Carol Tantau is Just Tantau – And So Much More

By CJ Gronner

March 8 is International Women’s Day, so we at The Beachhead like to have the March issue be one for the ladies. There is probably no one better to speak to about women and Venice than Carol Tantau. Not only has she owned and operated her shop, Just Tantau, on Abbot Kinney since 1982, but she also heads the advocacy program at Sojourn Services for Battered Women and their children in Santa Monica.

We sat down to talk in the back of Tantau’s shop, as her cats, Ricky and Lucy, cruised around and walked over her bare feet, all totally at home. Tantau grew up in Northern California, and headed to Venice in 1971, like so many who found their way here, “because it seemed like a good idea.”  She had her BA in music, (there is a grand piano in the middle of the shop) and was making her living as a seamstress, which led to a stint teaching quilting classes. Again, like so many who not only found their way, but MADE their way here, she often stumbled into her situations quite by accident. Like when she met her husband, Leon, who was making jewelry on the Boardwalk when she happened upon him.

They married and lived in a little one room pad on the beach, where the jewelry manufacturing soon outgrew their place, and needed to find a space for a work shop and storefront. In 1982 there wasn’t much happening on West Washington Boulevard (which you now know as Abbot Kinney) other than The Merchant Of Venice (open only for breakfast and lunch) and The Comeback Inn. That meant that they could afford the space they found at 1353, where Just Tantau still operates right now. They could afford it because back then the idea was that rent was based on “fair market value” – meaning a rent that enables a business to survive. Ahhh, the good old days …

Anyway, Carol and Leon made and sold their jewelry in the shop, never adding t-shirts and sunglasses to cater to any tourists that might have happened by, because “Why would you want to be the same as everyone else?” Another point that might be well taken today, People.

They attended trade shows all over the place and began to wholesale their wares, and began buying from other jewelry sellers to bring to their shop back home. The business grew and grew, with show rooms across the country. Busy as they were, when The Merchant of Venice closed at three in the afternoon, that meant the work day was pretty well done for everyone, and they’d wrap up and enjoy the rest of Venice. They were good times. (Ok, and it was not a good neighborhood at all back then, so it may have had a little to do with safety too, as they slid the metal gates closed at 3 to be closed by dark. But still.)

Years of travel and trade shows went by smoothly, but then the manufacturing business started to tank, and so did the marriage with Leon. In 2001, they split the business and the marriage, with Carol keeping the retail store, and Leon taking over the wholesale side of things. They remain friends today, and Just Tantau remains a crucial, ORIGINAL store on Abbot Kinney.

Not having to travel so much anymore, Tantau began to get more and more involved with the Venice community. She was the head of the West Washington Merchant’s Association (and was instrumental in getting the street’s name changed to Abbot Kinney, as well as getting the palm trees planted up and down the boulevard) and then became President of the Chamber Of Commerce. That led to involvement in the Community Police Advisory Board, and after the O.J. Simpson verdict in 1995, it was made clear that there really was no domestic violence bridge to the LAPD. Sojourn Services (the second oldest shelter in the state) created an Emergency Response team to respond to domestic violence calls, and soon Tantau found herself not only training and becoming a volunteer, but suddenly in charge of the program! Once you know her, this is not at all surprising. As she said about herself, “I have the personality for it.” She now manages 35 volunteers, support groups, a legal clinic, court accompaniments, and acts as an advocate/liaison to the LAPD, where she recently began teaching about domestic violence at the Police Academy. Women, Carol Tantau has your back.

Tantau is able to do all of this important advocacy work, on top of being a small business owner on Abbot Kinney, which is a luxury she attributes to her “wonderful employees.” They enable her to have the best of both worlds, and keep her perspective fresh for both. Obviously, Tantau has seen her share of change in Venice, as she has lived and worked on Abbot Kinney for over 30 years. The thing that keeps her here and that she loves the most is the diversity – endangered though it may be.

“I am in Venice by choice. This is my chosen home, I wasn’t born here. There is a depth that ties me to this place …” We share this feeling, and acknowledged the changes around here now. First Fridays and the food trucks have scared off a lot of old school regulars and neighbors from the shops because it’s such a hassle, and not that fun when you don’t see anyone you know anymore. But as we were talking, Tantau made a great point. “We are still here. Real, true Venetians can still take ownership, but not if they’re not here. Don’t forget US.” Yeah. C’mon, Venice! We can hole up and avoid the masses on Abbot Kinney, or go out there and take it back. Show THEM what Venice is about. Have OUR fun. Be nice, but don’t kiss ass. Don’t be all about the money, but about the sense of place. I remember hanging out once with Bunny at The Green House, and someone came in and asked if it was ok to bring in their dog. Bunny replied, “Of course, this is VENICE.” Somewhere different. Somewhere special. Somewhere not like everywhere else. Somewhere with a strong history of that diversity, and somewhere that has always had our sense of fun and creativity.

Carol Tantau has so many stories of Venice through the decades, she really needs to write a book. But she’s awfully busy, so take the opportunity to stop in to Just Tantau and hear some tales for yourself. Be a regular again. Be a neighbor. Share your stories. Take ownership of YOUR chosen home.

Writing The American Dream On A Grain Of Rice…

By Anne Alvarez

Vivianne Robinson is one of Ocean Front Walk’s most colorful and successful artists, known for her ability to write on a grain of rice. Her record is 14 letters on a single grain spelling out “Rumpelstiltskin.”

It is an art form that originated in Ancient Anatolia, where artisans began inscribing messages and names on rice, widely known in those days as a symbol of prosperity and good fortune.

Born and raised in Venice, she recalls spending her childhood playing on the Boardwalk, often in bare feet. During her teens, she attended school in Santa Monica, but spent most of her free time rollerskating from Santa Monica to Venice. “I made lifelong friends with the performers, vendors and artists of the time. Growing up in Venice gave me an appreciation for diverse cultures and lifestyles. It helped spark my lifelong love of travel. One of the main reasons I love Venice is the diversity. It is unlike any other place on earth.”

Vivianne should know. During her twenties, she traveled to France, Italy and Germany where she worked as a waitress, babysitter and at McDonalds. “I like to absorb the culture. I have always been fascinated by different languages.” She speaks French and German fluently.

