Sunday, 30 August 2009

Leaders from the 1960s: A Biographical Sourcebook of American Activism

By David DeLeon

The radicals and liberals of the 1960s expressed ideas that continue to both attract and repel people decades later. Nostalgia books relive the Woodstock festival and the protests; past Presidents Bush and Reagan remember the era with unease; and scholars skirmish over the meaning of the period. DeLeon is the first to provide information on activists of the period and their continued activities into the 1990s. With major sections on Racial Democracy, Peace and Freedom, Sexuality and Gender, the Environment, Radical Culture, and Visions of Alternative Societies, the book includes entries on a wide selection of nationally prominent personalities of the 1960s. In addition to those who dominated those years, the volume includes earlier activists who came into prominence in the 1960s and those who have come into the limelight since the 1960s. Each entry provides a biographical sketch, but the focus is on the person's basic concepts or the essence of his or her work or persona and the reponse to these. The volume also includes extensive bibliographies on the individuals and the period.


When Phil was a teenager, the Ochs family moved to Columbus, Ohio. Phil spent his last two years of high school at Staunton (Military) Academy in Virginia, where he played in the band and quickly became, in the words of his buddies, "Mr. Universe." In 1958 he enrolled at Ohio State University, wearing a red jacket similar to that worn by James Dean in Rebel without a Cause. That spring he dropped out of the university, telling his mother he was wasting her money and his time. He headed to Florida in search of singing jobs, worked washing dishes and selling shoes, spent fifteen days in jail (vagrancy), and took the Greyhound bus home. The following fall he returned to Ohio State intent on a journalism major. There he met Jim Glover, who was also interested in music. Glover introduced Ochs to the work of the Weavers, Pete Seeger, and the Legendary Woody Guthrie. Glover's father was a Marxist, and the friendship reinforced the music of Guthrie, the Weavers, and Seeger to turn Ochs's thoughts to the plight of exploited workers and the evils of capitalism. Glover and Ochs became a folk duet, the Sundowners, singing traditional folk songs and topical songs Ochs composed himself. Although Phil was writing extensively for the Ohio State newspaper, The Lantern (columns and musical reviews), he grew quickly dissatisfied with its studied neutrality on hard political and social issues, and founded his own paper, The Word. He also published letters to the editor in commercial newspapers, including the Cleveland Plain Dealer. When The Lantern decided he was too controversial to make a good editor, he left Ohio State, one semester short of graduation, for New York City.

In New York he gravitated naturally to Greenwich Village, to Gerde's Folk City with its Monday talent night. In March 1963 Ochs opened at Gerde's for John Hammond, who also introduced him to Broadside magazine, for which he began to write as he had written for The Word: prolifically and with spirit. "There was no question that Phil was major, from the very outset," Dave Van Ronk recalled. The Bleecker Street apartment of Phil and Alice Ochs became a meeting place visited regularly by virtually every significant Village musician and most visitors to the Village. When folk music achieved national popularity in 1963, Ochs expected - and was expected by others in the Village - to ride its popularity to national fame. But when the popular ABC television program "Hootenanny" passed over Peter Seeger and the Weavers because they "wanted better folk singers," first Joan Baez refused to appear on the program, and then Phil Ochs and Tom Paxton (against the advice of Seeger, who understood better than they the politics of the possible) organized a formal boycott of the program. "Hootenanny" was ultimately cancelled by ABC, thereby aborting the folk flowering on national television and cutting Ochs, and others, off network TV.

Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Joe Hill

By Gibbs M. Smith

The definitive study of Joe Hill, American labor martyr, proletarian folk hero, and song writer.

"Joe Hill became symbolic of the kind of individual sacrifice that would make a revolutionary new society possible. Thus labor radicals, communists, and novelists and playwrights such as John Dos Passos, Wallace Stegner, and Barrie Stavis used the circumstances of Hill's convictions and manner of his death to create a legend that transformed 'just another forgotten migrant worker' into 'The Man Who Never Died,' as the song which Paul Robeson enthralled audiences in the 1930s and 1940s had it ... Gibbs Smith has served us well by recapturing the memory of a man whose songs, to quote another wobbly, evoked the spirit of radicals who were the 'very epitome of guts and gallantry,' a handful of homeless heroes touched by true romance. Men and women whose spirits were stirred far above their belly-need; men and women inspired by visions of heaven on earth. Now, as then, society needs such men and women."
-Melvyn Dubofsky, The New York Times Book Review


"Joe Hill," a poem by Woody Guthrie, was published in 1961, and a ballad about Hill (twenty-two verses and music) by Phil Ochs appeared in Broadside in November 1966.

