I must say that I foresaw it at the time. In the early 1970’s, the movie “American Graffiti” became the blockbuster entertainment of the year. Starring Ron Howard, Wolfman Jack and Henry “the Fonz” Winkler, it took a look at an idealized Saturday night in 1950’s LA, with drag racing and rock and roll, girls in poodle skirts and fluffy sweaters, and greaser hoods (The Fonz et al) a-rumblin’ and a-kickin’ ass. We loved it. After the tumult of the 60’s and earlier 70’s, even us youngsters were looking for something a little simpler – something that we could say was quintessential Americana. It was fake, of course, as all movies are at least somewhat fake, but the reaction was real. It kicked off a 50’s nostalgia phenomena that lead to the TV series “Happy Days,” which could only be destroyed by its ugly offspring, “Joanie Loves Chachi.” Yes, even amidst the haze of reefer in college dorms, I watched it and longed for it. In the chaos of epistemic murk (as a professor once called it), it gave us something we could all fit comfortably into. What I foresaw, however, even as a punk college kid, was the day when we would look back to the ‘70’s with equal nostalgia. [Note: to those who care, alert reader Cal informed me that the Fonz was not in the movie. Looking it up, the "hood" was played by Paul Le Mat, his movie name being John Milner. Gosh, I hope I got it right this time!]
Earlier this week this nostalgia happened for us. We were told to watch a movie, “Sons of Sam,” by our neighbor. It was a four-part series that claimed that the ‘Son of Sam,’ aka David Berkowitz, New York City serial killer of ’77-’78, did not act alone, but was rather part of a Satanic cult which joined him in those killings along with several more, leading even to ties with Charley “I’m already dead” Manson. The evidence was compelling. I’ll get back to that in a bit, but let me first talk about the nostalgia that my wife and I experience in the first hour of the series, which focused on the murders and the case as it was proceeding in real time.
New York, 1977, was a notorious mess. I lived in the Northeast at the time and was well aware of the hookers and peep shows in Times Square and the danger of walking just about anywhere in The City at night. The Disco Era was in full swing, highlighted by the decadent Studio 54, where people snorted coke and had sex with strangers on (what we were told anyway) a regular basis (this, just before the AIDS epidemic exploded). Those who ‘Son of Sam’ killed were often coming back from the discos, doing drugs and having sex in their cars on what the police called “lover’s lanes,” as, in New York, there weren’t too many isolated dirt roads on which to make out around the steering wheel. The Son of Sam – that’s how Berkowitz signed his letters to the newspapers – shot the women in the cars as they necked and etc., often injuring or killing the boyfriends. It had New York in an uproar, which also helped make Geraldo Rivera famous. So…what was so nostalgic about a corrupt city and a bunch of idiotic young people “blowing” their lives away?
Surprisingly, many things. The Hair – ah yes, the hair. Cool guys with long sideburns (I still have them, a holdover from then) and long, carefully quaffed hair; women in skirts with even longer curler-crimped hair, and many others with the wispy Farah Faucet look. There were the double-nit trousers too, and the large lapels and shirts open to the sternum. But most of all there were the attitudes and accents of the interviewees, pure 20th century New York. Good lord, the dropped “r’s” and the swallowed vowels (caught, for instance, was pronounced “cauwt” – something I think I may also say, being from the Northeast), along with the tough-guy ferocity of the young dudes and of the older mothers of potential victims, one of whom claimed, “want to know what to do wit da killah? Give him to us mothahs and we’ll take cah of ‘em!” And oh, yes, the now-vintage cars and the grime and the overly-political police and the rude in-your-face journalists who were just waiting to get punched in the nose. It was such pure New York and such pure hedonism and such pure righteousness for us; it was just so, that is to say, certain and unreflective that it made me ache for those bad-old, good-old days.
