Levi Storm. Something about the 1960s still lingers—don’t you think? Jim Riordan
“Never before in history has a generation been so focused on doing such great things and had so few resources to pull them off,” Jim Riordan began. Jim, of course, is the bestselling author of Break on Through, the definitive biography of Jim Morrison. It seemed like a good idea to speak with him again after my conversation with Tim Duggan. “We just didn’t have the connections, money, and power to make it happen.”
“Make what happen, Jim?” I asked
“Peace,” Jim responded.
“Peace? You were trying to make peace?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“By trying to blow up the Pentagon? By blowing up the Haymarket Square statue in Chicago? Blowing things up creates peace?” Jim looked at me as I continued. “Calling police officers who risk their lives to protect us ‘pigs’? Spitting at soldiers who were only doing their duty? This was all to bring peace? I’m not buying it.”
He sighed. “Well, no. Not when you put it that way.” Jim paused. “It was a strange time, man. Like most movements that start for the right reasons, the power can get into the wrong hands and the focus can be lost.”
“It was a strange time. I really don’t know how history will judge our generation,” I said with concern.
Jim looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“With the benefit of time, cause and effect becomes more apparent. With every passing day, our parents become more clearly part of what Tom Brokaw dubbed ‘The Greatest Generation,’ and I believe they were. They answered the call of duty. They didn’t protest or burn their draft cards. There were no American flags burning in the streets. They weren’t running to Canada. They stood up, answered the call and saved the free world as we know it. But not just the men. The women did their part, too. My mom was sixteen when she was a welder in the Oakland shipyards. The kids were out collecting scrap metal. Our parent’s generation pulled together for a common cause unlike any generation in history,” I continued. “They were far from perfect, but their sacrifice has given us so much of what our generation and the rest of the world has enjoyed.”
“Our generation also pulled together for a common cause. Our cause was different. Their war was a different war,” explained Jim.
“Yes, it was,” I answered, nodding in agreement. “I understand and accept that, but the contrasts between attitudes, willingness to work for the common good, and a love of country are stark. Our parents’ generation went to war, saved the free world, and came home to build the greatest nation in history and never complained about doing it. And that was after growing up in the Great Depression with nothing!”
“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” shot back Jim. “But our parents never felt lied to and deceived by their government.” He raised his voice a notch. “LBJ [President Lyndon B. Johnson] lied about all of it. When the vets started coming home, they verified that the war was not what was being presented at home.”
“I think you are talking about a small minority of vets,” I replied. “John Kerry is not representative of the majority of veterans.”
Jim sat back and smiled as he ran his fingers through his white hair. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Buddy.”
He nodded as if he already knew the answer. “Cool. So your discovery of Buddy Holly is leading you to the next step, and you want to know more about the larger cultural picture. That’s cool, man. It really is.”
“Buddy was a pioneer of the music and culture of our generation. Do you agree with that?” I asked.
“Like I told you the last time we talked, Buddy was just a couple years before my time,” Jim answered. “I began engaging with music when I was about twelve or thirteen or so. Buddy died when I was just nine.”
“Set Buddy aside for a moment. Give me your best shot. Tell me why I should not be ashamed and embarrassed by the actions of my generation.” I sat back to hear Jim answer.
“Why?”
“Because I’m beginning to understand that I am tying the music of the time to events that may not be related. I would really like to disconnect them if I can, but I need to know more and understand what happened.”
“I don’t get it.” Jim shook his head.
“Humor me on this one,” I pleaded. “Give me your best shot. I don’t know who else could explain it better.”
“Okay,” Jim began, looking down to the side for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. “It’s like this. Our intentions were honest. Our mission was pure. We believed we could all live together on this planet in peace and harmony. We were at Woodstock without violence. We believed we could expand the message from there. But it all got away from us. Splinter groups started believing we could levitate the Pentagon by meditating. Free love led to STDs and recreational drugs led to addiction and violence. The sentiments are still correct,” he hastened to add. “The ideas are still good! We just didn’t have the power to pull it off.”
“Levitate the Pentagon?” I laughed.