Thursday, 20 August 2009

The Historical Dictionary of the 1960s

Edited by James S. Olson

Few eras in U.S. history have begun with more optimistic promise and ended in more pessimistic despair than the 1960s. When J.F.K. became president in 1960, the U.S. was the hope of the world. Ten years later American power abroad seemed wasted in the jungles of Indochina, and critics at home wondered whether the U.S. was really the "land of the free and the home of the brave." This book takes an encyclopedic look at the decade--at the individuals who shaped the era, the civil rights movement, the antiwar movement, and the youth rebellion. It covers the political, military, social, cultural, religious, economic, and diplomatic topics that made the 1960s a unique decade in U.S. history.


OCHS, PHIL. Phil Ochs was born in El Paso, Texas, December 19, 1940. He was raised in Queens, New York, and attended military school in Virginia. He went to Ohio State University to study journalism, but in Columbus, Ochs became interested in folk music. He moved to New York in 1961. There, in Greenwich Village, he became involved in the folk protest movement with Bob Dylan. A critic of the Vietnam War, Ochs had hits in 1965 with "I Ain't a'Marchin' " and "Draft Dodger Rag." Because of his antiwar posture, Ochs was banned from radio and television in the United States. After the release of his Pleasures of the Harbor album in 1967, Ochs moved to California, where he became interested in rock and roll. His 1968 album Tape from California contained antiwar folk tunes like "War Is Over." By that time Ochs had become a genuine folk hero to the antiwar counterculture, even though he was suffering badly from depression. He committed suicide in 1976.
REFERENCE: Michael Schumacher, There But for Fortune: The Life of Phil Ochs, 1996.

Saturday, 15 August 2009

Greenpeace: How a Group of Ecologists, Journalists and Visionaries Changed the World

By Rex Weyler

In the summer of 1968, Cummings and McLeod were arrested and charged with criminal libel for awarding a Pontius Pilate Certificate to Judge Lawrence Eckhardt, who had convicted poet and "provisional mayor" Stan Persky on charges of loitering in a public park. The arrest made Cummings a local hero. Allen Ginsberg and folksinger Phil Ochs visited Vancouver to stage a benefit for Persky, McLeod, Cummings, and The Georgia Straight, which faced obscenity and libel charges. Radio host Jack Webster grilled Ginsberg about his support for the radicals. Ginsberg insisted the issues were "free speech, freedom to assemble, and freedom of the press." Webster cut him off. "I don't want to get bogged down in technicalities," he said. Ginsberg laughed. "Into the technicalities of sitting in the park and publishing a newspaper? It's not very technical, Jack."


Folksinger and stalwart anti-war activist Phil Ochs had agreed to perform at the Amchitka benefit concert as well. The local concert producer added popular British Columbia band Chilliwack to the show and booked the Vancouver Coliseum, a hockey arena. The impending concert sent a buzz through the Shire, The George Straight published a concert poster in a foldout, and thousands went up on lampposts and refrigerators. Hunter and Metcalfe announced the event in the mainstream media, billed as "Joni Mitchell, Chilliwack, Phil Ochs, 'GreenPeace' benefit concert. Presented by the Don't Make A Wave Committee." There was no public advance notice of the mystery guest, James Taylor. At school, Barbara Stowe found herself the centre of attention because she could verify rumours and feed the buzz. A boy she fancied, who had ignored her all year, now hit on her for the latest news. Greenpeace was cool.

The concert was a sellout, the biggest counterculture event of the year. Phil Ochs, the senior pacifist artist at 31, opened the show and spoke most directly to the raison d'etre of the evening with his "I Ain't Marchin' Anymore."

