"It Won't Work" Ch. 13 Excerpt: Reinventing the Wobbly Wheel

          This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


      “I want to make a deal with you.”

      “He wants to make a deal with us.”

      “Bring our union up to date.” Eupheus Crutch had requested at the previous monthly meeting, and over the internet, that members rendezvous with him at Ft. Green Park, it was decided as most of the members lived in Brooklyn, on a Saturday next, one o’clock, to hear a very important proposal he had been working on for months, had even sent in to general headquarters for their approval, to no avail. He felt that the weight of a New York City General Membership endorsement would open up some eyes when it was published in the G.O.B., the General Office Bulletin for the Industrial Workers of the World.

      “I’ve been thinking, and sure working hard. Tell me how y’all feel. I’m glad y’all come here today. If Eugene comes it’s five, and we’ll have a quorum; we can vote on it and make branch policy. Thank you for listening. Cigarette Emerson? Oh yes, that’s right. You’ve quit. How’s that going, by the way? Uh-huh; didn’t mean to tempt you. What’s that; sure Fellow Worker Fergie. You are more than welcome to one. Well, well well. Lookie who’s comin up yonder hill, and only an hour late. I’m sure he has a good reason; he always does. Why Fellow Worker Portobello, you do us honor with your presence. Why sure we’ll be finished soon; I wouldn’t want to keep you from your Dante Workers meeting. I, too, have an important meeting in the City at five o’clock. I’m so glad you could attend. And, congratulations; you are the fifth member here in good standing. You are in good standing, aren’t you? Well that’s just fine and dandy.

      Without further ado, I have here in my satchel all the documentation y’all will need to make a proper informed decision. We have a chance to make history here, fellow workers, and sister worker Sadie. Fergie, Emerson, Pete. What you now have in your hands is the re-worked Wheel of Industrial Organization.  

      Compare it, if you would all be so kind, to Figure ‘B,’ Father Haggerty’s wheel. The good father, bless his Wobbly soul, besides leaving the pulpit for some more worthwhile and constructive vocation, for the welfare of all working folk, designed this well nigh about a century ago at a time when certain industries were still immature or hadn’t even been born yet. For example, there were no franchise restaurants with prepared foods back then so he classified retail workers in the food industry instead of assigning them an industrial union number of their own; he put them with butchers and greengrocers instead of listing them as sales clerks. What’s that Pete? Yes, I know y’all make cappuccino and latte, but, bear with me a moment, I shall answer all your questions in due course. That is why I.U. 640 is no longer reasonable and another number should be assigned service workers. Now look, if you will, at the new wheel I invented; a separate I.U. 660 has been created to identify all workers in the fast food industry. What’s that, Emerson? Why of course. I’ll just run my mouth a little while you find yourself a place to relieve yourself. I shall go no further until you return. Why yes, sister worker Sarah; I would love a candy.”

       Eupheus Crutch went on for another hour using all the time allotted to him. His fellow workers were tired and wanted to go.

      “I know it’s late but I call for a vote on endorsing the new wheel of Industrial Organization I put together. Now who seconds the motion?” No one raised their hand. “Now come on y’all. How about you Emerson; second the motion, won’t you?”

      “I don’t think we should be wasting our time reinventing the wheel when there are more important things to do.”

      “But I have explained the necessity there is for new industry…”

      “I have to go Crutch; another time,” said Pete as he stood up from the lawn to leave.”

      “Fellow workers: let us strike while the iron’s hot; now sit down for a moment won’t you fellow worker?”

      “Okay, I second the motion, and vote ‘no’ for changing the wheel.”

      “But we’re not voting on changing the wheel; we’re only voting for an endorsement from our branch for the acceptance by the general committee to bring it up for a union-wide vote.

      The other three Wobblies all raised their hands to vote ‘no.’

      “The vote is four to one, fellow worker Eupheus. That’s that.”

      “Well if y’all are going to vote not to endorse the proposal then I retract the proposal.”

      “You can’t do that; it’s underhanded,” said sister worker Sadie.

      “Call it what you will sister worker; I retract my proposal.”

      “Too late,” Pete said as he stood and walled a few steps down the grassy knoll. “The vote’s been taken. We do not endorse your stupid wheel. Bye?”

      “Well, I never!”

      The result of the vote for the NYC GMB rejection of Colonial Crutch’s wheel was printed in the monthly Wobbly City newsletter.

      Ah yes; The Wobbly City; Emerson had taken on the responsibility for organizing a monthly newsletter for the branch. No one requested that he do it, and no one offered to help; he just thought it was the right thing to do and he felt like volunteering to do it. He promised the general membership branch that he would send each member attending the monthly meeting a first draft of the newsletter for their approval before he printed it up and would spend no branch funds. It was an offer no one could refuse, so they voted to make Emerson the editor of the Wobbly City, a name he himself had come up with. For three years, every month, Emerson culled news stories from the branch members, sometimes tweaking minutes from meeting or pulling arms to get some copy. Usually he had to write copy himself, under three different pseudonyms.

