About Dignity

In her Wisconsin speech, today (Oct. 17th), VP Kamala Harris mentioned the word, "dignity," several times. Bull's-eye! That's been the missing word in this season's election year speeches. 

With just a couple of weeks left until the last day of voting, dignity is what Democrats on the stump need to talk about now. Dignity matters. It always has. 

And, it's evil that Trump delights in crushing the dignity of selected individuals and vulnerable groups. He relishes the crushing process. 

the 

 

Mathews at the Bamboo

Eddie Mathews at bat in 1954.

As much as I like Chipper Jones, and I do, my all-time favorite third baseman for the Braves is still Eddie Mathews. In some small part that's because I met Mathews in the Bamboo Café, in the late-'80s. As this week the Bamboo is celebrating its 50th anniversary, it brought this little story to mind.  

It goes back to when I was publishing a periodical called Slant. The episode took place when I was at the Bamboo to drop off its regular stack of copies of the newest issue. So it was on a Thursday, probably about 3 p.m. Maybe I was running a little ahead of schedule on a hot day, because I took the liberty to stay and have a quick, thirst-quenching beer. 

At that pre-happy hour time there weren't many customers on hand. By habit, I stood at my usual spot close to the corner of the old marble bar, facing the back of the room. Maybe I should call that particular area the "Lee Huband Elbow." 

Anyway, as I remember it, there were three or four chatting regulars there in a booth and one guy, alone, seated at the bar. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He wore glasses and had the hands of a bricklayer. There was a big-ass ring on one finger. He looked sort of like a quiet character in an Edward Hopper painting. 

Then it hit me, that's Eddie Mathews! He was one of my heroes when I was a Little Leaguer, so I had to speak to him. 

Like, this was the batter who was on the cover of the first issue of Sports Illustrated! As we talked baseball lore, no one else in the bar seemed to have have any idea who he was, which seemed almost sad to me. 

The Hall-of-Famer told me he was a roving batting instructor for the Braves, so he was in town for a couple of days. I complemented him on being able to find a cool bar in an unfamiliar town. He laughed and said he had always been pretty good at that. 

Mathews was friendly and soft-spoken. He smiled naturally and seemed happy enough to talk with a guy who remembered him as a player. No swagger or bragging stories. 

After my beer, I shook hands with Eddie and went on to my next delivery location. Never saw him again.

Happy 50th birthday, Bamboo Café. At the party a glass should be raised to Eddie Mathews and to longtime baseball fan and Bamboo regular, the late Lee Huband. 

-- 30 --

From Midnight Shows to Cult Films

David Lynch's Eraserhead" (1977).

In the early-1970s, adventurous seekers of a good time -- in particular, college-aged baby boomers -- lined up on Friday and Saturday nights to see midnight motion picture presentations at cinemas. By the end of the decade critics had slapped the label, "cult films," onto some of the movies that had garnered loyal followings, stemming largely from their repeated midnight screenings. The midnight show experience helped shape the culture of the era.

The brand new Biograph Theatre opened in February of 1972 in Richmond's Fan District. Located adjacent to Virginia Commonwealth University's academic campus, soon the Biograph began setting the pace for the midnight show phenomenon in central Virginia.

Note: In 1972, Richmond's bars closed at midnight. Which meant, atmosphere-wise, the midnight shows then at the Biograph were somewhat like after-parties. (Cutoff time in bars was extended to 2 a.m. in 1976.)

In the first couple of years of operation the line to get into a popular midnight show at the Biograph might have started forming on Grace Street's brick sidewalk 30-to-45 minutes before show time. Occasionally, waiting for the box office to open turned into a party scene on the sidewalk. 

Such impromptu happenings naturally generated colorful stories about the experience of attending the Biograph's late fare and added to its edgy allure. It all went into the process of minting what eventually became seen as the cult film genre. Although, in that time, "underground flicks" might have been the preferred label for some of the motion pictures known for their appeal to a midnight audience. As far as I know, it happened in a similar fashion at lots of other art house cinemas in big cities and college towns. 

Ever since then, part of the charm of many of the movies seen as cult films has been that typically they were tongue-in-cheek low-budget productions. Before the '70s, if and when the term "cult film" was used, I doubt it mattered all that much. However, by the end of the decade, it had become handy marketing lingo. 

*

There's probably no midnight show/cult film from any era better known than "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." Although it was released in 1975, then promptly shelved by 20th Century Fox for being unmarketable, its story as the USA's all-time favorite midnight show began a year later at the old Waverly Theater in Greenwich Village. Spontaneously, members of the audience started cracking jokes in response to what was playing on the screen. 

Then came the costumes, dancing in the aisles, etc. In spite of what it might seem, from what I know the audience participation gimmick just happened and caught on. It was not invented by some adman/promoter. 

In 1977 the phenomenon jumped to Austin and Los Angeles and a few other cities. Yet, because of the legendary audience activity angle, most of the publicity about it over the years has focused more on its devoted following than on what happens on the screen in the movie.

During the 1980s, cable TV and video rental stores came along. Those developments impacted the so-called cult film scene, as the coolness of midnight shows steadily evaporated. Then, of course, as the 1990s faded into the 2000s, the Internet changed the cult film milieu again, but even more so. 

Nonetheless, today I won't try to pretend to know a lot about the cult films of the last 35-to-40 years. Therefore, this piece is mostly about an aspect of film history that came and went before those two home entertainment factors shuffled the cards. 

Still, as the '80s unfolded, the uncanny staying power of Rocky Horror as a midnight attraction eventually suggested to promoters there might be a growing niche market out there, hungry for more quirky flicks that could wear the cult label. Thus, today it seems we have catalogues full of them and at this point, well, I'm not so sure what the label means anymore. 

*

During my stint as manager of the Biograph, at times, successful midnight show engagements played an important role in paying our rent and electric bill. It was especially true in the initial two-and-a-half years of operation, 1972-74, and during the last couple of years of the '70s, when Rocky Horror was packing the house each Friday and Saturday night.  

Although the Rocky Horror grosses that helped to subsidize some of our risky bookings of repertory classics and first-run foreign flicks were appreciated, those of us who worked there gradually got over its charm as the years of screenings wore on. Completely. 