Wednesday, 12 August 2009

Abbie Hoffman's Interview with the FBI in 1968 - Part 2

ABBOTT HOFFMAN, when interviewed by Special Agents (SAS) [...] and [...] on September 6, 1968, advised that he was raised in Worcester, Massachusetts, that he attended Worcester Classical High School, a public school, which "kicked" him out between his junior and senior year. HOFFMAN stated that he wrote a paper against God: that his teacher tore it up: that he "belted" the teacher and was expelled.

For a year thereafter HOFFMAN hung out in the pool halls of Worcester and was then enrolled in Worcester Academy, a private school where he completed his senior year. HOFFMAN then attended Brandeis University, Waltham, Massachusetts. He took graduate work at University of California, Berkeley, California and he took courses in some school in France while at Brandeis.

HOFFMAN stated that he is registered with a Local Board in Massachusetts: that he is 4-F: that "all nuts" like himself are 4-F. HOFFMAN stated he had no military service.

HOFFMAN stated that he worked for about six years after college: that his last job was with State of Massachusetts as a psychologist: that he has held numerous jobs including that of a wholesalesman in Massachusetts. HOFFMAN stated that he has always been able to make money as a pool hustler. HOFFMAN claimed to be a superior pool player. HOFFMAN stated that when he first came to New York City he opened a store to sell the products of the Mississippi poor people: that he sold this store a year ago for one dollar. HOFFMAN said that his wife is also unemployed: that she makes beads at home and sells them wholesale to various bead stores in New York City.

HOFFMAN stated that he wrote a 180 page book, long hand, in three days after returning from Chicago: that he sold this manuscript to a publisher and that he got no money for the manuscript because he plans to donate all profits to "the people." He declined to identify the publisher and claimed that the book would be out in October, 1968, under the "Revolution for the Hell of It."

HOFFMAN stated that his parents are successful middle class Americans: that his father could be classed as a "Goldwaterite." HOFFMAN stated that his father, who has worked all his life and who does not approve of his own views or his acts, is in the wholesale drug business in Worcester, Massachusetts. Further, that when his father saw him on television during the Democratic Convention disorders from Chicago, Illinois, he suffered a heart attack and is still in the hospital.

HOFFMAN stated that he has no money, no bank account, and that he manages "somehow" to get by and to pay his $90.00 per month rent for his apartment. HOFFMAN stated that he does not own an automobile. HOFFMAN stated that his phone number, listed in the Manhattan book, is being changed soon to a private number: that too many "kooks" call him.

HOFFMAN, when interviewed, wore tight blue jeans and a dirty sports shirt held in by a large black leather belt. HOFFMAN's hair was fully grown, like a female, dark brown, curly unkempt. HOFFMAN, who appears to be alert, speaks in the jargon of the "beatnik," using expressions like "man," "my thing," "the establishment," and "I want to turn you on." He is evasive and appears to enjoy being the center of attention. HOFFMAN was cautious but not hostile during the interview. He made no complaint about being interviewed but made it clear that he felt that he was on the opposite side of "things" to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Tuesday, 11 August 2009

Calling on Bob Dylan Fans: Can You Identify the Photographers?

For these two photos featuring Bob Dylan and Phil Ochs, I have been unable to identify the photographers. If you happen to know who took these photos, please post in the comments section below.

Photo #1 - Newport Folk Festival - late July 1964

Photo #2 - Felt Forum (An Evening with Salvador Allende), NYC - May 9, 1974

Monday, 10 August 2009

Eight Miles High: Folk-Rock's Flight from Haight-Ashbury to Woodstock

By Richie Unterberger

If [Fred] Neil's problem was an inability to handle fame, Phil Ochs had almost the opposite predicament: Fame wasn't coming quickly enough. In particular, he couldn't match the fame of Bob Dylan, the competitor whose discarded topical song torch he was bearing, and who ruthlessly put Ochs down as a singing journalist. Although he remained an active performer in 1966 and 1967, Ochs sat out the folk-rock tempest for about a year-and-a-half as his Elektra contract expired and he shopped for another deal, moving to Los Angeles from New York. Aside from his fine, virtually unheard UK-only single with an electric version of his protest classic "I Ain't Marching Anymore," he hadn't released a single electric folk-rock recording on Elektra. (Intriguingly, however, Lee Mallory had a minor hit in 1966 with an elaborately produced harmony sunshine pop-rock version of a song written by Ochs and folkie Bob Gibson, "That's the Way It's Gonna Be.") "Phil Ochs was beset by a devil that was very difficult for me to deal with, and that was his Dylan fixation," says Holzman. "We did great records with Phil. But he didn't feel we were doing enough for him. When a person doesn't feel that we're doing enough, the right thing to do is give them their release, and let 'em go elsewhere."