      Sometimes it got a little dicey about what he could print. Eupheus Crutch claimed all names should be anonymous so the authorities couldn’t pin anything on anyone and cautioned Emerson to remember that sabotage was disavowed by the union so don’t print anything about it. Ry Grossinger took exception to a truthful article about his nascent Dante Barista Union because it didn’t reflect the image he wanted to have presented to the public. They almost came to blows over propaganda versus truth. Ry would write the articles about him by himself. Emerson had to edit the newsletter to let him do so, and he had the votes of the general membership, padded that week with baristas to make sure his veto held up.

      When one fellow worker threw his hat into the ring to be editor, every barista there, and the few members who weren’t baristas, agreed to let the new guy have a chance since Emerson had been doing it for three years. Tom Hood became the new editor saying he would work with Emerson on the transition. He decided it was better to use the internet technology to put the Wobbly City on-line and save paper. One issue on the internet came out. After that, Tom Hood was too busy with other more important projects to continue; and he didn’t realize how much work he would have to put into it. The newsletter languished not to see the light of day again for years.
      By the time Ry Grossinger had taken over the branch behind the curtain and nominated Emerson back as the editor of the Wobbly City, Emerson had already quit the branch.

Public sector pay raise plan questioned

CHARM OFFENSIVE:Critics said that the proposed wage increase for civil servants is a KMT bid to win votes in DPP-controlled local governments ahead of January’s elections

By Chung Li-hua and Chen Wei-han  /  Staff reporter, with staff writer

In spite of the spiraling debt crisis several local governments face, the Executive Yuan is mulling a 3 percent pay raise for the public sector, which would cost local governments an extra NT$10 billion (US$319.06 million) in personnel expenses.

Payrolls already take up nearly half of local governments’ budgets, legislators and local government officials said, adding that the central government’s proposed pay hike could damage the fiscal health of local governments.

The Executive Yuan said it would decide whether the proposed salary increases for military personnel, civil servants and public schoolteachers would go into effect before it announces the budget for the next fiscal year at the end of next month.

Any changes would not go into effect until after elections are held in January next year.

According to the estimates of the Executive Yuan, it would cost central and local governments about NT$7 billion to raise public sector wages by 1 percent — or NT$21 billion for a 3 percent pay raise.

Public sector workers received a 3 percent wage increase in July 2011, and the central government subsidized local governments with NT$5.27 billion in personnel expenses for the second half of that year.

Extrapolating from the central government subsidy in 2011, local governments would be expected to shoulder at least an additional NT$10.54 billion of the latest proposed pay raise, excluding a corresponding increase in year-end bonuses and performance bonuses.

According to the latest report by the Ministry of Civil Service, local governments’ combined personnel expenses totaled NT$497.9 billion in 2013, which accounted for 47.84 percent of their total expenditure for that year.

Payrolls took up more than half of the total expenditures of the governments of Taipei and Kaohsiung; the cities of Keelung, Hsinchu and Chiayi; and Changhua, Nantou, Pingtung, Hualien and Taitung counties, according to the ministry’s report.

The debts owed by the Miaoli and Yilan county governments are unsustainable, while those owed by Yunlin, Pingtung, Chiayi, Keelung and Nantou have reached an “alarming state,” according to the Ministry of Finance.

The proposed pay raise might be the last straw that breaks the finances of those governments, analysts said.

Local governments are expected to meet personnel expenses from their own resources, but the central government offers grants-in-aid to meet any shortfalls, a Directorate-General of Budget, Accounting and Statistics official said.

“The central government said it has offered grants, but I have no idea where those grants are,” Tainan Department of Finance Director Chang Shao-yuan (張紹源) said.

The central government apparently injected funds following a pay raise for public workers in 2011, but since 2012 there has been no substantial increase in tax revenues or grants distributed by the central government to local governments, Chang said.

Spending on social welfare and development has been squeezed by the 2011 pay raise, which has seen a large proportion of resources disappear from limited budgets, he said.

Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) Legislator Huang Wei-che (黃偉哲) said that local governments might have to shoulder a sum greater than the estimated NT$10.54 billion cost of the pay raises, since the number of civil servants employed in local governments has increased following the creation of four more special municipalities since 2010.

The proposed salary hike is “a Chinese Nationalist Party [KMT] bid to buy votes at the expense of local governments controlled by the DPP,” and would worsen the mountain of debt facing local governments, he said.