Consequently, unlike some devotees who saw it over a hundred times, Rocky Horror is not one of my favorite midnight shows to have filled the Biograph's screen while I managed the place (1972-'83). 

Anyway, although I'm probably forgetting a good picture or two, here are my five favorites at this writing (in alphabetical order):

"Eraserhead" (1977)

"The Harder They Come" (1972)

"Phantom of the Paradise" (1974)

"Putney Swope" (1969) 

"The T.A.M.I. Show" (1964)

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For the record, the first midnight show at  the Biograph was a double feature of two short so-called underground 1960s films, "Chafed Elbows" (1966) and "Scorpio Rising" (1963), that ran in April of 1972. Then, by trial and error, as that first year continued, we learned from experience what it took to be a hit at midnight. In short, it needed to be an offbeat movie that lent itself to promotion. It had an easy hook. Early successes were: “Night of the Living Dead” (1968), “Yellow Submarine” (1968) and “Mad Dogs and Englishmen” (1971). 

With significant input from the theater’s promotion-savvy assistant manager, Chuck Wrenn, I designed lighthearted original ad campaigns to set the tone. Fortunately, my bosses at the Biograph in D.C. encouraged me to follow my own instincts in these matters. 

At this point they hadn't had much experience with midnight shows in Georgetown. Anyway, in Richmond there were two essential elements to our in-house-created promotional campaigns for midnight shows:

1. Wacky radio spots had to be created and placed on WGOE, an AM station that crafted its format to capture the city's hippie listening audience. And, in the early-to-mid-'70s, it thoroughly succeeded in its goal. 

Dave DeWitt, now the widely read guru of hot food, produced the radio commercials in his Southside studio. While polishing off appropriate measures of Pabst Blue Ribbon and whatnot, Dave and I frequently collaborated on the writing and recording of those spots. Some of the resulting commercials were considered to be rather humorous in their day (if I do say so myself). 

2. Distinctive handbills that tended to look more like underground comix than standard movie ads were posted on utility poles, on bulletin boards, and in shop windows in high-traffic sites throughout the Fan District, especially in the immediate VCU area.

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Here are a dozen more titles of significant movies (in alphabetical order) that played for multiple midnight show runs at the Biograph in Richmond. It can be said that, along with the 11 other titles mentioned in this piece, they do a pretty good job of showing the range of the genre during the time it was forming.

"200 Motels" (1971)

"Animal Crackers" (1930) 

"A Clockwork Orange" (1971) 

"Deep Throat" (1972)

"Easy Rider" (1969)

"El Topo" (1970)

"The Groove Tube" (1974)

"Performance" (1970)

"Pink Flamingos" (1972)

"Reefer Madness" (1936)

"Rock 'n' Roll High School" (1979)

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By the time we opened “Rocky Horror” at the Biograph, in June of 1978, going to a midnight show was no longer seen as an exotic thing to do in Richmond. Multiplexes in the suburbs frequently presented midnight shows. Which made the timing perfect for a kitschy spoof of -- or maybe tribute to? -- trashy rock ‘n’ roll exploitations and monster movies, to become the all-time greatest midnight show attraction. 

It's worthwhile to note that the midnight show fad that began in the late-'60/early-'70s could only have happened then, when baby boomers born in the late-'40s and '50s were in high school or college. In the '80s those same boomers were moving out of the Fan and the kids born 10 years later, who filled their shoes, were less interested in alternative cinema. Plus, in the '80s, the sort of movies that would have run at midnight a decade earlier were likely booked to play at regular show times, or they just went straight to video.

 *

In 20 years, it will be interesting to see whether the list of movies considered by most critics to be cult films will have expanded, or contracted. And, of course, maybe some new way to watch movies will come along and abruptly change the game again. 

However it does work out, the deciding factor -- cult film, or pretender -- still rightfully ought to depend on its devoted following ... or the lack thereof. So, to sum it up, in spite of what marketers might say, just being a weird movie has never been enough. Genuine cult films have always had dedicated followers who wanted to watch them, again and again.  

As the reader has probably deduced by now, rather than a scholarly research paper, this piece has merely been a collection of dust covered impressions, conjured up and presented by a geezer who used to see a lot of movies. Credential-wise, all I can say is, "Well, I was there."

John Waters' "Polyester" (1981).

-- 30 --

White nationalist group pushed Trump's pet-eating in Springfield story

Was it Donald Trump who invented the Haitians-eating-pets in Springfield story?

No, but like the neo-Nazi group, Blood Tribe, the 2024 Republican presidential candidate has been only too happy to spread the word. No doubt, Trump is happy with how much play the story has gotten in the mainstream media. And, it hasn't taken long for this absurd, cooked up story about stealing and eating citizens' pet dogs and cats to become dangerous.

So in Springfield, Ohio, the residents are already coping with bomb threats and school shutdowns. Meanwhile, I am hoping we will soon see elected Republicans calling Trump out for his nefarious role in continuing to promulgate this sick rumor created out of whole cloth.     

Here's a link to a story providing background. Brandy Zadrozny writes: 

"Southern Poverty Law Center's Jeff Tischauser said, 'Blood Tribe, like other white nationalist groups, also seeks to normalize extremist ideas and symbols. With Trump’s and the wider conservative embrace of the Haitians-eating-pets rumor, Springfield has been a success for the hate groups.

'"The GOP seems to be falling into their trap,' Tischauser said. 'Groups like Blood Tribe truly see themselves as pushing the GOP further to their position on policy, but also on r hetoric."' 

Note: Here's a link to a related story from NPR.

-- 30 --

'Audience Best Part of Show'

Note: This review of the "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" (1975), which was then playing in its 13th week as a midnight show at Richmond's Biograph Theatre, appeared in the Oct. 5, 1978 issue of the University of Richmond's newspaper -- The Collegian.  

Audience Best Part of Show by Jada Pardew, News Editor

Toast, crackers, rice and water were in the air, on the floor and stuck to clothing they wore. It was not the result of a recent food fight at the University of Richmond. It was, however, part of the aftermath of a midnight movie showing.