Eventually he hooked up with A&M, for whom he finally went decisively not just electric, but orchestral, with grandiose flamboyance. Pleasures of the Harbor (1967) and Tape from California (1968) were among folk-rock's most wide-ranging ventures, with erratic if generally worthy results. From Pleasures, "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends," Ochs's most celebrated song, was inspired by the murder of Kitty Genovese in New York, which eyewitnesses did nothing to stop. It proved the art of the topical song was far from dead, its jaunty mock-Dixieland-tack piano arrangement contrasting magnificently with Och's deadpan account of apathetic bystanders refusing to intervene in crimes to justice and morality. It probably would have been a hit single if not for a reference to marijuana, and although two subsequent edited versions were released, it became another victim of unofficial blacklist by AM radio.

Producer Larry Marks put Och's songs in settings that were sometimes ideal counterpoints for the lyrics, as on "Outside of a Small Circle of Friends" and "The Party," a cinematic eight-minute skewering of a socialite gathering with cocktail jazz backup. At other times, however, the rococo baroque-classical arrangements smothered the lyrics; the L.A. session-rock playing fell flat; or caution-to-the-wind experimentalism actually worked against the songs, as on "The Crucifixion," which fought against dissonant electronic treatments by arranger Joseph Byrd. Live, however, like several folk-rock singer-songwriters who'd already gone electric on record, Ochs usually continued to play solo acoustic. For those who felt songs such as "Crucifixion" were ill-served by their overambitious studio arrangements, the archival CD There & Now: Live in Vancouver, 1968 is a recommended alternative, featuring solo acoustic versions of "Crucifixion" and other songs from his late-'60s albums.

Ochs was now dividing his time between topical songs and ever-more abstract poetry, leading Tape from California to change lanes as often as the L.A. traffic. "The War Is Over" was one of the great antiwar songs, with its martial fife-and-drums slamming home Ochs's reports of one-legged veterans whistling as they mowed their lawns; the 13-minute "When in Rome" was interminable, impenetrable, and dripping with syrupy strings. His greatest wish was for these albums to lift him into pop stardom. Yet although they were admired and sold more than most mid-'60s folk LPs had, they didn't come close to being hits. Ochs wanted fame and wide sociocultural influence, but seemed inherently unable to make the artistic compromises that might have gotten him more of it. The contradiction in shooting for high sales with highly literate, controversial anti-establishment manifestos that would have sailed over the heads of much of the great unwashed and been greeted with hostility by major radio outlets does not seem to have been one that he fully comprehended.

"When I took over managing him in '67, he wanted to make his Sgt. Pepper album," says his brother, Michael Ochs. "Having grown up in the movie theaters, he wanted to make Pleasures of the Harbor the John Wayne movie Long Voyage Home. He wanted to do it full orchestral. When he wrote songs like 'Pleasures of the Harbor' and 'Crucifixion,' he wanted to do more with the songs. He wasn't, like, thinking about going into folk-rock. He wanted to be the Beatles. He wanted to be mixing every form of music, from classical to Hollywood-type to rock to you-name-it."

Ochs also had made the leap, as Dylan had before him, of moving beyond protest songs to personal ones, although Phil differed in that he blended sociopolitical songs with introspective poetic ones rather than abandoning topical songwriting altogether. That widening of his repertoire actually dated back to the most popular song on his final Elektra album, the lovely romantic tune "Changes," which in Michael's view "surprised him [Phil]. It was like, 'Oh, this is totally different than anything else I've ever written.' Phil did not think this out. If he would still buy the news, and still get most of his material from that, he would have been just as happy.

"But what happened was, the muse changed within him. He started writing more personal stuff, and that's something he'd never done before. When he wrote 'Changes,' he went, 'Boy, this is great stuff.' Then he opened himself up for more of that type of stuff. But I think it was also the hardest thing for him to do, 'cause emotionally, he played everything very close to the vest. It was very hard for him to get in touch with his emotions." By the end of the 1960s that difficulty and other psychological problems would begin to short-circuit his career as he came up against writer's block, though in 1968 he still seemed as prolific as ever.