Saying that the nation would struggle to show 3 percent GDP growth this year, Huang called on the Executive Yuan to think twice before implementing the proposed pay raise, which it could pay dearly for in the elections.

Vietnamese again welcome to work in Taiwan: ministry

Vietnamese again welcome to work: ministry

Staff writer, with CNA

The lifting of a 10-year-long ban on certain categories of Vietnamese workers in Taiwan took effect yesterday, with the first batch of about 10,000 workers expected in about three months, the Ministry of Labor said.

The prohibition was imposed on Vietnamese fishermen in 2004 and on caregivers and domestic workers in 2005 mainly because of the high incidence of Vietnamese abandoning their jobs, the ministry said.

Vietnamese have still been allowed to pursue employment in Taiwan in other industries, such as manufacturing.

Hanoi imposed heavy fines on absconded workers after the bans were imposed and the percentage of missing employees had fallen from a high of 10.2 percent in 2004 to 5.8 percent last year, ministry data showed.

However, the figure remained higher last year than for workers from Indonesia (3.9 percent), the Philippines (0.56 percent) and Thailand (0.48 percent).

The government in April said that it would lift the ban this month after Indonesia earlier this year said it planned to stop sending domestic workers overseas by 2017, sparking concerns of a potential shortage of such workers.

The Vietnamese government has focused on improving training for those seeking employment in Taiwan and vowed to continue fining its nationals who abandon their jobs.

The ministry also introduced several measures to prevent foreign workers from absconding.

The measures include establishing a direct-hiring system, reducing brokerage fees and requiring that repatriation fees be paid by Vietnamese migrant workers if they are repatriated, the ministry said.

Since 2002, the absconding rate among Vietnamese workers has been the highest among all foreign workers.

To cope with the issue, more stringent controls will be required by Vietnam, ministry official Liu Chug-chun (劉佳鈞) said, adding that Hanoi has promised to impose fines of NT$150,000 and other measures on workers if they are found to have absconded from their jobs.

The Vietnamese government also must pay a repatriation deposit within a month after a Vietnamese migrant worker is reported missing.

In the past, fees for the detention and repatriation of Vietnamese workers were shouldered by Taiwan’s government.

Vietnam reduced the total expenses linked to exporting labor to Taiwan, including brokerage fees, from US$5,000 per worker in 2004 to US$4,000 per worker last year, Liu said.

A direct-hiring system is also to be also set up, which could scrap the US$4,000 fees levied on Vietnamese migrant workers and the NT$20,000 brokerage fees on employers.

Cutting such fees could indirectly boost the incomes of Vietnamese working in Taiwan and reduce their motivation for running away, Liu said.

The ministry did not rule out the possibility of resuming the freeze on Vietnamese workers if the absconding rate is not reduced after the implementation of the more stringent measures, Liu said.

Taiwan's Trashy ESL Sesame Street

Taiwan's Trashy ESL Sesame Street

     After teaching ESL in New York City for twenty-five years it was a pleasure to retire in Taiwan. I love teaching here part-time without any pressure from my boss. I was thrilled when a colleague e-mailed to say he would be coming to visit his sister in Taiwan and wanted to see me and chat about old times. I spent last Saturday in Taipei with Jeff, his half-sister, Amy, her husband, Yo-Min, and one-year-old child, Sharon.

Jeff & David Reunion in Taipei

      Jeff is one of the best English teachers I have ever met but he is killing himself. The students love him and he is a diligent teacher. Jeff is overweight, still smoking heavily, drinking coffee, and working like a dog at FDR. We worked together in Brooklyn for twenty years until I retired a few years ago; he still has ten years to retire. He is 45 years old but looks older than I do! 

     Amy is 37 and has lived in Taipei five years teaching in a bushiban in Taipei. She surfaced here in a educational career move from psychology. She began teaching ESL to support herself. A few years ago, She met her husband and it was not long before she conceived a child with him. 

     Amy works at a bushiban (cram school) called Open Sesame. She works for a renegade bushiban with a dipshit boss. Hers is the only income in her family. 
      We sat in Amy’s one room 12,000 NT a month studio as the typhoon poured outside, the edge affecting Taipei,  the eye pounding Shanghai. Jeff and Amy went outside to smoke cigarettes. Her husband,  donned his rain poncho to get Pizza Hut on his motorcycle. 