She returned to the States, and received a degree in Recreational Studies from Long Beach State. After graduation, she was offered and accepted a job working for the City of Santa Monica, heading the kids and senior curricular programs. She remained there for ten years.

It was a chance encounter with a kind Indian man in 1994, while vacationing on the beaches of Portugal, that her destiny would change. “He was writing on rice and people were lining up for his trinkets. I asked him how he did it and he took the time to show me. It requires lots of patience and a steady hand,” he said. “He encouraged me to do it back home. As soon as my vacation ended, I purchased some rice, quit my job and was fortunate that a friend had a stall for rent on the Boardwalk, and offered it to me.”

“Never imagining working for myself, I had no experience running a business, and frankly just never thought I would succeed.” Her first day on the Boardwalk, people lined up to get their names on rice, and business blossomed for years. That is, until recently, which she blames on the current recession.

Vivianne has become a staple on OFW, garnering national attention when she was the focus of a Modern Marvels episode for her ability to write the world’s tiniest writing. She only uses Uncle Ben’s rice which she says is “the smoothest, most unbreakable rice out there.”

In 2010, muralist Rip Cronk approached her while he was painting his famous ”Venice Reconstituted” mural, which according to the artist, is a parody of Botticelli”s Birth Of Venus masterpiece. He asked to take her picture, and mentioned making her a part of the mural, but asked her not to tell anyone. Vivianne obliged, and didn’t say a word to anyone, not even her parents. “I didn’t really believe it. I was completely surprised one day as I arrived at the beach and saw myself halfway painted on the wall.”

While attending the 2012 London Olympics, (she has attended 5) Vivianne’s colorful outfits made her an instant celebrity after the Associated Press took a picture of her arriving at Heathrow airport and it circulated worldwide. Throughout her stay in London, she was featured on the cover of various British magazines, finding out about them only when another tourists handed her one. At one point she was approached by a member of the U.S Track and Field team while eating at the food court at Westfield London’s shopping center, “I don’t know her name, she just walked up to me and asked if I had ever gone inside the Olympic Stadium. I told her no, and she then handed me a ticket and told me to go, as the races had already begun. To my surprise it was a seat 10 feet from the track surrounded by Track and Field stars representing every country.” Her seat was also next to the massive Olympic torch.

Celebrities often approach Vivianne to take pictures with her, and to purchase trinkets for themselves and as gifts, such as Halle Berry, the Olson Twins and the late Jenni Rivera, to name a few. Vivianne is one of a handful of vendors on the Boardwalk to have two stalls opposite each other. She is also an avid photographer, often documenting the daily goings on of Venice Beach. She hopes to publish a book of pictures in the near future. In the meantime she keeps busy doing her art and working private parties. Next time you’re on the Boardwalk, stop by, say hi and get to know a very intriguing woman.

To learn more about Vivianne check out her website: http://www.nameonrice.com

International Woman’s Day

By Yolanda Miranda

In 1977, The United Nations proclaimed March 8 as International Woman’s Day (IWD) honoring the struggle and contributions women had made that  empowered them as equal members of society.  Contributions to society  women have made throughout history, and they continue to this day. A woman’s right to vote was fought throughout  the 19th century and was achieved only in early 1900′s. Women were involved in workers having an eight hour work day, also in stopping women from having to bring home work unable to compete in the sewing factories, involving their children to help them out.  Women were strong in ending and legislating Child Labor Laws, where children were forced to work to help their families in the factories and later on in the agriculture field, which wasn’t that many years ago. I personally know, since I come from a migrant farmworker family and I, along with other children, worked in the fields as young as five years old. Our education was based on the harvest seasons and the numbers of schools we attended since we followed the crops.

On March 8, women throughout the world celebrate this day with events concerning the various issues still effecting women today, their families and society. A theme is used to celebrate this day in communities or in the Women Studies Department in education facilities. They are organized and planned by women and open to the public or students to raise awareness of  the contributions women of all ages, color and sexual preference have made in their communities and in connection to global issues as well.

Many of the national women groups in this country will be holding local marches in their communities or attending the largest one in Washington, D.C., sponsored by Code Pink and Women for Peace, to be held on March 8. They plan to collect over 100,000 petition signatures “To Stop the War “and present to officials in Washington, D.C.

Other communities will be holding events celebrating women’s role and contributions in their own communities, celebrating this special day by holding special events. Which  pays tribute to individual women who have unselfishly committed themselves to better their community in the areas of health, legal, peace activist, organizing tenants for affordable or unfair evictions due to development, organizing or volunteering programs to end violence against women, counseling women for substance abuse, many in prison due to their habit brought on by many social factors or interpersonal relationships with men, feeding the homeless, ending exploitation and sexual harassment in the workplace, working with children, women who help support their families earning the minimum wage, married or single and  women in the art field. The categories women are involved in to fight for justice, treat women with equality and dignity are endless.

International Women’s Day (IWD) is diverse in encompassing women who are single, divorced, married, old, young , gay and interconnecting them globally. There is no discrimination when it comes to our gender contribution to make a better tomorrow for the nations or the world. Under this society, the acknowledgments women receive in this country are on Mother’s Day, Holidays, Valentine’s Day and Birthdays, earning millions for the advertising greeting cards companies. Take a moment to think: have you ever seen seen a greeting card in celebration of International Women’s Day? Since 1901, twelve  women have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, compared to eighty men and twenty organizations. Since women have a tendency to work collectively, a movement last year was organized to nominate “1000 Women for The Nobel Peace Award” because women’s role in promoting peace within families, communities and their societies are taken for granted. This effort is to recognize women’s courage across the globe in combatting and identifying the visible efforts women make to end injustice against women, which continues to face today’s world.