Wednesday, 5 August 2009

Dylan: A Biography

By Bob Spitz

Bob was on the road when the news broke that the government of Chile had been overthrown by its military. Though the story probably eluded him, it had a devastating effect on other members of the New York folk community.

Pete Seeger, for one, had informal ties to members of the now-deposed Allende government and performed several Chilean folk songs in his repertoire. For Phil Ochs, the revolution meant a more personal and tragic loss. Ochs had maintained a close, albeit long-distance, friendship with folksinger Victor Jara, who was often described as "the Bob Dylan of Chile." As a result of the coup, Jara had been classified an enemy of the state, then dragged into Santiago's National Stadium where he was tortured and finally executed by members of General Pinochet's ruling junta.

Ochs was severely shaken by the news of Jara's death. Immediately, he set out to organize a concert to benefit the Chilean refugees and, in no small part, to embarrass CIA officials, whom he blamed for the coup. "I'm gonna pull this thing off if it's the last thing I do," he told a friend one night over drinks at Max's Kansas City. "I've already lined up the Felt Forum. And we're gonna have John Denver and Joan Baez and Bob Dylan and Frank Sinatra and Shirley MacLaine." Ochs then proceeded to get completely wasted and passed out, a condition that augured the concert plans themselves.

Ochs was in no shape to promote a folk concert, much less sing at one. His career had been in a kamikaze nosedive, brought on by fits of self-destructive fantasy. He struggled with alcoholism, manic depression, paranoia bordering on madness, and, worse perhaps, he had lost his voice as a result of having been mugged in Africa. Unable to sing, Ochs masqueraded as a political radical until the Chilean benefit materialized, and his Janus-like personality found a new focus.

The trouble was, nobody gave a damn about Phil Ochs or his concert. As an activist, he was a Model A in an era of hatchback sedans. He was an old hippie, struggling to keep the movement alive at a time when it was already considered long dead and buried. Politics was anathema to a generation of budding art-rockers who were content to entrust it to the politicians. To them, Sixties phenomena like drugs, Woodstock, peace, were relics of primitive man. The last thing they wanted to hear about was a Marxist politician from South America and the problems of Spanish-speaking refugees. And so, two weeks before the gig, only four hundred of the six thousand seats at the Felt Forum had been sold. The way it was shaping up, Phil Ochs had a major disaster on his hands. Not only wasn't he going to raise any money for the Chilean refugees, but his friends who'd put up a fifteen-thousand-dollar guaranty for the show were going to take a whopping bath.

His biggest problem was the entertainment. So far, only Pete Seeger, Dave Van Ronk, Melanie, and Arlo Guthrie had committed themselves to perform, and in 1975 they were comparable to the floor show at a Jewish hotel in the Catskills. John Denver was unavailable, Frank Sinatra was uninterested, and Joan Baez - to hear Phil tell it - was just plain uncharitable. Joan declined on the grounds that she had other things to do that night, which really infuriated Phil, considering she'd had her only hit single with his song "There But For Fortune."

"She's a no-class bitch!" he told Faris Bouhafa, the assistant manager at Max's, who was helping him with booking the talent. That night, at the club, the two men commiserated over an endless succession of drinks. The concert was in trouble, they both knew it, and it seemed they'd either have to come up with a last-minute miracle or pull the plug. Ochs, blinded by booze, began paging through a tattered copy of the Village Voice that someone had left on the table. In the music section, he squinted at an ad for Buffy Sainte-Marie, who was playing across town at a new club called the Bottom Line. "Hey, man, what have we got to lose? Let's go over there and see if Buffy wants to do our show," he suggested. "Maybe she can help us sell tickets."

Obviously, it was the act of a desperate man. Buffy Sainte-Marie might bring in five or ten old folkies, but a serious block of fans? Not a chance. The time was long past when a folksinger could draw a crowd in New York. Still, Ochs and Bouhafa stumbled over to the Bottom Line in the hope that they could pad the passenger list of their sinking ship.