     Amy trusted in the kindness of strangers, amorous and business-minded. She was flabbergasted by the slimeball who paid her salary. She got paid if she fulfilled the terms of the contract that he himself had written in English, so broken, it needed a good imagination to put together.     Amy, an English teacher of children, hoped to never see them again once she left Taiwan; she only wanted a fair pay for a fair day's work.In Taiwan, the chances of that happening are almost as bad as finding toilet paper in a public bathroom stall here. With unenforced and loose labor laws, even for Taiwan citizens, foreign workers, be they Indonesian care-givers or English bushiban workers, don't stand a chance for respectful compensation.
     Given half a chance, with proper in-service training, an English speaking foreigner can become a qualified teacher, if that was what the bushiban wanted. Amy was lucky that when the owner called her into his office it was only to admit that she was right; the labor department called him to say it was in her right to take three days off for her father-in-law's funeral, but she better not do it again. Amy's job is safe for now.
     When Amy told me her cram school used Oxford University Press Open Sesame by Jane Brauer, I was surprised. It is an excellent ESL series that employs the "Natural Approach" to language acquisition developed by Steven Krashen. It brought me back to 1986 when I opened my first bushiban in Taipei. When I got home, I fished out an old photograph of myself standing in front of a book display. I e-mailed it to Amy to ask if that was the book her cram school used. Her boss said he was the first one to use the book twenty years ago. He even named his bushiban after the title. I showed her he was lying. 

 Open Sesame display in Taipei 1986

     When I first started using Open Sesame, Ladder Publishing Company hadn't yet contracted with Oxford University Press nor had they lost their license to distribute it, yet.  I bought the books at Caves Bookstore or from book stores overseas in America, Japan, or Hong Kong. The deal Ladder made gave them exclusive rights to publish and sell the books in Taiwan. They wanted to open a chain of franchised bushibans. They were not cram schools per se, at the time still not legal, but places where the textbooks would be used and sold.   
     The local newspapers had advertisements by Ladder offering franchise locations. My place, American School English Center, had also placed an ad for students. The owner of Ladder saw the ad and called me up; they were interested in seeing how I used the textbook and music cassettes in my classes. We set up a date for them to observe me.
     They were impressed. I was confident that if the author of Open Sesame were there, she would  approve of my pedagogy. The smiles of the children and the accolades of the parents convinced them to hire me as their curriculum developer and teacher-trainer. My school would be their model for other branches. They wanted me to become their first franchisee. I said "No, thank you."
     I didn't see the need to sell whole sets of books, tapes, and workbooks to parents; only what the student needed. I was happy with a school of my own. After I refused, they took off their kid gloves.

Workbooks by Tiitsman/Gothard 

     "You must cease and desist from using any images with Sesame Street Muppet character likenesses," read the legal document in my hand. We had one large vinyl poster of the Muppets outside our building that we had to take down. But when Open Sesame was pulled from the shelves at Caves Bookstore, I was incensed. I had to buy the books from overseas again. 
     I decided to write to Oxford University Press which had its Asian offices in Hong Kong and protest Ladder Publishing Company's exclusive distribution. I was going to Hong Kong to renew my visa and buy more books. To my surprise, the editor in charge wrote back and invited me to visit her.  
     The editor of Oxford and I chatted about the English as a Second Language series. She was interested in the field testing I had done with the book and was interested in the syllabus I had written with the teachers' edition. I praised the book and demonstrated some lessons.  I asked that I be allowed to buy the series and continue using it at my bushiban. She gave me a letter to present to the owner of Ladder Publishing Company:
     "We hereby give permission for David Temple to continue using Open Sesame in his classes. Furthermore, you must supply him with however may books he wishes to purchase from you." Ladder was furious but had to comply; we didn't have to become a franchisee.      In the late 90's while teaching at FDR High School in Brooklyn, my wife read a news article about how Oxford ended their contract with Ladder because they were illegally printing their own editions of Open Sesame. I am not sure what happened to the Open Sesame franchisees after that but I know they are still around. Amy teaches at one in Taipei and there is one near my home in Taichung; they're all over the island apparently, still with exclusive rights to the book but syllabuses that abuse the author's purpose at the whim of the franchisee. 
     Amy is lucky to have a good textbook to teach youngsters English as a Second Language but the cram school has no intention of teaching so long as they can sell the books and bully young foreign English teachers. English language instruction in Taiwan has made little progress since I started my career here more than thirty years ago. Teaching conditions for English teachers in Taiwan has not improved, either; wages are as low as they were back then and there is still little legitimate teacher training. 

     It is tough being a foreign teacher in Taiwan with little security or professionalism from bosses. Taiwan may be a place to begin a career in ESL instruction but it is not the place to learn much or get appreciation for what you do. 

Tainan and Anping Fight Back

Tainan and Anping Fight Back

Tainan Train Station

     The Taiwan Railroad brought us back from a three-day vacation in Tainan. It takes two hours to get from Taichung to Tainan, Taiwan's most picturesque city. The High Speed Rail would be faster but it leaves you at a station more than five kilometers from downtown.
     I sit in the Hotel Rich dining room on the first morning of our trip to Tainan. I didn't necessarily want to visit Tainan, even though I like the city, but it was as good as going anywhere and much better than going nowhere during summer vacation. My wife decided we would go there and made all the

                                                                        plans.

