115th Infantry Division of "The Investigating Officer" would be called a superb fighting machine by its admirers, since that terminology is favored by publicists in a machine age. Keefe, however, is aware of its inaccuracy. The real point of his book is the dramatization of a semantic confusion. The 115th in war was not a machine at all but a tribe in the purest anthropological sense. Its loyalties are wholly internal and are not ideological but personal and mythic. ANDY CAW Its leader is its war chief and between him and his warriors there are bonds that exclude the outsider, a justice unrelated to outside experience and totally subservient to the task at hand. THIS CLOSED, inward looking society is now confronted with peace, for which it is unsuited, with the loss of its war chief and with the indictment of a "crime" by one of its members that it is unable to see as a crime. The shooting of the two SS men Is something that should be handled within the tribe. The 115th is as unable to accept judgment by wider more worldly standards of justice than the Indians could accept the standards of the white majority. The breakdown of the tribal code predictably is tragic to all involved. Its primitive nostalgia shines occasionally in this ambitious book whose reach, nevertheless, exceeds its grasp. It is a theme whose overtones are perhaps too deep seated to be more than scratched by the restrictions of narrative realism. THE INVESTIGATIVE OFFICER. By Frederick L. Keefe. Delacorte Press; 406 pages; $5.95. Coffin's Needle By Harold Coffin In spite of civil rights and social security, everybody's acting wronged and feeling insecure. Protestors are picketing plcketers who are demonstrating against sit-in groups. Everybody's against everything or on to something. No matter where you turn, minority groups seem to be in the majority. If there's anything that Isn't being Investigated by Congress it probably has been declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. Makes a person want to get away from it all. By spending a carefree vacation in some relatively quiet spot like Da Nang. $UEGfcyJ By REG SMYTIIE If ( I'VE U FEELhNJg AWT) j 1 i ' 1 Some day the conservationists may erect a statue to honor Tom Frouge. In the meantime, he Is known In them circles as "that damn carpetbagger from Buck East." Frouge is the builder who has been fighting desperately to build a planned city, called Marincello, on a tract of scrub land up the hills from Sausalito. Opponents of the project just lost their latest skirmish, an attempt to force a county-wida vote in Marin to sea does Frouge get a final go-ahead. AS ONE who has been "for" Marincello from the first, I have watched these maneuverings with some astonishment. I consider myself as dedicated a conservationist a the next; and after viewing the maps, models, photographs and drawings of the Marincello plan, and quizzing Frouge closely about it, I had to conclude that his was the right way to proceed. There ARE people to be taken care of, as well as trees. The Marincello way not only takes care of people, but also provides trees where there aren't any now, and makes parkland out of idle acres not even fit for grazing. The Marincello idea, I thought, would be greeted with whoops of joy. Instead the Marin Branch, Stop Everything Now Bunch, started holding indignation meetings in Sausalito saloons. The City of Sausalito, officially, took the view that Sausalito was a Rome threatened by a Carthage a-borning. Sausalito, that overbuilt, unkempt monument to bad planning and no planning, did everything but mobilize. The Marincello alternative is simple. Either you build complete new cities for people or else you just let the housing developments spill over the entire landscape, lot by lot, -attached to whatever existing local governmental units there may be. NOT ONLY is the "new town" idea correct for Marin County, it is the eventual answer for the nation. In point of fact, a ceiling ought to have been set on apartment and office construction in American cities long ago. New York is the horrible example of reel estate run wild. We are making similar mistakes in San Francisco right now. America nupHc naitr nitinc nnt o wiM an1 urAorltr ntrat. growth of the old ones. And as for Marin how else is the pastoral beauty of that lovely county to be preserved, if not by planned cities on planned and concentrated sites? In holding these 1ews I am as much a realist as Tom Frouge. The big builder from Back East of course is motivated by profit, the prime mover in our society. This ain't a sin except when you are arguing against Marincello, in which case the profit motive can be cursed like Bolshevism. MUCH OF THE Marincello plan, in detail, could stand some improvement. I don't think Frouge should be providing for so many tall apartment buildings. I think the concentration of churches, in what the plan calls "Brotherhood Plaza," is ecclesiastical shopping center thinking brought to the ridiculous ultimate. But Marincello is proposed to be built over a 20-year . period. More likely 30 years, I'd say. There is time to fix the details. The basic "new town" plan could not be sounder, nor could the site be better chosen. Bob Considine DaiPs at Loss For Advice DEAR DEB: Cut out that nonsense about being 18 today. I refuse to permit you to be 18 ! A father wants his only daughter to stop all her clocks at the age of, say, 12. He wants to keep her there on the threshold of her real life as long as he lives. Twelve was the year when the Christmas list you made out consisted of "A party dress, a new hat, a ring with a green stone, a junior miss brassiere and a football." Christmas afternoon in the yard of the old place In Al-lenhurst we practiced passes with the football. You threw the ball like Sammy Baugh, even though hampered by that optimistic brassiere. Well, time flies for you. You now have a license to drive a lethal 2-ton earthbound missile called an automobile at speeds up to 60 miles an hour. The great State of New York and many others give you leave if you wish to step into any bar and order up a quadruple martini, with a fifth of scotch for a chaser. If you move to Georgia or Kentucky, and have no criminal record, you can now vote. You're five years older than Juliet, baby. YOU GOT a lively charge the other night out of showing me your term paper in French and asking me to proofread it, knowing that my own meagre knowledge of the language is such that I once nearly succumbed to starvation in Maxim's. I fell off your homework sled years ago, so far as helping you in math and the several other mystifying subjects you take in stride. And you stopped asking me to ghost English compositions for you after that C-minus you drew on my last one. That hurt. I put more time in on that than I do on my column. Oh, yes, time Indeed flies for you. Big plans to work as a copy girl on a magazine this summer . . . rent a car for weekends at the beach . . . buy something wild with your first week's salary ... get ready for going to college in the fall . . . dates ... But time doesn't fly very fast In a father's mind, where a daughter is concerned. At a given point, depending on the father, he wraps his daughter with loving care, deposits her in the back of his mind or his whimsy, and there she remains, timelessly jelled. I DEPLORE repetition, but I often hear myself at cocktail parties regaling patient listeners with the thing you said when you were very little and had been exposed to one too many of our soirees. You said, "Daddy, havent we had this party before?" Funny thing, when I talk to your three brothers I find myself using a different voice, and a lot of my statements seem to start with, "Well, when I was your age . . ." or "If you'll take my advice, you'll ..." I was never your age, and for you I h3ve no advice. It would be superfluous. Loveya, Dad Hear Bub Considine on EGO Radio (810) Monday through Friday at 5:50 p.m.

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