When they arrived, Buffy was finishing the last few songs of the late show. The room was fairly light, there was a straggler or two at the bar, and Ochs walked over there to order a drink before last call. He was already drunk and reeling, barely able to stay on his feet. Then, as he inhaled the tumbler of vodka in his hands, Phil started to stare at a guy standing a few feet away from him at the bar. The last thing Faris wanted was for Phil to start up with someone, but before he could intercede, Phil was pointing with excitement. "I know that guy!" he insisted.

Bouhafa put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, man - let's watch the show."

Too late, Phil walked over to the stranger and jabbed him in the ribs. "Hey! You're that kid from Minnesota who wrote a song about South American miners, right?"

Bob Dylan grinned at his old friend and said, "Yup."

"Well, I'm giving a benefit for those miners in two weeks and you're gonna be there!" Bob seemed startled and didn't answer. "When this show is over I want you to come over to my house and hear something."

There is no doubt that Phil's request was facilitated by the ridiculous amount of alcohol in his system. Bob and he hadn't spoken in almost ten years, and their last encounter had ended disastrously. It had been in 1966, after one of Bob's appearances at Carnegie Hall. Backstage, he played Phil the final mix of his new single, "Can You Please Crawl out Your Window," and was told it wasn't up to snuff...

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

Abbie Hoffman's Interview with the FBI in 1968 - Part 1

Federal Bureau of Investigation

Date: 9/12/68

ABBOTT HOFFMAN, also known as Abbie Hoffman, 30 St. Marks Place, New York, New York, was interviewed in the hallway of his apartment at 30 St. Marks Place between 11:05 AM and 11:40 AM, on September 6, 1968, by Special Agents (SAS) [...] and [...].

HOFFMAN, who advised that he was raised in Worcester, Massachusetts, and was graduated from Brandeis University, Waltham, Massachusetts, identified himself as a member of the YIP (Youth International Party) and stated that he was in Chicago, Illinois, during the Democratic Convention held in August, 1968.

HOFFMAN, to whom the interviewing SAS identified themselves as representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), was advised that the interviewing agents desired to ask him certain questions regarding his participation in the Chicago disorders; that he was not obligated to speak to the agents and that he did not have to answer any questions which might possibly incriminate him.

HOFFMAN stated that his life is an open book; that he had no objection to the interview; that he understood his rights, and that he had received a letter from the American Civil Liberties Union; that is, the ACLU, only yesterday (September 5, 1968), indicating that the FBI would probably question him concerning his presence in Chicago during the Democratic Convention.

HOFFMAN stated that the Chicago disorders were the result of a set policy on the part of Chicago authorities: that as a representative of the YIP, he visited Chicago on March 25, 1968, and filed an application for a permit, with others, with the Chicago Parks Commission to allow demonstrators to utilize Lincoln Park, later changed to Grant Park, for their "thing" during the convention period: that he then met with Deputy Mayor STAHL, a Mr. BARRY of the Park Commission, certain Chicago police officials and others, and that the application was not then acted upon.

HOFFMAN stated that thereafter this application matter was left in the hands of the Chicago people who also wanted to use the park.

HOFFMAN stated that about five days before the Convention, he was advised that his Chicago group never received a permit to use Grant Park: that thereafter the application for a permit had been withdrawn. HOFFMAN stated that he then decided to go to Chicago to see what he could do to get a park permit; that he then flew to Chicago on a student rate fare and met immediately with Deputy Mayor Stahl and others in a last ditch stand to try to get Grant Park for the demonstrators.

HOFFMAN stated that his experience indicated that city officials usually hold off until the last day, then issue a permit, but that contrary to his advice to Chicago officials, this did not happen. HOFFMAN stated that he and others were told they could, within local law, use Grant Park, like any other city park, each day until 11:00 PM; that they could not sleep in the parks and would have to vacate them by 11:00 PM.

HOFFMAN stated that on Sunday, August 25, 1968, he and others then in Grant Park were confronted by Chicago Police between 6:00 PM and 9:00 PM; that he phoned the commander of the Chicago Police Department, 18th Precinct, between those hours to get a rule on the use of the park and that he was told that his group could legally stay there until 11:00 PM, and that the police unit forcing them about would be withdrawn. HOFFMAN stated that the police did not withdraw, but continued to pressure people out of the park.