Kangyo (Land) Bank

 There was a typhoon predicted to be going towards Tainan with major rainfall possible the next few days. We were prepared to cancel our second night there if the weather deteriorated, but by the end of the first night on the comfortable hotel bed, I was inclined to stay. The only drawback to our room is there was no window to see when it was dawn or if it was raining yet.      The day we arrived, we walked from the 1936 Japanese built train station in the North District a few blocks and checked into the hotel at 114 Chenggong  Road. Our luggage stowed, we left to walk the streets of old town Tainan while the weather was still dry. 

Hayashi (Lin) Department Store

     Initially, downtown seemed like any other downtown area in Taiwan - a Family Mart, a jewelry store, a pharmacy, a scooter repair shop - but then we started to notice some differences along Zhongyi Road. 
     Among the many temples along Zhongyi Road is the shrine to Koxinga, the 17th century Chinese military leader who drove the Dutch out of Taiwan, the Dutch and the seven foreign European "companies,"  the enslavement and massacring of indigenous and Chinese.

A Dutchman surrendering to Koxinga

     As I left the shrine, I felt a thump on my chest. I experienced an itching sensation. When I scratched it, I got a burning sensation as if from Szchuan chili pepper under my nails; my wife said my chest  looked reddened. 
     As the feeling dissipated, we joked that Koxinga's spirit may have thought I was another red-haired foreign invader and dealt  me a warning. This is the undercurrent of our Tainan-Anping visit is the violence and exploitation introduced to Taiwan by Caucasian enemies. The story of Koxinga must be told. It doesn't make you proud.

Declassified  U.S. bombing missions 

Map of declassified U.S. bombing missions

    When we reached Jhongjheng Road, we saw the Land Bank, originally Kangyo Bank built in 1928, its Neoclassical architecture, the rows of grand columns shielding the enclosed sidewalks from the Taiwan sun and rain. Catty-corner to it is the refurbished Old Lin's Department Store, another Japanese structure damaged by American bombing raids in WW II, though "American" was deleted from the English translation to not offend anyone who couldn't read Mandarin. The five story structure, with original elevator and rooftop shrine, are a must to visit for a feel of 1930's pre-war Japanese Taiwan progress, the kind the Chinese invading troops admired, but destroyed, in awe. 

     The American bombing of Tainan is written all over the Hayashi (Lin) Dept. Store with each inch of cement that was replaced. A number of buildings have been preserved in Tainan. Taiwanese commemorate the bombing of Taipei by American planes; the thousands killed and injured, the hundreds of historic buildings flattened; it happened in Tainan, too. 

Five of the seven European "trading posts" still stand

      It is not the Taiwanese fault that Japan did more for Taiwan in fifty years of rule than the KMT/DPP with America did for seventy years since. If the threat of Western imperialism and colonization didn't force Japan into a "Hail Mary" in World War II, Taiwan would be a happier annexation to Japan, an Asian democracy with socialist undertones. Instead, the Taiwanese live deep in the bowels of the beast and, like us in this hotel room without windows, have no idea how the skies look in the real world. 

As it was, the Dutch post in Anping

     People here know the deep oppression that would slaughter them again if they flinched towards true independence, from America or China. It is the biggest insult in Taiwanese history. They don't want another "White Horror."

Sailing the German flag into Anping.

     The Dutch, along with Angelo-Saxons and other European marauders, ruined indigenous world history for five hundred years. It will be coming to an end, soon. When capitalism crashes and self-management (anarcho-syndicalism) returns profit to the workers who earn it, we, the people, can get back on track. The ruling class partners in stolen lands won't give up their power easily; the killing will continue, but we must try. 
     You can see what the Dutch West Indian Company did in Tainan by visiting Anping; the history preserved so well. Koxinga caught the Dutch off guard, but was just another Taiwan oppressor. 

The Taiwanese girlfriend waiting for her red-haired lover to return 

     The preservation of the history of imperialism and colonization in Taiwan is imperative to give inquisitive youth an understanding of the current phony two-party neo-liberalism, despite the attempts of revisionist history the KMT Chinese want to revert to.
      Would China protect Taiwan from further abuse or has Western propaganda done damage so deeply to Taiwanese culture that the people would go against their cultural identity and language cohorts to fraternalize with the enemy? 

Fighting for Lost Justice in Taiwan (in Chinese)

Executive Yuan to relax foreign care worker regulations

Staff writer, with CNA

The Executive Yuan on Thursday announced that regulations would be relaxed to allow foreign care workers to take care of people with “mild” disabilities aged 85 or older.