The movie is the "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," and the audience's reaction does not stop at throwing food. The air is also filled with playing cards, toilet paper and confetti. Moviegoers dance in the aisles, dress like characters from the film, chant lines and cue actors. With them they bring props: boxes of rice, plant misters, teddy bears, umbrellas and toast. 

The movie begins with a wedding, and the audience begins its act by throwing rice at one another. Later in the movie the actors are lost in a rain storm. The audience also experiences the storm from plant misters and squirt guns that are pulled out. Simultaneously, some members of the audience pulled out umbrellas and newspapers to cover their heads. 

There is little, if any, plot to the movie. Without the bizarre reaction of the audience, the movie would be nothing more than a second rate film about transvestites. 

In its 13th week, the show is usually sold out, according to Terry Rea, the theater's manager. Although nothing has been destroyed during the showings, The cost of a ticket has increased from $2.50 to $2.75 to offset the cost of cleaning, which takes two people three or four hours. 

Rea commented that there was little audience participation during the first two or three weeks that the movie was shown. However, after members of the audience returned again and again, the amount of spontaneous participation skyrocketed to its present level. 

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show" is playing at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays at the Biograph Theatre, 814 W. Grace St.

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Peanut Shells, Fish Bones And Politicos

Note: In 2001 I covered the 53rd annual Shad Planking for Richmond.com. As it happened after this one, it gradually lost its power to attract a big crowds. Here's what I wrote about the scene 23 years ago, back when it was still a bipartisan event that was still going strong. 

Peanut Shells, Fish Bones And Politicos 

by F.T. Rea

According to a 53-year-old tradition, the Shad Planking, sponsored by the Wakefield Ruritan Club, is held on the third Wednesday of April. The event's roots go back to the early '30s, when only a certain breed of cat was invited. Today it's an open-to-the-public outdoor throwdown featuring ample libation and regional taste treats aplenty. But it is politics, undiluted statewide politics, that draws the crowd each year to the Loblolly pines of Wakefield, Va., the self-proclaimed peanut capital of the world.

Although the scheduled speechmakers are always politicians, 2001 marked a Shad Planking first, in that active gubernatorial candidates were at the top of the speaker's card at the Wakefield Sportsman Club.

Thus, when they weren't perched on the flatbed dais provided for honored guests and speakers between 4 p.m. and 5 p.m., Democrat nominee-in-waiting Mark Warner and his two Republican rivals, Lt. Gov. John Hager and Attorney Gen. Mark Earley, worked the rustic soiree with their campaign-sign-holding entourages at their backs every step of the way. Wherever the trio of hopefuls wandered among the many booths and displays, the same strategy was evident: Every potential photographic vignette had to be filled to the edge of the frame with the team colors. An invisible yet pervasive aspect of the occasion was the unprecedented backdrop of the much-reported budget stalemate that has Gov. Jim Gilmore at odds with legislators of his own party, most notably Sen. John Chichester of Stafford. News of the twists and turnings of the day at the General Assembly session rippled through the crowd of 3,000-plus during the seasonally cool, partially cloudy afternoon.

Sustenance and Sauce

With the price of admission, $14 in advance or $16 at the gate, one could eat and drink to his heart's content. Peanuts in bushel baskets, flavored this way and that, were easy to find. Crab cakes were available at one booth; cups of Jack Daniels were poured from a tailgate setup. Dressed with a squirt of Dr. Nettles' Secret Shad Plank Sauce, the same peppery slather that's brushed onto to the Shad as it's smoked on oak planks, deep-fried shad roe whetted the tongue perfectly for a taste of cold beer. Open taps on beer trucks were provided by the campaigns of several candidates. For what it's worth, Forbes offered the Coors line, Kilgore made his statement with Miller brands, and Hager, Warner and Diamondstein chose Bud. In a contrast of styles, the Earley booth offered hot coffee.

Candidate Warner, the Northern Virginia venture capitalist, also provided the party with a portion of its musical fare: the Blue Grass Brothers, featuring on vocals former congressman Ben Jones, who may be best known for his television work as Cooter on "The Dukes of Hazzard."

Between tunes, one of which was a semi-rousing campaign song for Warner, Jones japed that he was an "independent Democrat." Then, with the timing of a seasoned pro, the country crooner claimed former U.S. Sen. Sam Nunn, of Georgia, liked to say "I was as independent as a hog on ice."

About 2:45 p.m., the event's staff, more than 200 volunteers participated in some way, began to dole out plates of smoked shad, fried trout, coleslaw and corn muffins to the long lines of party-goers.

Politics in the Air 

As he autographed a souvenir Shad Planking baseball cap for an admirer, John Hager mentioned he'd missed only two Shad Plankings in the last 22 years. From my vantage point, of the three men seeking to occupy the Governor's Mansion, Hager seemed the most at ease with the opportunity to chat off-the-cuff in a social setting.

Asked for his opinion on the imbroglio over tax-cut percentage points, Mark Warner was eager to offer some advice, "You don't negotiate with press releases. Everybody's got these intractable positions, and nobody can budge."

On the now-familiar 55 percent vs. 70 percent topic, Mark Earley said, "I think a lot of them [Democrats] don't want a budget because they want an issue for this fall."

However, it was U.S. Sen. George Allen who had the most interesting comment on the subject. As he dealt with my question, "How can the eventual GOP gubernatorial candidate turn the negatives of the car tax phase-out problem into a plus for him in the fall campaign?" Allen seemed to open the door to the notion that the time is nigh for Gilmore to find a way to cut a deal.

"I'm not the one negotiating and drawing lines in the sand, and all of that," Allen said, boot-scooting through the minefield carefully.

"In your mind, could there be a number other than 70 percent?" I pressed.

"There are ways it can be finessed, if people will negotiate in good faith with one another," he replied good-naturedly.

As the Shadows Lengthened
 
By 6 p.m., more than half of the attendees had had their fill and made their way to the parking area. Since I bailed out about that time, I can't say when the last of the diehards left the party.