HOFFMAN stated that he is identified with YIP, that YIP has no membership, no dues, no membership list, and no officers, but that he did act as a representative of YIP, while meeting with others in Chicago, Illinois. HOFFMAN stated that neither he nor any YIPs with whom he is acquainted in New York City or elsewhere, made any plans to cause any disorders in Chicago, Illinois, nor did they discuss any such ideas, nor did they bring any weapons or similar items to Chicago to protect themselves from attack or to use in attack.

HOFFMAN stated that while in Chicago, he made no plans to cause any disorders, that he gave no orders for anyone to become involved in any disorders, and that he has no knowledge of any such plans or activity on the part of any individual or any group in Chicago, New York City, or elsewhere.

HOFFMAN stated that the YIP issued a calendar of events for the Chicago Convention period: that he helped to prepare this program, and that it is a public record of all his own and all YIP plans, and that no disorders were scheduled or even suggested. HOFFMAN stated that he urged persons associated with the Convention confrontation to remain non-violent and that his position and policy in this regard has been quoted in the public press several times and was included in an article relating to him which appeared in the "New York Post", a New York City daily newspaper, on September 1 or 2, 1968.

HOFFMAN stated that he never advocated any disorder, fights with the police, or the use of weaponry of any sort, in connection with the Chicago disorders, and that he has no knowledge of such plans or activities on the part of anyone else.

HOFFMAN stated that he heard general gossip of absurd statements made by persons unknown to him, about putting LSD in the Chicago drinking water, and that since such things were so foolish and impractical he never took them seriously, but took them to be just talk and "letting off steam."

HOFFMAN stated that he could only speak for himself concerning motivation to visit Chicago during the period the Democratic Convention was being held. HOFFMAN stated that he believes in a free, unregimentated life: that he would hope to influence everyone to join him: that the philosophy of the Democratic Party advocates the continuance of the present system which is a monetary trap which causes people to work unnecessarily for an entire lifetime and only to perpetuate the system. HOFFMAN stated that in his opinion current technical advancements and scientific achievements, all of a revolutionary nature, can feed and clothe the entire world; that such technical and scientific achievements and their future refinements could, if allowed by the establishment to do so, release everyone from an organized life of work and entrapment, and that he wanted to utilize the Democratic Convention in Chicago to do his "thing," which was to confront the Democrats and to publicize his own philosophy of life.

HOFFMAN stated that he is not against the Democratic Party itself; that it is one group of many which advocated the established way of life. Further, that he has been called many things including a "Communist": that he is not a Communist and could never accept Communism since it is another absurd, regimented, disciplined group with its own aims and establishment type objectives.

HOFFMAN stated that he is against all political philosophies, that all presidential candidates hope to retain the establishment although they don't say so. Further, that he has expressed himself as favorable to George Wallace, only because Wallace is the least hypocritical candidate in that he is truthful and outright; that even though you can't agree with him on many points you know where he stands. HOFFMAN stated that he has made statements to this effect in public gatherings, in television interviews and interviews with the press, and that he has worn Wallace buttons at such gatherings and at public demonstrations.

HOFFMAN stated that "I presume that I will eventually be arrested for conspiracy because of my presence in Chicago." HOFFMAN stated that he did not know what the conspiracy charge, if any, would be. HOFFMAN stated that it is his understanding that his name was among those who are bringing a civil suit against the City of Chicago and Mayor Daley for 600 million dollars; that such suit started by a daughter of former Senator Leverett Saltonstall of Massachusetts and with a New York City law firm, if successful would allow the wronged demonstrators to give each Chicago police officer, who resigns from that police force in protest against the policies of the Chicago police, a sum of $10,000.00 each.

HOFFMAN stated that during his recent stay in Chicago he was under surveillance by the Chicago police: that he became friendly with those following him for his so-called protection, and that he enjoyed coffee and transportation from them.

HOFFMAN stated that he stayed at the Chicago home of a friend, whom he declined to identify; that he was out of the parks each night, and that, to his recollection, he was arrested and held for thirteen hours the day before that major trouble in Grant Park and near the Hilton Hotel and that he did not participate in these disorders.

HOFFMAN disclaimed any responsibility for any disorders at Chicago, Illinois.