According to existing regulations, foreign care workers can only be hired to assist people who have “grave” physical or mental disability.

Foreigners can also be hired to care for people aged 80 or older who have been assessed to require heavily dependent care, as well as elderly people under the age of 80 who have been determined by a medical institution as requiring all-day care.

The rules are expected to be relaxed as early as next month.

It is estimated that 35,000 elderly people with mild disabilities nationwide, or about 60 percent of people aged 85 or over, will be able to acquire foreign care workers, Ministry of Labor official Liu Chug-chun (劉佳鈞) said.

The relaxation of the rules is aimed at providing better care for people with mild disabilities and to prevent their conditions from worsening, the Executive Yuan said.

After the new rules are implemented, care workers can apply for a position after a medical examination determines that the elderly candidate has mild disabilities, the agency said.

There are about 220,000 foreign care workers in Taiwan, mostly from Indonesia.

"It Won't Work" Ch. 3 Excerpt: Bread & Puppet Theater

"You dudes okay back there?"

      "Yes, we're okay, but my buddy has to take a leak."

      "We'll be making a rest stop in about fifteen minutes."

      "Great. Where are we, anyway?"

      "Maryland, near the Delaware border." Three different people were answering from the front of the bus; not the driver, Peter. He paid attention to the road religiously. Behind him in the converted school bus, with only a little of the original yellow left between the multi-color Peter Max style motif, red, blue, green; behind him were three double seats left, on each side of the aisle. Between those seats and Emerson and Tony's nook at the rear emergency door, were a dozen or so ten-foot diameter heads, caricatures of villains like Agnew, Nixon, Kissinger, and assorted fairies and well-groomed men, all paper macho, all reaching the ceiling of the bus and busting at the windows. Emerson rested his jacket on Nixon's nose; very convenient. Tony reclined between a pinwheel and a calliope.

      The Bread and Puppet Theater were news to Emerson and Tony. If not for Walter's introduction, they would never have known about them. They were prepared to catch a Greyhound to Washington. This trip saved them money. They weren't even able to contribute to the gas pool and were never asked. They were, however, asked if they would carry some equipment and costumes out, which they gladly agreed to do.

      The Bread & Puppet Theater shared the space over the Purple Onion in the East Village. Walter worked with them before they moved to Plainfield, Vermont in June 1970. There they were the ‘theater-in-residence’ at Goddard College. Later, they would move on to Glover, Vermont, and convert an old barn there into a museum to house their puppets and homemade instruments, sculptures, and things. They even gave workshops in mime and storytelling there. 

      Now, they were headed to D.C. to give another of their performances against American involvement in Vietnam. Their goal was to entertain while teaching about the social injustices of war, hunger and oppression. Emerson had never seen them perform. The driver, Peter Schumann, the man who formed them in West Germany in 1962, was a nice to them, offering to share food and drink and making room for them in the back of their bus. 

      Guerrilla theater they called it. Until someone informed him, Emerson thought it was the primate they were referring to since they seemed to be monkeying around with tsetse masks and stuff. These radical activists like the San Francisco Mime Troupe that Bill Graham belonged to before he started the Fillmore rock 'n' roll shows, were very popular at demonstrations. Abbie Hoffman used guerrilla theater when he and the other Yippies took over Wall Street in August 1967. It created quite a media-frenzy and pushed the anti-war movement onto the front pages of the Daily News and Post. It certainly annoyed the business people who were ridiculed and satirized by them. 

     Guerrilla theater was going to be used by the Bread and Puppet Theater in Washington that Saturday and Sunday at the Moratorium.

   The bus arrived at the Tidal Basin in Washington Friday evening, seven hours after it had left Union Square in Manhattan. Everyone was told to meet back there at 5 pm on Sunday if they wanted a ride back to New York.
     Emerson and Tony made it to the church that had opened its doors to demonstrators. Sure, they had to sleep on the floor in the basement but it was off the street. Perhaps a hundred people took cots and stowed their things for the night. What a night. Nothing going on outside but in Emerson's mind, the sirens were blaring. A headache like he had never felt before pounded his head. He was sure that it had something to do with the church. Perhaps because he was Jewish the spirits in the church were rebelling against him. All night long he stayed up.
     "Are you okay?" she said standing over him draped by a thin blanket the staff had handed out."
     "I have a terrible headache," moaned Emerson as he glanced over to his travel partner fast asleep beside him.
     "That's easy; come across the street with me to the rectory. I believe they have some meds." She helped Emerson to stand up and get his bearings and left the church. As soon as he passed through the door onto the street, his headache went away. 
     "I can't believe it; my headache is gone."
     "You can't be serious."
     "Yes, it's gone. Maybe all I needed was some fresh air." They went to the rectory anyway, sat in the kitchen and had tea together, something called herbal tea." Judith was her name. The night in the church was long and their conversation lasted until dawn, a dawn they spent rolling on the grass behind the Lincoln Memorial emancipated from the burdens of sleeping in the church, despite the chilly air, wrapped together with Judith in the thin blanket until the park service officer happened upon them. They had to leave, and so they strolled back towards the church where both of them had stashed their belongings. They said goodbye. When they returned the demonstration was already starting.