Those times did not have the gloss of the ‘50’s, with kids in coon-skin hats and black hat/white hat well-defined cowboy shows. We were instead a hedonistic bunch, but we had been raised by work-ethic parents who might not have been very spiritual but who went to church every Sunday and dutifully allowed themselves to be shot at in patriotic wars. They had given us an American cohesion, which was reinforced by a limited media that we all watched and read and kind-of believed in. We were a cohort, and as arrogant and defiant as we were, we had an understood ethic where guys behaved this way, girls that, and everyone sought to become independent of their un-cool parents as soon as possible. This was us in the ‘70s, new Americans who never-the-less understood ourselves to be all-American, unconsciously believing ourselves to be lords of the human universe.
Much of that attitude has been irredeemably changed. The younger people coming into power now are at least as arrogant as we were, but they lack the unconscious superiority that we as Americans assumed, something now described as White Privilege or Patriarchy. There is something good in that reflectivity, if the criticisms are presented and taken in humility (which they usually are not), but there is something very precious that has been lost: a belief in ourselves and the society that formed us that allowed us to attempt and often succeed in doing the impossible. The English once had it, which allowed a small Island nation to change and nearly own the world. With that came the age of science and all the technological wonders that sprang from it; and with that came the ethical changes that took us from casual cruelty to the more thoughtful perspective that other humans deserve the same consideration that we would like.
Which, through a warped sense of logic, has led us to the rejection of the very society that spawned such humanitarianism. This naturally is causing a decline with everything from economic security to birthrates to individual liberty. Things, as the poet said, are coming apart, which, with a little closer watching, was evident in the “Sons of Sam” series. As sexual mores and drug usage changed, other things were changing as well. Satanism did increase, along with a plethora of New Age personal religions, and with them came a further dismantling of the basic blocks of society, which, whatever they may be, all healthy cultures must believe in to remain healthy. While bad failing societies might have such internal certainty (we can still call it unconscious arrogance), ALL successful societies must have this. Otherwise, they are thrown into the deep blue, or, more in keeping with today, into the big dark vacuum of space. They – we - then revert to basic survival instincts, which are good in a pinch but terrible for long-term social order. When we cast out basic certainties, we can no longer accomplish great things together. With that, we decay and eventually collapse as a society.
Which is why the ‘70’s brought on such painful nostalgia. The old American certainty was there, but it was also obvious that it was veering from the past, moving from Disco sex to devil worship and senseless murder. One could see it, the turning point, as certain in hindsight as the Munich Accord which led to WWII. If we could only put it back in a box… but once Pandora’s mischief is released, it cannot be caged until it has run its course.
We can never completely rise above debased societies. The martyrs of the early Christian years were killed in great number and without mercy for centuries, but that did end, the Christian era replacing a crumbling ancient world that led, eventually, to European world dominance and the great evil and good that this has brought us. Its fall was built-in, as Europe could not rise to meet the moral demands of the religion that made it great (as no nation or nations ever could), but what will replace it will be much worse for a while for many – maybe even as bad as the Roman world was for Christians and the myriad of conquered nations. For those of us now who wish to avoid the chaos, this is a time for great faith. What will not kill all of us will make us stronger. But, oh, for the certainty of the good ‘ol days! We could not live them now, as we can see all too well behind the group-think of yesteryear, but how simple it seemed!
It wasn’t then, not really, as no time is when lived authentically, but innocence certainty is always there for anyone, just waiting for us. Someday this pure innocence might truly rule, if and when both the arrogance of hegemonic certainty and its demoralizing counter-punch have finally become exhausted. I think this is what is meant by the End of History. We can live a little bit of this innocence now, maybe even more so, given that things indeed seem to be falling apart. This might allow us to get beyond weakened unconscious social beliefs. Certainly, many of us will at least try to live lives of greater innocence and purity.
For now, I will make another prediction: someday soon, we will look at the 2000-teens – maybe even 2020 - with the nostalgia we reserve for times of naïve simplicity. If that time really comes, it would be best to be secure in one’s spiritual faith.
I must say that I foresaw it at the time. In the early 1970’s, the movie “American Graffiti” became the blockbuster entertainment of the year. Starring Ron Howard, Wolfman Jack and Henry “the Fonz” Winkler, it took a look at an idealized Saturday night in 1950’s LA, with drag racing and rock and roll, girls in poodle skirts and fluffy sweaters, and greaser hoods (The Fonz et al) a-rumblin’ and a-kickin’ ass. We loved it. After the tumult of the 60’s and earlier 70’s, even us youngsters were looking for something a little simpler – something that we could say was quintessential Americana. It was fake, of course, as all movies are at least somewhat fake, but the reaction was real. It kicked off a 50’s nostalgia phenomena that lead to the TV series “Happy Days,” which could only be destroyed by its ugly offspring, “Joanie Loves Chachi.” Yes, even amidst the haze of reefer in college dorms, I watched it and longed for it. In the chaos of epistemic murk (as a professor once called it), it gave us something we could all fit comfortably into. What I foresaw, however, even as a punk college kid, was the day when we would look back to the ‘70’s with equal nostalgia. [Note: to those who care, alert reader Cal informed me that the Fonz was not in the movie. Looking it up, the "hood" was played by Paul Le Mat, his movie name being John Milner. Gosh, I hope I got it right this time!]
Earlier this week this nostalgia happened for us. We were told to watch a movie, “Sons of Sam,” by our neighbor. It was a four-part series that claimed that the ‘Son of Sam,’ aka David Berkowitz, New York City serial killer of ’77-’78, did not act alone, but was rather part of a Satanic cult which joined him in those killings along with several more, leading even to ties with Charley “I’m already dead” Manson. The evidence was compelling. I’ll get back to that in a bit, but let me first talk about the nostalgia that my wife and I experience in the first hour of the series, which focused on the murders and the case as it was proceeding in real time.
New York, 1977, was a notorious mess. I lived in the Northeast at the time and was well aware of the hookers and peep shows in Times Square and the danger of walking just about anywhere in The City at night. The Disco Era was in full swing, highlighted by the decadent Studio 54, where people snorted coke and had sex with strangers on (what we were told anyway) a regular basis (this, just before the AIDS epidemic exploded). Those who ‘Son of Sam’ killed were often coming back from the discos, doing drugs and having sex in their cars on what the police called “lover’s lanes,” as, in New York, there weren’t too many isolated dirt roads on which to make out around the steering wheel. The Son of Sam – that’s how Berkowitz signed his letters to the newspapers – shot the women in the cars as they necked and etc., often injuring or killing the boyfriends. It had New York in an uproar, which also helped make Geraldo Rivera famous. So…what was so nostalgic about a corrupt city and a bunch of idiotic young people “blowing” their lives away?
Surprisingly, many things. The Hair – ah yes, the hair. Cool guys with long sideburns (I still have them, a holdover from then) and long, carefully quaffed hair; women in skirts with even longer curler-crimped hair, and many others with the wispy Farah Faucet look. There were the double-nit trousers too, and the large lapels and shirts open to the sternum. But most of all there were the attitudes and accents of the interviewees, pure 20th century New York. Good lord, the dropped “r’s” and the swallowed vowels (caught, for instance, was pronounced “cauwt” – something I think I may also say, being from the Northeast), along with the tough-guy ferocity of the young dudes and of the older mothers of potential victims, one of whom claimed, “want to know what to do wit da killah? Give him to us mothahs and we’ll take cah of ‘em!” And oh, yes, the now-vintage cars and the grime and the overly-political police and the rude in-your-face journalists who were just waiting to get punched in the nose. It was such pure New York and such pure hedonism and such pure righteousness for us; it was just so, that is to say, certain and unreflective that it made me ache for those bad-old, good-old days.
Those times did not have the gloss of the ‘50’s, with kids in coon-skin hats and black hat/white hat well-defined cowboy shows. We were instead a hedonistic bunch, but we had been raised by work-ethic parents who might not have been very spiritual but who went to church every Sunday and dutifully allowed themselves to be shot at in patriotic wars. They had given us an American cohesion, which was reinforced by a limited media that we all watched and read and kind-of believed in. We were a cohort, and as arrogant and defiant as we were, we had an understood ethic where guys behaved this way, girls that, and everyone sought to become independent of their un-cool parents as soon as possible. This was us in the ‘70s, new Americans who never-the-less understood ourselves to be all-American, unconsciously believing ourselves to be lords of the human universe.
Much of that attitude has been irredeemably changed. The younger people coming into power now are at least as arrogant as we were, but they lack the unconscious superiority that we as Americans assumed, something now described as White Privilege or Patriarchy. There is something good in that reflectivity, if the criticisms are presented and taken in humility (which they usually are not), but there is something very precious that has been lost: a belief in ourselves and the society that formed us that allowed us to attempt and often succeed in doing the impossible. The English once had it, which allowed a small Island nation to change and nearly own the world. With that came the age of science and all the technological wonders that sprang from it; and with that came the ethical changes that took us from casual cruelty to the more thoughtful perspective that other humans deserve the same consideration that we would like.
Which, through a warped sense of logic, has led us to the rejection of the very society that spawned such humanitarianism. This naturally is causing a decline with everything from economic security to birthrates to individual liberty. Things, as the poet said, are coming apart, which, with a little closer watching, was evident in the “Sons of Sam” series. As sexual mores and drug usage changed, other things were changing as well. Satanism did increase, along with a plethora of New Age personal religions, and with them came a further dismantling of the basic blocks of society, which, whatever they may be, all healthy cultures must believe in to remain healthy. While bad failing societies might have such internal certainty (we can still call it unconscious arrogance), ALL successful societies must have this. Otherwise, they are thrown into the deep blue, or, more in keeping with today, into the big dark vacuum of space. They – we - then revert to basic survival instincts, which are good in a pinch but terrible for long-term social order. When we cast out basic certainties, we can no longer accomplish great things together. With that, we decay and eventually collapse as a society.
Which is why the ‘70’s brought on such painful nostalgia. The old American certainty was there, but it was also obvious that it was veering from the past, moving from Disco sex to devil worship and senseless murder. One could see it, the turning point, as certain in hindsight as the Munich Accord which led to WWII. If we could only put it back in a box… but once Pandora’s mischief is released, it cannot be caged until it has run its course.
We can never completely rise above debased societies. The martyrs of the early Christian years were killed in great number and without mercy for centuries, but that did end, the Christian era replacing a crumbling ancient world that led, eventually, to European world dominance and the great evil and good that this has brought us. Its fall was built-in, as Europe could not rise to meet the moral demands of the religion that made it great (as no nation or nations ever could), but what will replace it will be much worse for a while for many – maybe even as bad as the Roman world was for Christians and the myriad of conquered nations. For those of us now who wish to avoid the chaos, this is a time for great faith. What will not kill all of us will make us stronger. But, oh, for the certainty of the good ‘ol days! We could not live them now, as we can see all too well behind the group-think of yesteryear, but how simple it seemed!
It wasn’t then, not really, as no time is when lived authentically, but innocence certainty is always there for anyone, just waiting for us. Someday this pure innocence might truly rule, if and when both the arrogance of hegemonic certainty and its demoralizing counter-punch have finally become exhausted. I think this is what is meant by the End of History. We can live a little bit of this innocence now, maybe even more so, given that things indeed seem to be falling apart. This might allow us to get beyond weakened unconscious social beliefs. Certainly, many of us will at least try to live lives of greater innocence and purity.
For now, I will make another prediction: someday soon, we will look at the 2000-teens – maybe even 2020 - with the nostalgia we reserve for times of naïve simplicity. If that time really comes, it would be best to be secure in one’s spiritual faith.
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