However, it's not every day that one can have one-on-one conversations with so many active candidates, office-holders and operatives of both major parties. Also at the gathering were U.S. Sen. John Warner, former-Gov. Gerald Baliles, former-U.S. Sen. Paul Trible, Richmond Mayor Tim Kaine, and many other current and former elected officials.

I can't help but think it would be a better world if there were more happenings like the Shad Planking, where politicians of all stripes are so accessible. 

Bottom Line: In spite of the considerable difficulty of negotiating one's way around the countless tiny bones in a shad, I have to give the affair itself an enthusiastic two thumbs up. George Allen will be the speaker for the 54th Shad Planking.

 

-- 30 --

It Paid to Advertise

The Bearded Brothers' front windows; panels 
were painted in Dayglo, lit up by black lights. 

When the doorway leading into show business opened for me, in the fall of 1969, I entered gladly. At the time I had a sales job that I was itching to quit. What I longed for was to first be a cartoonist/writer and eventually become a filmmaker. 

So serving sandwiches and beer in a Fan District dive seemed almost like a step in that direction. At least, more so than continuing to sell janitorial supplies.

Thus, when a friend, Fred Awad, offered me work at the restaurant he was operating my coat-and-tie job was history. My coming aboard as a bartender/manager was actually part of a larger plan Fred and I had cooked up to convert what was then a typical blue collar neighborhood beer joint/eatery into the Fan District's most happening night club. It was located on the southeast corner of Allison St. and West Broad St.

The restaurant belonged to Fred's parents. They wanted to retire. Toward that goal, they had turned it over to their sons, Fred and Howard. The brothers changed the name of the place from Marconi's to the Bearded Brothers. 

Growing beards was easy. But as it happened the Awad boys couldn’t agree on how to run the business, so the younger brother, Howard, left planning to pursue the quest of opening a place of his own.

In a series of conversations Fred and I had talked ourselves into believing the fun-loving baby boomers in the Fan District needed a place to enjoy cold beer, hot food, live music and a psychedelic light show. That, together with the edgy spectacle of go-go girls on stage -- dancing topless. At this time, such "dancing" was going on in Roanoke. But it had yet to make its way to Richmond.

And, speaking of booming babies, at this time my wife, Valerie, was six months pregnant. Fred’s wife, Mary Ann, was seven months along. So while Fred and I were brimming over with youthful confidence that the new scheme for the restaurant would pay off, in truth, it was under pressure to do so right away.

With the help of a few friends it took a couple of weeks to paint the walls of the interior flat black, build the stage for the dancers and assemble the light show apparatus. We also painted the front window panes that faced Broad Street in Dayglo colors illuminated by black lights. While I did most of the window painting, a handful of volunteers also painted a few of the panels. 

Fred booked a couple of local rock ‘n’ roll bands. They performed maybe three or four nights a week, and that went over well. As we had imagined, the live music immediately brought in a fresh nighttime crowd. A four-man group calling itself Natural Wildlife became a regular attraction. 

So with everything in place, it came time to hire the go-go dancers. A help-wanted sign went up in the restaurant. A few young women soon came in asking about the dancing job. 

Fred took charge of auditioning the applicants in the restaurant's office in the basement. Eventually, two were settled upon. One of them had some professional go-go girl experience, the other was a rookie. 

However, only the dancer who was new to the exhibitionism trade could be there for the first night, which we advertised in the two local daily newspapers. The ad art was my work; it featured a pen-and-ink rendered silhouette of a female dancer and the new Bearded Bros. logo I had designed. And, away we went.

By 8 p.m. the place was packed, wall-to-wall. We were selling beer like never before. The only problem was that our featured dancer, with her gaudy new sequined costume -- which included tasseled pasties to hide her nipples (as dictated by the Alcohol Beverage Control Board) -- was late. 

Scary late. She hadn’t called, either.

With the beer-drinking crowd clamoring for the promoted dancing on stage aspect of the show to get underway, a woman with a sculpted hairdo, wearing shades (at night), waved to get my attention. As the joint was noisy, I motioned to her to come around to the end of the bar I was stationed behind. In a what was maybe a Queens accent, she asked something like, “Any chance you need another dancer?”

Trying to hide my pure glee, I called Fred over. She told us she had noticed the Bearded Bros. ad in a discarded newspaper on the counter of the Greyhound bus station’s coffee shop. She claimed she had been dancing in a club in Baltimore. She was chewing gum confidently. 

Fred promptly offered her $50 to alternate sets with the other dancer. Seeing that transaction play out immediately gave me new faith in the power of advertising. 

The Greyhound Girl even had her own costume with her in her suitcase. Fred paid her in advance and suggested that since the other girl was running late, maybe she could go on, like, right away.

It all went over like gangbusters. Up on stage, with the lights and music, she danced like the pro she actually was. Natural Wildlife was cooking and the draft beer taps stayed open.

After the dancer’s first set was over, she put on her robe and found Fred. We were serving beer from behind the bar. She laughed good naturedly, “There ain’t no other girl, is there?”

Fred probably said, “Hey, we don’t know where she is.” If not, then I probably said it. 

“OK, I’ll need another fifty bucks to go back up there,” is approximately what she said. ... with a professional tone.

Fred put the money in her hand without hesitation. She agreed to do two more 20-minute sets. Yes, a hundred bucks was a lot of money for about an hour's worth of work, in those days, but since we were selling beer like crazy there was clearly no use in quibbling.  

After that night we never saw her again. The show went on as other women were hired, easily. None of them lasted long, but a few of them were pretty good dancers; one in particular but her name escapes me. 

It soon became my duty to paint the dancers with Dayglo paint. Don't remember who thought of than. Anyway, I painted vines curling around their arms and legs, stars and stripes on their torsos, etc. Yet, after three or four weeks of that schtick, it became apparent the regular customers didn't much care about the artsy aspects of topless dancing, such as they were. They preferred bare skin. So, the Laugh-In-style body decorating stopped.

Although painting the dancers was a pleasant enough task, hanging out after work was the best perk of the Bearded Bros. job (which wasn't always paying me as much as I needed to make each week). Frequently, friends, some of them musicians, stayed around late, jamming, smoking pot and playing pinball games. 

The most notable of the afterhours musicians who passed through was Bruce Springsteen, whose band occasionally played in Richmond then. He was a skinny, quiet guy who didn’t stand out as much then as he would later. 

When my daughter was born in January the Bearded Bros. scene was lively. Then, as the weather warmed up, the crowds gradually began to thin out. Other clubs opened up offering live music, some of which were closer to VCU. Gradually, the restaurant began to drift back toward being pretty much what it had been before all the black paint.

The restaurant's daytime crowd of regulars from the neighborhood didn't always mix well with the hippies coming in at night for the music. Then the topless angle turned out to be mostly a fad that sort of clashed with both crowds. So it was discontinued. However, I don't remember any sort of incident prompting that decision.

In the late spring I had to look for a real job again. After short runs at a couple of forgettable jobs, I landed a sales position at WRNL AM/FM. Richmond Newspapers still owned the two radio stations then. Once again, I learned it paid to advertise. And, on that job I did my first professional writing, when I began penning commercials and dreaming up promotions for my advertising clients.

Eventually, Fred's mother took the restaurant back over. About a year later Howard Awad opened up Hababa's on the 900 block of W. Grace St., where he had a lot of fun making large money (1971-84) serving cold beer and playing canned music on his popular bar’s state-of-the-art stereo.

In the years to come topless dancing morphed into a rather creepy form of entertainment aimed at an entirely different audience. A narrow audience. Truth be told, since the time of the Bearded Brothers I've never had any interest in the places that feature that form of entertainment.

Although I saved copies of the aforementioned newspaper ad, and the logo I did for the restaurant and Natural Wildlife, for their cards and handbills, etc., I haven't seen any of that stuff in a long time. The only remaining souvenirs from my initial stumble into show biz are a few black and white photographs, like the shot above of the club's distinctly 1969 front windows,.

All rights reserved.  

Eliza's Question

This sculpture by Stanley Bleifeld includes 18 bronze
figures emerging from a block of granite. It sits on the
ground, so people can touch it, so tourists and pilgrims
can stand beside the figures to pose for photos.
So children can play on it.

Eliza asked her mother, "Where’s Rosa Parks?”

In January of 2002, Eliza’s investigation of the grassy rolling hills of the grounds of Capitol Square, which had recently become her yard, had aroused her curiosity.

The youngest daughter of Virginia’s 69th governor, Mark Warner, had noticed that among the six statues of people around what would be her home for the next four years, not only were there none honoring a female, there were none remembering the heroines/heroes of the Civil Rights Era.

“It started me thinking,” said Lisa Collis, Eliza’s mother and then Virginia’s First Lady.

Collis’ thinking eventually led her to consult with people who might help fill in the gap in Virginia’s history her daughter had innocently discovered in the statuary of Capitol Square. 

On July 21, 2008, a new monument for Capitol Square was dedicated. The Virginia Civil Rights Memorial, a sculpture by Stanley Bleifeld, commemorates a turning point in history -- a 1951 student demonstration which was led by a 16-year-old girl named Barbara Johns. To protest the outrageously deplorable conditions in which they found themselves at Robert R. Moton, an all-black school in Prince Edward County, the students staged a “walk-out.” 

Eventually, those students’ cause was taken up by civil rights attorneys Oliver Hill and Spottswood Robinson. The Moton case was folded into four other similar cases to be argued before the Supreme Court as one. The result: The 1954 decision in Brown vs. Board of Education of Topeka ended the days in which separate-but-equal could be used as the underpinning for segregation in public schools.

At this time, it's worth remembering that the late sculptor/educator Joe Seipel (1947-2024) played a significant role in getting Bleifeld to come onboard for this project. 

-- Words and photo by F.T. Rea 

-- 30 --

'Queen of Claptrap' revisited

Laura Schlessinger

In 2000 I learned that if you write about certain public figures, or particular hot topics, it can bring on an avalanche of reprisals that can be startling. That year, I took an assignment to write an opinion piece about Laura Schlessinger (better known as Dr. Laura) for Richmond.com. 

The title of my column was "Queen of Claptrap." Once it was published the crazy reaction to the piece sort of caught me off guard. Shortly after it went online, I began receiving a bunch of nasty, threatening emails. 

By asking around, I discovered the emails were coming from an organized national group; the attacks were from people affiliated with something known as Free Republic. Then I learned that group routinely did that same sort of thing to any writer who criticized their beloved queen. 

Hey, if you've never had hundreds of hate-driven emails land on you in just a couple of days, let me tell you, at first it was scary. While I attempted to answer some of the initial emails in good faith, soon enough I came to realize that was a waste of time. 

So I asked a wise veteran journalist, who was a colleague, what the hell to make of what was happening. He just chuckled and said, "It means you're doing your job."

Here's the text of the 24-year-old OpEd piece:

Anybody who thinks the job of an opinion writer is easy should think again. Yes, everybody has opinions. That part is easy. What I'm referring to here - aside from the small task of gathering an opinion and converting it into an essay - is research. In order to put this piece together, I had to watch and listen to Laura Schlessinger.

Yes, the same Laura Schlessinger who is better known as talk-radio's Dr. Laura, the acerbic, self-styled adviser to the forlorn who has ridden a wave of controversy to a new syndicated television show.

To be fair with the reader, I have to admit that I have no patience with the entire confession-driven genre of programming to which Dr. Laura's television show belongs. I'm talking about the likes of Jerry Springer, Montel Williams, Ricki Lake, and so forth.

However, Schlessinger has been deliberately pushing buttons to move the stories about the views she voices on her broadcasts from the entertainment section to the news and editorial sections.

Thus, Dr. Laura has become a topic for OpEd columnists to consider. After a sampling of her product I have to say a little bit of the supercilious Dr. Laura goes a long way. For my money, she may well be the most obnoxious of the daytime talk-show hosts.

From what I can tell, her formula combines the hard-edge political and cultural outlook of the typical right-wing AM radio windbag - Rush Limbaugh being the most obvious example - with the lonely hearts advice of an Ann Landers.

Dr. Laura's frequently expressed judgments on homosexuality - notions that some would call antediluvian, while others plainly see as hateful - have provoked an anti-Dr. Laura movement that is making news as well. For more about that, check out stopdrlaura.com.

Dr. Laura, in spite of her startling throwback opinions, is a modern gal when it comes to making money; so she's got a website, too: drlaura.com.

"Do the right thing" is Dr. Laura's oft-stated slogan. Well, I can't argue with that. Who can? But the rub is who's defining what "right" is?

Dr. Laura's tonic is basically a dose of Pat Buchanan's political and social agenda, served up with Bobby Knight's bedside manner. The sad part of it - maybe even the scary part - is that some pitiful soul might take her mean-spirited blather to heart, because it sounds bitter and medicinal.

The burgeoning movement to protest her bashing of gays and other people she sees as immoral is gaining momentum. With quotes such as, "a huge portion of the male homosexual populace is predatory on young boys," being attributed to Dr. Laura, it's easy to see why.

While I can't say I'm prepared to endorse everything that's being said and done to "Stop Dr. Laura," I can say with enthusiasm that I'm a great believer in the time-honored tactic of boycott.

Apparently Procter & Gamble got the message. Like a string of other would-be national sponsors of her TV program, such as Verizon, RadioShack Corp., Kraft Foods, and Kimberly-Clark, P&G has decided to back off.

It won't surprise me if the television show - aired locally at 4 p.m. weekdays by WRIC TV 8 (Ch. 8 broadcast and AT&T Ch. 10 Comcast) - runs into trouble in the Richmond market. Virginia's particular brand of conservatism is baffling to people from other states.

Yes, Virginians are happy with right-of-center politics on many issues. Yet, they aren't comfortable with extremes in any direction; especially those extremes that are blatantly tacky.

Ask Ollie North: In spite of his far-right beliefs, his 1994 $25 million cakewalk to a Senate seat turned out to be a fall from grace. Ollie, with that checkered blue shirt and his self-serving lies to Congress, was just too gauche for Virginians to stomach.

By the same token, Howard Stern's radio show didn't last long in Richmond, either. Although it had plenty of listeners, the big local advertisers weren't comfortable being associated with it. What some of Stern's fans failed to grasp was it wasn't so much his lefty politics that got Howard in trouble in this market; it was his style.

It will be interesting to see whether WRIC will be able to run the commercials of major local advertisers such as Ukrop's Super Markets or any of the big banks in or adjacent to the Dr. Laura show.

With the anti-Dr. Laura movement picking up speed, I wonder how many Richmond companies are going to be willing to write off the entire gay and lesbian market for the sake of riding Laura Schlessinger's publicity wave. Beyond the organized alternative-lifestyle groups, the controversy that is swelling up around this talk show has bad vibes.

In ad jargon, it's going to be too easy for local agencies to buy around the Dr. Laura telecast. That simply means that roughly the same audience is readily available to an advertiser through other vehicles, so Dr. Laura and her hefty baggage can easily be avoided.

Bottom line: My hope is Dr. Laura will get canceled before I have to write any more about her. Just the thought of having to watch her on television again gives me the willies.

There you have it. That's all it took to set off a bunch of mean creeps who were hoping to make me back off. What I totally failed to understand then, 24 years ago, was that I was seeing the future. 

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The Dads' 'Redemption'

The Dads Second Album Release Party 

by F.T. Rea, Published by STYLE Weekly on Nov. 24, 2015

Enthusiasm filled the room when local rockers the Dads were performing. It exploded from the speakers. Steamlike, it rose from the crowd. Between 1980 and 1985, onstage in a saloon, the Dads delivered like few others.

Richmond was an accommodating home to some noteworthy black leather-clad punk bands during this period. There was an art-rock scene as well. In live-music venues you could hear reggae and hybrid sounds that fused Caribbean tempos with pop. Other rock ’n’ roll subsets were represented. Among them was a crossover scene that mashed up ’60s British rock with ’50s Memphis rockabilly. With two guitarists, a bassist and a drummer, the Dads operated somewhere in that groove.

The Dads’ sound wasn’t warmed over from the social causes and political crusades of the ’70s. They weren’t hurling nihilist anger at the establishment. Instead, they filled the air with harmonies and a beat that provoked young bodies to move. Theirs was a catchy sound easy to like, and as it turned out — difficult to forget.

But capturing their act and making it into a consumer product wasn’t so easy. The Dads’ one album, produced during their time as a touring band, was released by CBS/Estate Records in 1984. It was decidedly less than satisfying.

“Very unhappy” is how lead guitarist David Ayers characterizes how the band felt about the album. “It was so light and tame-sounding compared to what we were doing live,” he says.

Having met in 1980 as members of Virginia Commonwealth University’s orchestra, Ayers and drummer Mike Tubb were the two original members featured in every iteration of the band. With other pals along for the ride, the group started busking. Eventually, after some personnel shifts, what became the 1981 touring lineup stabilized: the late Bryan Harvey (vocals and bass); Mark Lewis (vocals and guitar); David Ayers (guitar); Mike Tubb (drums). In 1983, Lewis was replaced by Kevin Pittman on vocals and guitar.

“We were very tight musically and as friends, so our breakup had nothing to do with us not getting along or anything like that,” Ayers says of the band’s 1985 parting. “It was more the feeling that the Dads had come to the end of our road.”

Before the band dissolved there was a second album in the works. Accordingly, 30 years later the chance for another ride down that road has arrived.

Recorded by Sal DiTroia, who played guitar on the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer,” the tracks were laid down in 1985 at Live Oak Studios in Chesapeake. Recently Tubb and Victor Benshoff, the Dads’ sound man and road manager, dusted off 11 of those tapes. After some tweaking they were made into the centerpiece of a new album. Four songs recorded in 1982 and engineered by Bruce Olsen also are included.

About to be released by Planetary Records, the new album is titled “Redemption.” Isn’t all that good news worth celebrating?

News of this special event was first posted on Facebook by Mike Tubb. Brooke Saunders soon joined to promote it. As the word spread others came forward to volunteer to help perform 30-some numbers from the Dads’ songbook.

Among the musicians expected to gather onstage at the Canal Club are: Coby Batty, Mark Brown, Craig Evans, Gary Fralin, Harry Gore, Paige Harvey, Stephen McCarthy, Suzy Peeples, Kevin Pittman, Rob Reisinger, Brad Tucker, Jim Wark, Todd Woodson and too many more to fit in this space.

“Redemption” CDs will be available at the event and then go on sale at Plan 9 Music. Remembering the death of Harvey and his wife and two daughters in 2006, and the death of Victor Benshoff earlier this year, proceeds from the show and CD sales will go to charities selected by the Harvey family and the Benshoff family.

Now fans of the Dads, both old and new, will be able to travel the down the aforementioned road. The show amounts to a local reunion and is expected to be packed. The souvenir album should better replicate the soundtrack to many a good time back in the day. What’s not to like about that? S

The Dads perform at a CD-release party for “Redemption” on Friday, Nov. 27, at the Canal Club, 1545 E. Cary St. A small army of musicians will perform. The doors will open at 7 p.m. Tickets are $10.

Addicted to Choice

Note: A version of this piece I penned in 2004 was published by STYLE Weekly in that year. Maybe it's a bit dated in some respects, but with the premise about choice and the way propaganda works, not all that much has changed.

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Addicted to Choice by F.T. Rea

"Whatever gets you through the night 'salright, 'salright

It's your money or life 'salright, 'salright”

-- John Lennon

Obsessions, compulsions and addictions have always been in play. Now we see a somewhat new twist in driven behavior: In a time of plenty, many Americans seem to have become addicted to the act of choosing between this and that. This group has unwittingly developed what amounts to a jones for choosing from a smorgasbord of options.

Yet, as with any buzz, when it subsides the anxious feelings it allayed return with a vengeance. Thus, choice addicts find themselves living in a continuous loop of making choices in order to cope with their habit. While this is somewhat about consuming, it's really more about just choosing.

Of course Madison Avenue, the great facilitator of this shoppin' 'round the clock scenario, has long depicted “choice” as utter bliss. Choice has also been a hot political buzzword for some time. 

To a person wanting to express a belief that a woman is absolutely entitled to opt for an abortion, choice is a useful word for a slogan. It implies that ending the pregnancy is a matter of a person having dominion over her own body, rather than submitting to an authority claiming to represent society’s collective will. Of course, those calling for “choice” in this case see the individual’s right to choose an abortion as trumping whatever damage, if any, might be done to society by the abortion.

The notion that it should be fine for any citizen to pull his tax money out of the funding of public education, in order to finance sending his own child to private school, has been called “choice” by its advocates. While this argument may appear, at first, to be resting on logic, it ignores the long-held American tenet that everyone in the community has a stake in public education, regardless of how many children they have.

In both cases, the sloganeers show a telling awareness of the lure the word “choice” has today. Perhaps this is due to some new collective sense of powerlessness in the air. Or maybe the scam aspect of selling folks their own freedom is as old as dirt.

In “One-Dimensional Man,” German-born philosopher Herbert Marcuse (1898-1979) warned us in the 1960s about illusions of freedom: 

Free choice among a wide variety of goods and services does not signify freedom if these goods and services sustain social controls over a life of toil and fear.

Marcuse’s keen eye saw the counterfeit aspect of the processed brand of freedom wielders of easy credit felt, even then, as they exercised their prerogative to select one set of time-payment obligations over another. Marcuse laughed at a man feeling free to choose between a new Ford or Chevrolet, then being chained to years of monthly payments. But Marcuse’s hard-nosed take on what he saw as controls over modern society is out of style today. Still, his view of how language is predictably used by a few of us to manipulate the rest of us remains as valuable as ever. Propaganda works better than ever.

French diplomat Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord’s (1754-1838) words on the topic of language remain crisp today. Talleyrand offered: 

Speech was given to man to disguise his thoughts.

British philosopher/mathematician Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) went further: 

Speech was given to man to prevent thought.

OK, so tricky lingo has long been used to shape perception. However, as a true believer in the unfettered streaming marketplace of ideas, I expect tortured language and agenda-driven slogans to come and go. My point is that the act of choosing should not be so highly valued that it comes at the expense of appreciating what happens after the choice is made.

Some folks put a lot of store in choosing the perfect mate. They shop and they shop. But from what I’ve seen, it's what couples do after their choice/commitment that has more to do with the success of the relationship than the perfection of the choice, itself. Of course, some just keep shopping, vows or not. They can’t stop shopping and choosing.

Can constantly switching TV channels for hours really be a more satisfying experience than watching one interesting program? Well, the answer probably depends on whether you value what comes after the choice. After all, in order to be able to surf 200 channels, as opposed to only 50 or 100, customers gladly pay extra, although many of them never watch any program in its entirety.

Much of television’s most popular programming feeds its audience a steady flow of information about people who act as if they have genuine clout -- rich celebrities who cavort about with enough bread to buy anything. Then, quite conveniently, every few minutes, commercials interrupt the program to offer the viewer/schlemiel a chance to un-jitter their jones by calling a phone number, or clicking on a link.

Anytime your options are limited to what’s on a menu that was put together by someone else, by choosing from that prepared list you are surrendering some control to the list-maker.

And, the mountain of disposable schmidgets grows, as choice addicts turn away from yesterday’s dull and tarnished urges, to reach after today's sparkling urge ... just to get through the night.

-- 30 --

'Anytime ... Anyplace'

With the Trump trial currently underway the jurors are surely feeling it. Of course, the witnesses are feeling it, too. Maybe the judge is feeling it the most. All of those folks in Manhattan are keenly aware that in order to do their jobs properly, they must find the courage to stiff-arm, or at least shrug off, the intimidation factor that goes along with being a part of anything that displeases the surly MAGA cult's membership. 

Thus, today, everybody knows that with any official process -- election, trial, etc. -- that has the power to deny Trump what he demands, it's a given that fear looms over the doings. It's startling how little time it has taken for that to be seen as routine. Let's face it -- part of the fascination that news junkies have with Trump's series of courtroom dramas is that danger is lurking in the shadows.

Meanwhile, Trump has declared that he will do the June 27th debate. Oh yes, he said, "Anytime ... anyplace."

However, to believe that "anytime ... anyplace" guff you have to take Trump at his word. Think about that for a few seconds... 

You also have to believe that Trump isn't fretting right now over having agreed to do anything, according to rules Biden has put in place. After all, don't his MAGA cult members expect him to be THE Boss in all ways? Isn't Trump the only essential star of any such television event? 

Plus, I'm pretty damn sure Trump is convinced that he delivers his best lines, when he's swaggering like a B-movie gangster and talking over his opponent like an avalanche? 

Therefore, it will surprise me if Trump doesn't eventually start monkeying around and chiseling with the CNN debate format's rules, as they stand. For instance, how can he allow a moderator's gag button! He'll claim the viewing audience wants hot mics all the time. 

Then again, maybe the lure of that monster-sized TV audience -- perhaps over 100,000,000 viewers? -- will be irresistible to him. If Trump is low ready cash that could become a deciding factor.

Still, my hunch is that at the 11th hour Trump will find a lame excuse to opt out. Then put all the blame on Biden ... of course.

Nonetheless, the last thing Trump will ever do is admit to anyone that he has become afraid of losing the debate to President Joe Biden ... same with the damn election ... and he's especially afraid of going to jail.

Yep, with what's left of his confidence seeping away, I sense the would-be fascist boss of us all is feeling it, too: 

Fear.

-- 30 --

Five Film Favorites: Newspapers/Periodicals

 by F.T. Rea

Legendary editor Ben Bradlee on the job
at the Washington Post.

This installment of Five Film Favorites offers a special challenge. It touches on two industries I've poured years of my time and toil into – the movie business and periodical publishing. It's also challenging because, from what I can tell, after the field is properly narrowed with some rules, the remaining list of outstanding flicks about newspapering isn't as long as one might expect.

Then again, as with the previous Five Film Favorites columns, the list of mine that follows isn't about declaring what I think are surely the five greatest films in a selected category. Instead, it's about good films that are favorites of mine. My favorites, today. Next week the list could change.

About those rules for this column: “Citizen Kane” (1941) isn't on my list of five this time. Here's why: Rather than focusing on Charles Foster Kane, the publisher or editor, etc., it's really more about Kane, the vain empire-builder, a driven man who must dominate all he surveys. That and the lonely Kane, who has a fetish for collecting objects that catch his eye. Although it has been one of my all-time favorite films since forever, this time around it just doesn't make the cut. Rules.

“The Parallax View” (1974) is well worth watching again. Nonetheless, it's more of a political thriller with a dauntless reporter for a protagonist. It's certainly not a look at the people who put out a newspaper and how they go about doing it. Accordingly, this means a ton of other movies, good and bad, are being ruled out for this list, since they rely too much on cliché-ridden variations of the independent-minded reporter acting like a dogged, badass detective.

So, in addition to being about films with interesting stories to tell about good characters, this list is about appreciating what it takes to assemble the staff, gather the facts, write and edit the copy on deadline, design the pages, sell the ads, run the presses and circulate the newspaper. 

In alphabetical order, here are my five favorite films about newspapers:

• “All the President's Men” (1976): Color. 138 minutes. Directed by Alan J. Pakula. Cast: Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman, Hal Holbrook, Jason Robards, Jack Warden. Note: In covering a story about unusual burglars getting caught breaking into the Democratic Party's headquarters, which was in the Watergate building, Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward (Redford) and Carl Bernstein (Hoffman) find some loose ends. Following up, they begin an investigative journey that eventually hastens the collapse of the Nixon presidency.
  

• “Between the Lines” (1977): Color. 101 Minutes. Directed by Joan Micklin Silver. Cast: John Heard, Lindsay Crouse, Jeff Goldblum, Jill Eikenberry, Gwen Welles, Michael J. Pollard. Note: As the 1970s wound down, the alternative periodicals that had thrived in the late-'60s and early-'70s began to go out of style. And, the baby boomer staffers for such publications were getting older. This film reveals some of the challenges they faced and the anxiety they felt, as their time for being carefree and cool 20-somethings was running out.
  

• “Deadline U.S.A.” (1952): Black and white. 87 minutes. Directed by Richard Brooks. Cast: Humphrey Bogart, Ethel Barrymore, Kim Hunter, Ed Begley, Paul Stevens. Note: Bogart is the embattled editor of a large daily newspaper that's about to be sold off to tabloid-publishing interests expected to pull the plug on it. It's quite interesting to see that some of the same problems large newspapers have struggled with in the last 25 years of decline seem to go back much further than the age of the Internet. This film's noirish style and somewhat corny plot actually holds up pretty well.
  

• “Newspaperman:The Life and Times of Ben Bradlee” (2017): In this documentary black and white and color still images, as well as movie footage are presented. 90 minutes. Directed by John Maggio. Note: Among those seen and heard (as themselves) are: Ben Bradlee, Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward, Tom Brokaw, Sally Quinn, Jim Lehrer. Most folks are at least somewhat aware of Bradlee's pivotal role as the editor of the Washington Post during the Watergate scandal (See "All the President's Men"). However, Bradlee's life story, before and after that episode, is well worth knowing more about.
  

• “Spotlight” (2015): Color. 129 minutes. Directed by Tom McCarthy. Cast: Mark Ruffalo, Michael Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Liev Schreiber, John Slattery, Stanley Tucci. Note: In 2001 investigating the Catholic Church for charges of facilitating the sexual abuse of children, many children – in Boston! – posed quite a problem for the Boston Globe. This view of the methodology of the editors and reporters doing their jobs properly is as good as it gets. The revelation of the powerful forces against them is brutally unsparing.
  

By the way, another rule I usually apply to movies selected to be on Five Film Favorites lists is that I must have seen the picture more than once. It's a good rule. Accordingly, I re-watched “Spotlight” again, just so I could include it. 

These five movies do a pretty good job of presenting moving pictures of inky newspaper people, on the job, publishing. Always on deadline! Assembling what Washington Post publisher Phil Graham liked to call, “The first rough draft of history.”

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