      They were to meet the Bread & Puppet Theater at the base of the Washington Monument at 8 am. Somehow, it was easy to find directions; everyone sleeping in the church were heading to the Monument or the Reflecting Pool. Emerson and Tony found Peter and the troupe by spying the large Nixon and Agnew heads being propped up. They pitched in, as they had promised, and helped get all the sets ready. There was even some talk about Emerson being a Viet Cong soldier but then they found a replacement.

The show began, if you can call it a show. Emerson had never seen anything like it before.

      Later, Ramparts magazine detailed the performance for posterity: 

"A squad of soldiers moved through the part adjoining the U.S. Capitol. They were grubby looking troopers, clad in jungle fatigues and "boonie hats" with wide brims turned up. Jumping a low fence, they began shouting at a group of tourists. 'All right. Hold it. Hold it. Nobody move. Nobody move.' Their voices were full of tension and anger. A man broke out of the crowd and started running. Several soldiers fired at once, and the man fell, clutching his stomach. Blood could be seen on the clean sidewalk. The tourists turned away in horror. 'Get a body count,' a soldier yelled.                

"Another squad of soldiers emerged from under the Capitol steps.’All right. ID. ID,' they screeched. 'You got no ID and you VC.' They quickly grabbed a young woman and led her away, binding her wrists behind her back and prodding her with their rifles.... They grabbed [a] young man and threw him on the ground, tying his hands behind his back. Several of the soldiers kicked him, seeming to aim for his groin.

"Then someone took out a long, thick hunting knife and lifted up the man's shirt, holding the knife to his bare stomach, and pushed against it slightly. 'You VC? You VC?' The man said nothing. He was pushed to his feet and shoved down again. Then he was told to get up. This time the knife was pushed to the side of his neck, and the same question was repeated. Still no answer. The man was dragged away.... Then the soldiers left, and a smaller, less angry group of men dressed in khaki fatigues passed out leaflets to the astonished tourists.

"A US Infantry platoon just passed through here!" the pink colored piece of paper read in big bold letters. "If you had been Vietnamese... We might have burned your house. We might have shot your dog. We might have shot you... HELP US END THE WAR BEFORE THEY TURN YOUR SON INTO A BUTCHER OR A CORPSE."

       How much was Emerson's trip revolution and how much was it recreation? They were both at the same time. Getting a ride with the theater was great but they had their own ideas about what they would be doing in D.C. that weekend in November.

      “Georgetown is just across the K Street Bridge over Rock Creek Valley, left up Virginia Avenue Northwest, then right on Wisconsin Avenue Northwest ,” said the sweet young thing that happened to be seated on the grassy hill sloping down from the Washington Monument. Police had put high chain-link fencing around the rotunda at the obelisk’s base, but the lawn belonged to the people, most of them, like Emerson, close to the age one had to register for the draft lottery. Julia didn’t have to worry about being drafted females weren’t targeted then. Julia, being all but fifteen, had only flower power in her bright blue eyes, no shades of politics or war. She chanced to live in a suburb of Washington D.C. which was neither a residence to poor underclass of African- Americans nor the home to denizen scions of diplomats. Her father, from a working class family, was a mechanic at Temple Motors in nearby Alexandria, Virginia. She was visiting the apartment her older brother shared with his classmate who was an undergraduate at Georgetown University. It was a beautiful Saturday, November 15, 1969.

      “Clear the area now or you will be in violation of Chapter 1, Section 7.96 ‘Parks Service Regulations – National Capitol Region.”

      “What did he say?”

      “He said the Parks Department wants us out of here.”

      “Why? We’re not doing anything bad.”

      “They’re flying kites?”

      “What did you say?”

      “They’re saying we can’t fly kites here.”

      “That’s ridiculous. Who said so?” A young bearded man in an Indian peasant shirt and beads handed Emerson an official flyer with the Parks Department logo on top.

      “It is covered in Section 1.5, ‘Closures and public use limits’,” said the young man sitting near them. “Look at Item #13. Under the title ‘National Mall Superintendent’s Compendium’ addendum to 36 CRF with an additional set of discretionary restrictions specific to the National Malls under Section 1.5 Subsection (c), it says, ‘Public Use Limits’ and the all important Item #13 which, indeed, prohibited flying kites [using glass-coated or other abrasive non- biodegradable kite string…”

      “Enough already!”