Women athletics are recognized by participating in the Olympic Games, by earning a medal they are assured to earn a high income in their field or by advertising commercials that do not contribute to women’s causes.  Earning a gold medal, silver or just by participating in the Olympic games is  an honor for the athlete who trained so hard. In reality, how many women can afford to train long, hard hours if they need to work? A majority of women who are not politically- informed have no idea of this proclamation celebrating women’s contributions, much less some men. The answer is clear: if left up to the advertising market who is unwilling to increase women’s consciousness pertaining to this special day, women who are unaware remain unaware of the United Nations IWD Proclamation. Unless it’s brought to attention by  political third parties or political women organizations. March is known as woman’s month coined by the educational women’s studies in colleges and universities. But if you are not in college, affiliated to a socialist political party or political women’s organization, March 8 is stretched out into a month rather than celebrated when it was intended to. We celebrate our birthdays on the day we were born, not a day before or a day later, not for the whole month; traditional holidays on the same date, every year. So why then is IWD not celebrated on March 8, on a yearly basis? So it becomes as important as any other special event on the calendar yearly.

Once again, we women have the responsibility to tackle this issue by celebrating it, raising political consciousness to each other, in our communities and internationally.

How, you might ask? Simply by uniting in our own communities to hold an event on March 8 or by attending  to hear women speakers from other countries addressing the issues effecting women in their countries. In Europe and in third world countries IWD is celebrated with a strong political theme, and at the moment it is to End the Occupation in Iraq/ Stop The War. In this case they are more advanced than us, since the proclamations was signed twenty-nine years ago. American women played a major role during the Vietnam War to end it, and we need to unite again to Get Out of Iraq to save our young men and women one more time. United, not Divided, we slay the dragon’s head.

If you are reading this story, ask a man or woman if they know about International Woman’s Day and what it stands for? Don’t be surprised if their response is that they have never heard of it.  But since we know, we can educate others. And, don’t forget to thank your mother, her contribution in giving birth goes beyond acknowledging her only on Mother’s Day.

This article is a re-print from the March 2006 Free Venice Beachhead 

 

Calling Forth the Fourth Wave: Making a Difference in Women’s History

By Nike Wind

March is celebrated as Women’s History Month, with March 8 marking the 102nd International Women’s Day. Reporting from the front, I am more than discouraged.  Feminism is the force that changed the social mores in Western democracies and forever altered our culture’s sexual roles. Let’s go back a bit to our own past here in the States.

The history of American feminism includes three waves: the first, linked to women’s right to participate in the abolitionist movement, led to freeing the slaves. In 1870, African American males were given the right to vote when the fifteenth amendment was ratified.  It wasn’t until 50 years later, in 1920, that the 19^th Amendment to the Constitution (introduced by Jeanette Ranking, the sole woman in Congress) allowed women to vote.

In 1923, the Equal Rights Amendment was first introduced to Congress, and had been brought before Congress for every year through 1970. Then, from 1982 until the present, it has always been re-introduced in Congress. Here is the actual text of the ERA, riders notwithstanding:

Section 1. Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.

Section 2. The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

Section 3. This amendment shall take effect two years after the date of ratification.

That’s it! To this day, in the twenty-first century, the ERA has not been passed into Federal law.  I choke as I write this, unable to suspend disbelief.  The sixties and seventies marked the second wave of feminism. Since then, baby, we have not come that long a way.

In 1961, John Kennedy appointed Eleanor Roosevelt as Chairwoman to the President’s Commission on the Status of Women. The report, issued in 1963, cited extensive discrimination and tried to correct inequities in fair hiring practices, affordable housing, and established maternity leave and affordable child care. In 1960, women earned 60 cents to the dollar a man earned for the same job. In 1963, more women entered the work force than any year prior or since. According to the National Committee on Pay Equality, white women today only earn 77 cents to the man’s dollar, and it is down to as low as 58 cents among women of color.  That is no improvement for my Black, Latina and other sisters of color.

I lived in New York City in 1975, when the first Women’s Bank opened on 57^th Street. It was the very first time, thanks to the 1974 Equal Credit Opportunity Act, that a woman was allowed to procure a loan without a male signatory regardless of her ability to pay it back. That was 37 years ago.

Yet the battle continued.  Despite the bloodshed, starvation diets, burned bras and imprisonment, the women on the front line of Women’s Rights waged on.

The passage of Roe vs. Wade ultimately made abortion rights legal in every state, (with limits on late abortion) and in many states elective termination of pregnancy is not actually available. Mississippi has only one abortion clinic serving the entire state.

Since then, the War on Women has all but officially been declared by the Republican party in this country. Many states have passed legislation requiring that women must endure an ultrasound of their fetus, and hear the actual heartbeat before submitting to an abortion. If the fetus is too small, they stipulated that women undergo transvaginal ultrasound as a requirement for receiving government funded abortions.

Yes, our reproductive rights are being eroded as Planned Parenthood is defunded, while politicians, sworn to uphold the separation of Church and State, have announced in their own particular science fiction that  “pregnancies don’t occur from legitimate rape.”  If a child is conceived from a rape, it is because “that is what God intended to happen,” said right-to-lifer and Republican Indiana Senate Candidate Richard Murdock. You can’t make this stuff up.

This occurred during the third wave of feminism, which began in the United States in the early 1990’s,  and continues until the present time. Today, for the young girls and women coming of age, women’s rights have been taken for granted, likened to fluoride in the water; invisible, just there. This is a dangerous viewpoint. We can not be complacent. In 2013, women only occupy 18% of the Congressional seats in the Senate and House. Are we better off today?

We merely wanted equality.  We got more responsibility and less equality than we bargained for.

Today, sociologists know that men and women spend an equal time at work, but women do more housework and child rearing. We now have to open our own doors, pay for our own meals and practically everything else. Superwoman, Supermom, and Super Model ideals have made an impossible standard for modern women.  While trying to maintain a balanced, peaceful life, too often we end up feeling inadequate and less than.  To misquote Jane Wagner and Lily Tomlin from The Search For Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe,  “If I knew this is what it meant to ‘have it all’, I wouldn’t have wanted so much.”

Elsewhere in the world, conditions seem to have worsened. Recently, a young woman was shot in the head in Pakistan for promoting education as a right for women. The Taliban claimed responsibility, then boasted that her whole family will be targeted should they return from London, where she received treatment.

India is in an uproar as the sexual assault laws are at long last under scrutiny. For too long, rape was ignored and rapists were rarely prosecuted.

The international slave trade of women thrives today, even here on our shores.  It has to stop. In his song, “Woman is the Nigger of the World,” John Lennon has called woman the “slave to the slave.”  Perhaps slavery has been legally abolished, but I don’t think our social status has been fully emancipated from the hardship and prejudice we continue to endure. The fight goes on. Fight we must.

The spirit of feminism is still vitally needed all over the world. We must illuminate and expose the mad men, dictators, military and religious leaders, fathers, husbands and brothers who cage women by the millions. Freeing them and ending poverty for women and children (17,000 of whom die of starvation every day) should become the central tenet of the Fourth Wave of Feminism, which I want to inaugurate right here, right now.

So, for Women’s Month, I invite you to break down a wall, crack the glass ceiling, and prove to yourself that you can do and be more than the circumscribed idea of a woman. Turn off the TV when the misogynist images of anorexic women are used to sell us the American Capitalist dream. We have buying power. We are more than 51% of the population. We can use our influence to effect change.

Turn off the radio when rap songs call us bitches and whores. Don’t buy into Madison Avenue and Hollywood Boulevard’s idea of who you are. I invite you to take time for yourself.

Make this a month of self discovery. Find out a little more about the real you, deep down inside, beyond the hype, beyond the image, on your own terms. Rest in the stillness and find out what you really want, then set about to create it. Within you lies unlimited potential. Henry Ford said, “If you think you can or you think you can’t, either way you are right.”

You are woman. Let me hear you roar. Happy Woman’s Month.

Venice Filmmaker Makes Good Her First Feature: “An Irish Vampire in Hollywood”

By Herbert B. Fishberg

After years of planning and preparation, an award winning Venice, California independent filmmaker has accomplished making and distributing her first feature length film.

Pegarty Long started planning, writing and rewriting her film, The Irish Vampire Goes West in her small Venice apartment on Park Ave.  After many promises and disappointments involving cast and crew, locations and editors, she finally went into production in 2004. Pegarty spent the rest of the time editing the film herself and searching out sales agents. She was the writer, producer, director, editor and co-star of the film which, to quote Irish publications, is “the first Irish vampire film”.

House of Film (with its secondary label Maison Noir, Black House Films, which represents genre based, cutting edge films) and its CEO Ava B were instrumental in finding a distributor nine years later. Pegarty’s film, which the distributor changed to An Irish Vampire In Hollywood, was picked up by Reality Entertainment, and is being sold in DVD form through its subsidiary, Worldwide Multi-Media.

This reporter sat down with Pegarty recently in what her twin sister, the late Poet Laureate of Venice, Philomene Long, described in her poem as “Pegarty’s Burgundy Room”, a Bohemian apartment located a half a block from the ocean, in the heart of Venice. With Pegarty dressed in her usual black velvet, we discussed her motivations and experiences in making the film.

What brought you into the film world?

Pegarty: “My parents, the Catholic Church and Mark Twain. The Catholic Church is filled with powerful images and symbolism through its many statues and paintings of saints. It is also filled with ritual. Going to Mass is a lot like going to a film. When I was nine, my Mother handed me Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer  and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  That did it for being girls, which didn’t look at all exciting. My sister and I “became” Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, and spent our youth playing imaginary games. The rebel life was for me. And what better way to be a rebel and play imaginary games as an adult than to make films? So as an adult I enrolled in UCLA’s film program and graduated with a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Film. I was also the recipient of the Jim Morrison Award for Best First Film, which was called Irreversible.”

What made this film possible?

Pegarty: “I was the recipient of a Panavision New Filmmakers Award (grant), which allowed me to use one of their Super 16 mm film cameras for free. And through advances in technology, I was able to transfer the Kodak film to digital and edit it on my MacBook Pro Apple computer.“

After an exhaustive search for an editor – she went through three or four – she edited the film herself. It took about three years to shape the film to her satisfaction, with the unmistakable “Pegarty-esque” style, as her admirers called it.

What is the film about?

Pegarty: “It is a tale of mystery, magic, faeries, mad scientists, blood, vampires and love. When Hollywood beauty Manananaan is kidnapped by a creature of the night, her artist twin sister Mara journeys to Ireland to rescue her. Resisting the powerful sensual allure of the demons of darkness, Mara finds the luck of the Irish turning against her. Filled with creatures, faeries and lots of blood, this fight between good and evil has the Emerald Isle as its prize.”

Manananaan is played by Pegarty’s real twin sister, Philomene Long. The Irish Vampire, Vanquo, is played by film and TV star Chris Payne Gilbert. Long cast ten of her Irish relatives to add to the Gaelic flavor. The film also stars Emmy award winning actress, Peggy McCay, from Days of Our Lives, and actor-writer and old time Venice resident Vincent Coppola.

The film was photographed on locations in Los Angeles and Ireland, including ancient Celtic graveyards and Pegarty’s ancestral home of Kilclousha, which has been in the family since the early 1800’s.

What difficulties did you face in making the film?

Pegarty: “Getting the film rolling took an immense effort. Casting and finding locations were like being Sisyphus (the King who was eternally condemned to roll a heavy boulder fruitlessly up a steep hill in Hades). It was like getting behind a freight train and pushing it.

“In Ireland while shooting in an old Celtic graveyard in the middle of the night, and while in the character of Mara, I fell into a sunken grave. Later, my assistant cameraman, who was also a local mortician, told me in his sweet Irish brogue (referring to the hole I was in), ‘Sure, I didn’t  want to tell you then, but the rats come out at night and chew on the corpses.’

“On another occasion at the same graveyard, deep in the night, we decided we needed some dirt. Just then two Irish police (Garda) arrived, summoned by neighbors. The neighbors thought we were grave robbers. My assistant cameraman convinced the Garda we were shooting a film and had the papers to prove it. Of course we didn’t really have the papers. ‘Ok, then’, said the Garda, smiling in that special Irish way, and walked down the road saying, ‘Ah, sure, we thought you were digging somebody up.’ They were not even out of sight when a crew member shouted, ‘Ok, guys,… the coast is clear, DIG!’

“Then my twin sister died in 2007, four days after our birthday. It was so emotionally draining while editing the film to watch her daily on the monitor dressed in what she loved to wear the most, her long white gown and her first communion veil. It was like we were still playing together as we did as kids. But, not really. She was gone.”

But Pegarty was able to overcome that difficult time and follow through with the film and its distribution. She is also the publisher of two of her sister’s books, as well as Philomene’s late husband’s, the Venice Beat poet, John Thomas.

Pegarty plans to continue making films and publishing  under her production company label, Raven Productions TM, which can be accessed on the internet at: www.raven-productions.com. The trailer for An Irish Vampire in Hollywood can be seen at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKH9KpnGGPQ

Venice is a Poem

By Mary Getlein

I walked on the beach, the sun was shining brightly, sweet winds blew over our heads. We looked up: sea gulls riding wind currents over our heads! I was so astonished! It was so beautiful!

I was so glad I finally got to California. My boyfriend came back from a summer in Santa Cruz ranting about how he had to go back and did I want to go, too? Did I want to go? Leave Richmond, Virginia, where at 3:00 am it was 101 degrees? HELL, YES!

We ended up in Venice in October, 1971. October days were so warm and beautiful. The ocean was a deep blue and the sunsets were magnificent. The place was swarming with hippies. Everywhere you looked, you saw hippies. People smoked dope openly in front of the cops. I walked around with my mouth hanging open – there was so much to see! It was like an every day carnival. There were belly dancers, and snake people that would dance with huge pythons. There was an incredible mix of talented artists and musicians. People here were so friendly and FUNNY – probably because the majority of the population was HIGH at any given time.

In 1971 people had not heard of “political correctness” yet, so things could get ugly very fast. Police were called pigs openly, and a lot of people challenged the police on a daily basis.

My second apartment in Venice was at 17 Ozone Avenue, and there was a head shop right at the end of Ozone. It was there that I picked up my first copy of The Beachhead. It was very radical and printed all sorts of rants and raves about the political mess we were in at the time.

Its politics reflected the view of the Venice community. We wanted to save this oasis of beauty and warmth for ourselves. Why not? Not many people wanted to live in Venice then, too “dangerous”. It was perfect for hippies. Low, low rent and barters and exchanges made it possible to live a happy life and not spend too  much time working. A giant hippie playground, with cute little restaurants and eating places to hang out in. Another thing we had then was benches. Lots and lots of benches along Ocean Front Walk. Also, the old pagodas were built of wood, so you could sleep on them. The city purposely replaced the old, homey pagodas, with new ones built with concrete benches to sit on, which are not very comfortable.

On the Ozone side of the Boardwalk, there lived a lot of Jewish survivors of concentration camps from World War II. They were fun to hang out with and hear stories of their lives.

There was Harold’s Bakery, where you could get a loaf of bread for 25 cents. Ruthie, who worked at Harold’s Bakery, was so sweet and kind to all of us crazy hippies. You could get a potato knish and it would fill you up all day.

We all loved The Beachhead and looked forward to the new issue coming out. I liked the fact that they published so many poems and promoted so many radical views. The idea of Venice Cityhood was really strong then. If you go back and read the old issues, you see the problems and you see the solutions.

The ‘70s was the emergence of free clinics, free legal services, domestic violence shelters, Women’s rights, Chicano rights, the Black Panthers, The Grey Panthers, Vietnam Vets Against The War – it was a time of self-discovery, and a back to nature movement. The Environmental Movement was approached on a crisis level – Save the planet right now!

The rents in Venice were  incredibly cheap, so for $100 a month you could live in a tiny apartment right on the Boardwalk, where you could listen to the ocean day and night. There is nothing like seeing a harvest full moon hang in the sky at 3 o’clock in the morning.  This place splashes us with beauty every time we turn around.

It was very beautiful in the ‘70s, but there was also a lot of drug abuse, battered women, and lost or forgotten people ending up on the streets. There was a free box on Brooks Avenue, and you could go there and leave clothes, or food, or even joints, and pick up what you needed.

There was a lot of violence that happened on the Boardwalk. A lot of street gangs fought over drug territories, just as they do now. I always say, “It’s still Venice”. Just because all these yuppies have moved in here and jacked the rents up and turned Abbot Kinney into Melrose Ave, doesn’t mean the drug/gang problem has gone away. There are still victims of shootings in Oakwood and other parts of Venice. In the ‘70s, people would beat each other up, or a gang would beat up one guy, and the police were never there. And in the 1992-94 gang war in Venice, the police response was nil.

Now it’s the year 2012, and The Beachhead is still in front of the issues, taking them on, again and again. “Support Your Local Artists” used to be a slogan that was used a lot here. If you claim to love this community, then spend your money here. Put up, or shut up. Artists can’t live on dreams. They need to pay bills and eat, too. This place is crawling with artists, poets, musicians and lovely, tolerant people. It’s also becoming global – you can’t even eavesdrop on tourists anymore, because they are speaking in German, French, Japanese, etc. Venetians who have lived here for years are usually very tolerant with a highly developed sense of humor. You have to have a sense of humor when you live in a carnival.

Venice has always been a party place, a bohemian place, a runaway oasis, for far too long to change now. We will always be a place for people to run to, even if all you can do is sit at the edge of the world and stare at the water.

You move here and you become a sun worshiper and an ocean worshiper, and all the other things leave your mind. A slogan of The Beachhead is “This paper is a poem”. Well, this place can be a poem too.

A Philomene Rhapsody

By Delores Hanney

They are already ghosts
John and Philomene
As they pass
Along the Boardwalk
Where ghosts and poets overlap…

Philomene Long

More than two years after her passing, the silence of her absence from the streets and the sand of her cherished Venice milieu still echoes like a great mournful wail.  Left in the vacuum created by the loss of her, even the pigeons remain grieved, I fancy.

By the age of eight Philomene Long was already drawn to the cloister, captured by the drama, the trappings, the whole mystical gestalt of it all. She slipped into a nun’s habit within the order of St. Joseph’s of Carondelet in Los Angeles, immediately following her stint as a high school wild child. Five years later, she would jump the convent wall to be spirited off  – in the dark of nite — in a get-away car driven by her sister Pegarty.

Leaving the convent did not represent an abandonment of spirituality, or even a rejection of Catholicism. Instead, under the tutoring of Maezumi Roshi she would surrender to an immersion in Zen Buddhism that blended into a customized theology and to self-identification as a Zen-Catholic. Her poetry, too, became like an element of her faith walk.

It was poetry that brought her to Venice in 1968, pulled by its reputation for harboring the poor and poetic, but too late for the Beat Generation’s halcyon days. Still, she stayed and she carried on its traditions.

Poetry became her, in the way a fiery sunset is becoming to the western sky. Her range was boundless and included dreamy odes to the California Missions, a disturbingly vivid testimony regarding self-flagellation, a hilarious retelling of the winning homerun in a vintage baseball game, a little whine about leaky ceilings. She wrote poems in praise of a politician, in praise of Venice itself as “holy ground/stained by the blood of poets,” a fragment of the latter carved into Venice’s Poetry Wall at Windward Plaza.

At readings she unleashed her words in a raspy, ravenesque voice wrapped in a dramatic cadence with just a wee Irish lilt on occasion: indeed, the ideal instrument for a howl of wrath or a purring caress and wielding the frank authority to proclaim the end of the world, should the situation arise. A master cobbler of poetic thought forms, Philomene was officially the Poet Laureate of Venice, so designated in an impressive commendation extolling her mind-enchanting, heart-inspiring, soul-uplifting talent and eloquence.

She was zany and mercurial. She was earthy and otherworldly. She was accustomed to the visibility that charisma endows, had been since the years of her youth.

A girl guru, gifted teacher, good friend; Philomene Long was all of these. At UCLA’s extension school, she was a popular faculty member in the writing program, inciting her students to passion for the pleasures of poetry and fervor for its well-crafted creation. She was an ardent promoter of the Beyond Baroque literary center, where she facilitated workshops and was an unfaltering supporter of its director, Fred Dewey. She romped through her sister’s film, The Irish Vampire Goes West, an eerie, fairy festooned tale about a poet snatched by a vampire and her sister’s dogged rescue efforts.

He wasn’t her first lover, but the others were eclipsed by the coming — in 1983 — of the poet John Thomas, whom Philomene referred to as “my only one.” Her twinship with Pegarty — of the monozygotic sort — was training for the concentrated relationship with Thomas, in which their two souls seemingly swirled into one.

Simmering in their commitment to one another and to their artistic exertions, they lived at the Ellison Apartments on Paloma Avenue. Although brazenly funky, it’s a venerable brick structure built in 1914 with a sea view and a nesting place for pigeons outside the kitchen window and a creaky green iron gate one door up from the boardwalk. From here they embraced voluntary poverty and sallied forth into the bohemian enclave: the high priestess of the realm, and her beloved consort.

But always, Pegarty — her twin sister, twin star — was there as the wind beneath her wings. Now Philomene comes to her in recurring dreams, their monozygotic bond undiminished.  b

Five years ago this month our beloved Poet Laureate, Philomene Long, slipped the surly bonds of earth, as they say, presumably to hook up once more with her “only one,” John Thomas, in order to resume their legend-worthy love affair in some distant cosmic realm where poetry is practiced and revered. This article, first appearing three years ago in the Journal of the Venice Historical Society, is reprinted here in remembrance of her dazzling earthly presence. 

The War Against Women

By Jack Neworth

Women of Venice (actually, all across the country) it’s time to wake up as decades of progress are about to be rolled back. At the risk of sounding like a modern-day Paul Revere, “The misogynists are coming! The misogynists are coming!”

Yes, gals, conservative politicians nationwide are pushing bills that would require you to undergo invasive ultrasounds before an abortion, extend abortion waiting times, allow employers to fire you for using contraception, and require you to tell your employer what you use contraception for. (Draw them a map, perhaps?) And you thought Rush Limbaugh was bad?

Actually, I feel like Rip Van Winkle waking up to a world I don’t recognize. I thought equal rights for women had been decided decades ago. Then again I thought the evolution question had been resolved during the Scopes trial in 1925. Evidently not.

So here we are in 2012 and I’m wondering where did this war against women come from? And why? It’s so extreme lately that Rep. Richard Hanna (R-New York), campaigning to get re-elected, is telling women to support Democratic candidates if they want their rights protected. Obviously Hanna isn’t counting on Tea Bagger support in November.

National attention to this issue hit a peak last month on the disturbingly popular Rush Limbaugh radio broadcast. Seemingly out of nowhere, Rush verbally attacked and tried to humiliate Sandra Fluke, a 23-year-old law student. Why, you ask? Because Ms. Fluke had the audacity to testify before Congress in support of female contraception being covered by health insurance. (By the way, Viagra has been covered since 1998.)

On three successive days Rush called Ms. Fluke a “slut” and a “prostitute” and suggested that he’d pay for female contraception in return for “her sex tapes being put online.” It’s hard to imagine but Rush may have hit a new low in repulsiveness. (In 2008 he mocked Michael J. Fox’s Parkinson’s disease and accused him of faking it or purposely not taking his medications.)

Frankly, I still can’t understand how Darrell Issa’s Congressional committee, the one Ms. Fluke wanted to testify before, and which was dealing with women-related health issues, had only men testify. Issa (R-CA) said Ms. Fluke wasn’t “qualified.” (Because she didn’t have a penis?)

Apparently Limbaugh has serious issues with anyone who disagrees with him, but especially women. Just examine his endless references to Nancy Pelosi as the “Botox queen.” Attacking someone’s appearance is pathetic enough, but in this case, it’s also hypocritical when the attacker looks like Rush. (Something about people who live in glass houses.)

After a national uproar, Rush eventually “apologized” saying he used a poor choice of words. So instead of calling Ms. Fluke a “slut” he should have said “tramp?” Or instead of saying she was a “prostitute” he could have referred to her as “a lady of the evening?” Rush actually used his non-apology apology to blame liberals for being overly sensitive. A bully like Rush is never genuinely sorry and, of course, whatever hot water he’s in, well, it’s never his fault.

Consider, if Rush had been that vile in describing blacks (using the “N” word) or Jews, or just about any minority. He’d be in line at the unemployment office, or maybe he’d send his cleaning woman. (In 2006 Rush was arrested for having purchased 10,000 OxyContin tablets, using his cleaning woman as his courier.)

The question is, how did it become acceptable in 2012 to demean females or make crude jokes about how the best birth control is when they hold aspirin between their knees? Or, as Rick Santorum suggests, that all contraception is wrong. (If anything is wrong it’s Rick’s sweater vests.)

Is the GOP right-wing purposely trying to alienate 51% of the voters to appeal to fundamentalists who think women’s rights ought to be rolled back to the middle ages? (Or at least back to 1952.) That sounds more like the Taliban than America.

Here’s a slightly disturbing statistic. (Actually more than slightly.) In countries around the world with the highest percentage of females in national legislatures, the U.S. ranks 69th. That’s embarrassing.

And a few weeks ago, Willard (”etch a sketch”) Romney said, “Planned Parenthood, we’re going to get rid of that.” Planned Parenthood provides services to 3,000,000 women, including vital breast cancer screenings.

With his “America never apologizes” attitude, it would seem that wars are likely to continue with Willard in the White House. Somehow there’s always money for wars, but breast cancer screenings are breaking the budget.

Frankly, I don’t know why women aren’t screaming mad. (From personal experience, they frequently are at me.) I’m hoping the women of Venice (and all across the country) speak up to stop this insanity. If not, as Rip Van Winkle might have said, “I’m going back to bed.”

The More Things Change…Carol Fondiller Strikes Back from the Archives, March 1985 – Wombs: Property of the State?

By Carol Fondiller

I’m holding a picket sign again, my feet hurt again, and people look past the sign that I picked up from a pile of signs, something about abortion being legal and bombings are not. Yep, back in the ol’ fox hole – again.

For the past five years now, abortion clinics have been torched or bombed, doctors have been kidnapped and clients and patients have been harassed and threatened by people who plead, “Oh, don’t kill your baby!”

It’s a marvel to me how people forget current history.

In one of Reagan’s campaign speeches he spoke of how far women had come in his administration – as if he and those of his political ilk had helped them get there. It’s as if there were no history of women’s right to choose over their biology, no history of suffragists chaining themselves to public buildings, marching, being arrested, no history of women acting in an “unladylike” manner in their struggle for enfranchisement. It’s as if someone wiped out all of history.

Before Ronnie was the Void.

It’s particularly galling to see women under thirty buying the whole repressive package – “Yes, I’m a doctor, lawyer, policeman, truck driver, C.P.A., miner, general, anchorwoman – but I’m not a women’s libber and I got to where I am with no one’s help!” And the ever-popular real women don’t argue, they discuss. These post-Beatles’ era women who can now have “non-traditional” jobs and even THINK of asking for on-site day-care and even think about thinking about comparable pay, think about the same athletic scholarship opportunities offered to women as are offered to men. These women who were born when I was in college are taking for granted attitudes and choices I didn’t even imagine when I was in high school. And that goes from the right of access to accurate, unbiased information about birth control.

Well, Goddess knows, there’s a saying that those who forget or don’t learn about history are condemned to repeat it. And, my dear younger sisters, this is the history Phyllis and Jerry and Ronnie have in store for us. January 22^nd was the 13^th anniversary of the Roe vs. Wade decision of the Supreme Court.

As I remember, that decision reversed a decision of a lower court’s ruling that abortion was murder to the decision that the matter of abortion was a private matter between a woman and her physician. I read Simone De Bouvoir’s “Second Sex,” and Grave’s “White Goddess” in high school, so to me that decision was long overdue. Anyone remember what’s her name and the thalidomide baby, and how she went to one of those cold liberal northern countries for an abortion? You do? Well, your 30-year high school reunion is coming up, also.

I’m one of those women who’s had a taste of the world when abortions were illegal, and a sample of how it is now that women have the right to their own choice – and I am stating here and now that abortion is not my favorite form of birth control. But what happens if you are ill from the pill and the diaphragm slips? In the past, bar maids, receptionists, dancers, students, teachers did not get maternity leave, and if I may remind you, at this time maternity leaves and benefits are being cut from some of the fringe benefits in some jobs, including the local, state, county and federal agencies which in the past have been the main employers of most of the few jobs where women could get seniority.

And heeeeere’s Ronnie co-opting again – this time from Mao, praising the born-again new feudalists as 70,000 of them assembled in Washington, D.C. on the 13^th anniversary of Roe vs. Wade decision – praising them “on their long march for the right to life.” Well, of course Ronnie would praise the new feudalists, Ronnie needs a constant supply of vulnerable expandable welfare wombs to ensure a steady supply of scab and unskilled labor and cannon fodder to protect his “Shining City on the Hill.” That is why there is more concern about the contents of the womb than for the destiny of the fully formed, already existing sentient female-type human being who if she chooses will be living with it for nearly a year, at least.

Because of the pill and legalized abortion, there has been a decline in Anglo-Saxon babies for adoption by the less vulgarly fertile upper classes.

This same administration which is supporting the new feudalists is also re-promulgating the old myths that: 1) women don’t hold “real jobs”; 2) if a woman has a job, she doesn’t need it as much as a man. Now do you see why I call these people new feudalists? They’re gonna take us right back to pre-Magna Carta days.

Several years ago, I took part in an abortion speak-out sponsored by a pro-choice group. I was disappointed that other women and I were preaching to the already converted. No high school girls or college women heard the other women’s or my histories about coat hangers, green soap, knitting needles piercing uterine walls, being raped by failed doctors on the table, of the men in jail, out of town, dead, or married to someone else, of not having the few thousand dollars to have it neatly and cleanly done in a nice little villa on Doheny Drive by an abortionist-to-the-stars.

Because, believe me younger sisters, if anti-abortion legislation is enacted, it will only affect the middle and low income people as have the inroads on federal funding for abortion for the poor. Well, surely you didn’t think that Reagan would force his cronies wives, daughters, mistresses to have unwanted children, would you? That’s different.

It’s too bad that no one has told you, younger sisters, about being driven by a panic-stricken lover to County General where, bleeding and in pain, you were questioned by homicide detectives; of being called stupid by a young intern because you nearly killed yourself.  No doctor, just poor.    Spending three weeks flat on your back talking to other women who were also pariahs. The shady ladies of obstetrics. A 13-year old who didn’t know she was pregnant until she was five months along and couldn’t remember who did it, much less how; a 45-year-old mother of six who winked at the other women as she said, “I just slipped and fell, doctor.” All of the women were suffering from effects of illegal abortion, not the abortions themselves. The doctor or midwife or neighbor who helped the women abort was also guilty of murder.

A film has been showing around the country called “The Silver Scream.” I saw parts of it on television and frankly, it reminded me of those SUNN movie productions, popular in the late 70s. You know, the ones that try to prove there were space ships in King Tut’s time, and Jesus and Buddha were all aliens-abominable snowmen; well, this is an abominable snowjob. An ultrasound picture of a three-month fetus is magnified about 1000 times its real-size size, which is about the size of a little finger. It then shows what is purported to be a suction abortion, which works on the same principle as a vacuum cleaner. You are then told by the doctor who is, he says, an atheist and former abortionist, that what he shows you in this blurry ultrasound-wave blow-up is the mouth of a baby. Note: not fetus, baby. What I saw saw a series of vaguely connected horizontal lines that, when it was pointed out to me, yes, it did look like fetus, pardon – baby. Much like those blobby things in the sky over the Mojave desert looked like flying saucers. Oh yeah, this one’s kind of cigar-shaped, though. Anyway, this doctor tells us that the baby’s mouth is open in a silent scream of pain, and it’s squirming “…in pitiful attempt to get away,” in the words of the doctor. Well, fine, but it’s still the faintest of faint outlines of a human being, not a fully developed baby. It isn’t all filled in with brain cells, nerve endings, etc. It cannot breathe or take nutrition outside of the womb.

And, with our president’s blessing, that same president who wants to keep the government out of fixing children’s teeth or regulating pollution, wants the Government to stick its snotty pointed nose up women’s vaginas.

Maybe that’s why Reagan doesn’t want sex education in public schools.

Oh, but he loves those bombers and torchers of clinics where abortions are performed. They’re from the Army of God, they say. God told them to do it. They say they are protecting the civil rights of the “unborn babies,” in the same way that civil rights activists of 25 years ago broke the laws to protect the civil rights of Black people.

Civil rights activists never bombed churches or killed un-armed people.

The Ku Klux Klan did that.

The Klanners also claimed that they had a direct line from God.

I hope, my younger sisters, that you remember my past, because if you don’t, my past might be your future.

Wild and Peaceful – The Ivory Queen of Soul

By Ronald K. Mc Kinley

Mary Christine Brockert, known as Teena Marie, was born in Santa Monica and spent her early childhood in Mission Hills. Later she moved with her family to Venice to live in a large house on Nowita Court.

Born on March 5, 1956 she was raised in Qakwood, nick-named “ghost town” because you go in alive, you come out a ghost. Brockert attended Venice High School where she joined the Summer Dance Production, and appeared in the musical “The Music Man.” She graduated in 1974.

Her distinctive soulful vocals caused listeners to believe she was African-American. Success in R&B and Soul earned her the title Ivory Queen of Soul.

She was the fourth of five children born to a construction worker, Thomas Leslie Brockert, and a homemaker Mary Anne. She was Portuguese, Italian, Irish and Native American.

Brockert took to singing naturally, developing a fondness for singing the songs of Motown.

Her parents listened to jazz and popular music, and her parents began sending her out on auditions when she was eight years old. She got her first acting role on “ The Beverly Hillbillies,” that aired October 21, 1964. She sang at the wedding of Jerry Lewis’s son when she was ten years old.

She learned to play piano under the tutelage of two nuns, as she was raised in a Roman Catholic household. She also played rhythm guitar, keyboards and congas. Her first band was formed with her younger brother Anthony, and a cousin.

In 1976 she was introduced to Motown staff producer of the Jackson 5, Hal Davis. This lead to an audition for a film about orphans being developed by Motown. The film failed, but Berry Gordy decided to sign her as a solo act.

Rick James, also on the label, turned down producing Diana Ross to work with Brockert. Her debut album “Wild and Peaceful” scored Brockert her first R&B hit “I’m a Sucker for Your Love” (#8 on the Black Singles Chart). Lady T was the name coined by Rick James.

There was no picture of her on the album. Many radio programmers assumed she was Black.

This changed when she performed her debut hit with James on Soul Train in 1979; she was the show’s first white female guest. She appeared eight more times, more than any other white act.

In 1980, on her second album, “Lady T,” her portrait appears on the cover. Also in 1980, she released her third LP “Irons in the Fire,” dedicated to her father. She handled all the writing and production, including horn arrangements and backing vocals, something rare at the time for female artists.

She had her first top 40 hit with the single “I Need Your Loving” (#37, #9 Black Singles Chart).

In 1981 she released “It Must be Magic” (#2 Black Albums Chart) her first gold record, which included her biggest R&B hit “Square Biz” (#3 Black Singles Chart).

In 1982 Brockert got into a battle with Berry Gordy over her contract. A lawsuit resulted in the “The Brockert Initiative,” which made it illegal for a record company to keep an artist under contract without releasing new material for that artist.

She left Motown as the label’s most successful white solo act. Because of her, artists are able to move to another label and not be held back by an nonsupporting one.

In 1984 she released her biggest-selling album “Starchild.” It contained her biggest hit “Lovergirl,” released by Epic Records. It rose to #4 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 Chart.

She never married, but gave birth to daughter Alia Rose in 1991, they can be seen on YouTube singing together.

She was Godmother to Marvin Gaye’s daughter Nona Gaye, and she also cared for Rick James’ son Rick Jr.

Lenny Kravitz posted a video in which he said Brockert had taken him into her home when he was struggling early in his career.

She suffered a Grand mal seizure a month before her death. Close friends said she suffered other seizures. She broke two ribs with the grand mal. She stopped taking Diazepam, for the seizures, because of the side affects, and took herbal medicines instead. She was so frightened of having another seizure when she was alone that she would have someone sleep with her at night.

The Saturday night of the day before her death nothing seemed unusual. Someone slept next to her.

Her daughter checked in with her around 1 PM Sunday afternoon. At 3 PM her daughter checked in again but could not wake her. She died in her sleep of natural causes according to the coroner.

She died the day after Christmas 2010. She was 54 years old.