Jim shrugged. “There’s more to it. I now also realize that the movement was not grounded in faith. I think what was missing from this generation was Jesus. We were grounded to nothing but our ideals and they were floating around with nothing to anchor them on,” Jim said with real resignation in his voice.
“You know, Jim, by all accounts Buddy Holly was a man of deep faith. He used his first royalty check to buy new pews for his church, and Buddy and his partner-producer Norman Petty both tithed,” I said. “The more I learn about him the more examples I discover of Buddy living his life as a witness of his faith, rather then being vocal and up front about it. His actions and interactions with others reveal a kind, loving, respectful, and faithful young man.”
“Interesting.” Jim seemed genuinely surprised by this news about Buddy. “Compare that to The Beatles and the Stones. They were searching for religion elsewhere but had no faith and no grounding. When you are unanchored, you are but a lost ship at sea, man.”
Levi Storm. Something about the 1960s still lingers—don’t you think? Jim Riordan
“You think they were lost?” I asked.
“Yes,” Jim answered.
“I agree,” I answered. “And The Beatles and Stones were driving the culture in the 60s. They followed Buddy’s lead musically. Would he have impacted them spiritually? If Buddy had lived, would he have made a difference?”
Jim furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. We both sat lost in our thoughts imagining the “what ifs.” I broke the silence. “Let’s get back to the details.”
“Let’s go back to that whole thing about the violence,” Jim continued. “They were against Martin Luther King until the Black Panthers emerged, then King looked good to the establishment.”
“They?” I asked. “They who?”
“The establishment, man. Those with and in control.” Jim looked at me as if I clearly should have known the “they” he was talking about.
I smiled. “You really mean ‘the man,’ right?”
Jim laughed but ignored my prodding. “The same may be true of the hippies. We started looking mainstream when the Weather Underground started blowing things up. Now just to be clear, I’m not condoning violence or what they did. I’m just stating the facts.” Jim’s head was tilted forward and his eyes were looking straight at me with the most serious professorial gaze he could muster. “The violent actions of the few—and I emphasize ‘few’—brought the establishment into a position to accept the mainstream peace movement.”
“OK, let’s say I agree,” I replied. “What did you accomplish?”
“The Vietnam War ended. If not for the protests, how long would it have gone on?” There was that look again.
I shook my head. “I don’t know, of course, but some historians make a pretty good case that the social unrest at home lengthened the war. They think the social unrest and growing protests prevented the government from allowing the military to fight to win.” I paused for a moment before asking, “Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know,” Jim sighed. “To win what exactly? I just don’t know a single person who really has a clue about what we were doing there in the first place!”
“Let me take you back to the music. Was it a reflection of the times or did it drive the times?” I asked.
“Both. How do you separate the two?” asked Jim. “The musicians were giving us a voice. They were encouraging action and empowering the youth. It all started with the Beatles. They were our age or just a little older—members of our own generation. They had the microphone and their words resonated with the masses of their peers and —.”
“What about Buddy?” I interjected. “The Beatles claim that Buddy was their mentor and their model. Their early music reflected the same sentiments and ideals. If Buddy had lived, would the direction of the country have changed? Would the sixties have been a different decade?”
Jim shook his head. “Not unless Buddy could have prevented or stopped the war. The 60s as we know it was because of, and driven by, the war in Vietnam and the government’s misinformation and lies. How could Buddy have stopped that? And The Beatles did not start it. They began in the same spirit as Buddy but the times and events changed them. Why wouldn’t the same forces have changed Buddy?”
“Because of Buddy’s faith?” I asked. “Didn’t you say that part of the failure of the peace movement was the lack of an anchor?”
“Hmm . . . right,” he replied. “The ideals floated and evolved because they were not tethered.”
“The lack of faith within the movement? Jesus?” I asked more as a rhetorical question than anything else. “Buddy was anchored. He only lost the microphone as a result of his death. Would things have been different if he had the microphone in the 60s?”
“You’re really into this,” Jim said. “This Buddy thing is really pushing your buttons. This isn’t like you.” He paused. “Why?”
I shrugged and looked down at the open palms of my hands.