      “But it’s so nice here. Why would they want us to leave?” Julia got up from her spot on the grass and scanned the scene, her hand over her eyes for shade. She saw thousands of young people like herself down the slope and surrounding the Reflecting Pool leading up to the Capitol Building. The disturbing sound of helicopters droned overhead. An occasional caravan of police vehicles, sirens screaming, red lights flashing, sped down Madison and Jefferson Drive. A troupe of D.C. police waited down the side of the Monument, helmets on, visors down, batons in hand. The warning came again out of the mouth of a bullhorn from among their ranks.

      I don’t want to leave,” Julia protested. “It’s so nice here.” She passed half of a tangerine someone had given her to Emerson. To her, it was a picnic for thousands who didn’t mind getting grass stains on their jeans. Julia preferred to sit on one of the large Moratorium broadsides someone had handed out. It was larger than the Revolutionary Worker newspaper which is the only reason why she kept one instead of the other.

      “You have fifteen minutes to clear the area or you will be arrested.”

      “You said Georgetown wasn’t far, didn’t you?” Emerson queried. “Could we walk there from here?”

      “Or take a train or bus.”

      “I don’t think any Metro trains or buses are running near here now.”

      “No, I guess not. Yeah, we could walk there. Why?”

      “How long?”

      “I don’t know about an hour, half hour…I never tried walking,” said Julia squinting her eyes in the sun.

      “You look so adorable when you do that.”

      “What. What was I doing?” said Julia as she squatted back down to see Emerson face to face.

      “Oh, nothing. You were squinting your eyes in the sun and your nose looked so cute all scrunched up.” Julia put her hand in front of her mouth, chuckled, and smiled into Emerson’s eyes.

      “You’re a nice person, Emerson. Would you like to meet my brother? He knows more about what’s going on. The two of you could be good.”

      “Where is he?”

      “Oh, he’s down there near that red banner.” Julia pointed to the left side of the lawn where a group of students from a Georgetown University organization for peace had set itself up.

      “Come on. Let’s go down and get a drink. They have some cold lemonade there,” said Julia as she jumped up from her squat and put two hands out for Emerson to be pulled up by. They laughed as he took hold of them and both nearly tumbled back to the ground by his weight.

      Her brother was packing something when she startled him with a hello.

      “Julia, you’d better leave now. It looks like it is going to get ugly around here,” said Matthew, her be speckled brother, his long blond hair tied at his shoulders.

      “Go back to my place and wait for us there. Sunny?” he called out and gestured to a cooler near his classmate, a young woman with a sunflower painted onto her cheek. “Could you go with Julia back to the apartment and bring this with you?”

      “Here, let me take that,” said Emerson reaching down for a handle on the heavy cooler.

      “Matthew, this is Emerson. He’s from Lawrence, Massachusetts.”

      “Lawrence, eh. Site of the Strike for Three Loaves. Right?”

      “That’s right. For thirty-two cents that the bosses cut from their salary.”

      “It’s nice to meet you, Emerson. What group are you with?”

      “I came down here in a bus with the Bread & Puppet Theater but we got separated. I also lost my classmate, Tony. I hope to meet up with him and them at the spot they said they’d be leaving from late Sunday afternoon.”

      “If we stay here we’ll get arrested, you know,” said Matthew as he scurried to collect some brochures and pins the group had placed on a bridge table. They were packing up and getting ready for the siege.

      “I’ll come back and meet you, if you don’t mind, after we drop off Julia and the cooler,” said Emerson as he and Sunny lifted the cooler.”

      “If we’re not here when you get back, we may be in RFK Stadium. That’s where the pigs are putting demonstrators, I heard,” said Matthew.

      With that, Emerson and Sunny headed west off the Monument lawn with Julia holding a bag and a backpack. They headed toward Georgetown. They had just gotten down to K Street when they heard a roar from up the Washington Monument hill. The police were slowly walking in line up the hill and surrounding the demonstrators, Matthew among them.

      “They’re taking Matthew,” yelled Julia and turned to go back.

      “There’s nothing we can do,” said Emerson putting the cooler down with Sunny and turning to see the police line moving up the hill, faster now, the people inside scampering and defending themselves.”

      “Your brother will be okay. He’ll know what to do. Let’s go before we get trapped, too.”

      The three of them followed with the crowd heading away from the ruckus. Still others circled around to join the main demonstration near the Reflecting Pool. Emerson, Julia, and Sunny headed past the Watergate Complex and across the bridge to Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown.