In The Time of Job When Mischa Was A Zippie - January 20th 1973 Part 4

Part 4 - Scattered Yippies Launch Counterattacks! - Film at 11:00

Zippies scattered to the wind in all directions, police in hot pursuit. My legs were moving as fast as they could carry me, but my destination was unknown.

I turned down one street and then another, all my energies focused on trying to shake the man. After a bit I found myself running through a neighborhood with large, stately houses lining one side of the street. With each tree that I passed, I became more certain that the pigs would surely lose my trail.

Soon enough, I was fairly confident I had managed to shake the man. Yet I maintained my pace. As I began to pay more attention to the whimsical, ornate architecture providing me a visual feast, I suddenly became aware of the frosty wind biting at my cheeks. Even my eyes had begun tearing up from exposure to the frigid blasts. Surely, I was not running that fast—but then again, maybe I was. Objects were beginning to blur.

To my good fortune, I spotted a group of Yipsters ahead of me, sauntering down the street in my direction. Barely was I within their ranks when I noticed something odd—the pavement beneath my feet seemed to have more give to it than it should, as though it was contracting slightly with each step, and then immediately expanding to push my foot up, much like walking on a giant sponge. I slowed my pace in puzzlement. Continuing a few more yards, I shifted focus to my feet, only to realize that the spongy sensation was being replaced by a more worrisome one—the concrete on which I was moving had begun to spin! I was tottering, hardly able to maintain. Just a few seconds into this, and I realized the cause—flashback!

I froze in anxiety. Surveying my surroundings, I saw sheets of ice begin to rise by the dozens from the street, growing into full-length mirrors reflecting into one another. Next came springing, multicoloured twirling strings, tangling me in way over my head. Add to this the gusts of frosty winds buffeting me from every direction, and my mind was blasted into a level of confusion I had never before known.

As though they could possibly lead me to salvation, I became fixated on following various trails of footprints continually springing up out of the ground around me, then spiraling outward in a kaleidoscope of images. As I moved, I unavoidably passed through one looking glass after another. And each time I did, and dared to look back, more mirrors than I could possibly have imagined sprang forth out of thin air, all seemingly leading to different dimensions in space.

I was trapped in a zoetrope, completely freaked-out and bewildered, and did not know which direction to turn in order to get back to my rightful place in the world. In fact, I would not be amiss to say that I was near the breaking point at the prospect of becoming lost in this demented funhouse of mirrors, this icy chill of multidimensional portals.

Cracking through the crispy air, I thought I heard distant screams....Yes! there they were again: “Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi Yippie! Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi-Yippie!” I knew this sound, this chant, it was music to my ears, and I reached out for it now as a person drowning grasps for a life preserver. Desperate yet hopeful, I followed the sound through layers of space and time until suddenly—a loud CRASH! and I was smashing through the air like broken glass. I stumbled, my leather boots crunching and crackling the frozen ground; I slipped and fell right on my ass. But happily, as if by magic, I was again with my compatriots, back on the street.

Hanging now with the Zipsters, chanting in between the passing of joints, served to effectively mellow out my flashbacks. As we marched, our numbers grew til we were hundreds strong. It was at this point I became privy to the completely brilliant tactical art of Yipster protest demonstration.

The Yippies had figured out a way to infilrate and disrupt a larger group of demonstrators by way of a groovy tactic I like to refer to as “tail strike assembly.” By shouting and yelling loud enough to drown out the chants of the other anti-war organizations, we were able to bleed off their people, to get them to unknowingly blend into our modest numbers. The resulting redirection of various segments from the main group into ours strengthened our mass, collective energy and motivation.

The rallying shouts of Yippie Dana Beal, a long-haired blonde, were leading this brilliant plan of action, which was not only effective but, most importantly, fun! Our power was increased by a perceived strength in numbers; our larger force stifled and intimidated any pig attempts to arrest Yipsters.

Dana Beal had another cunning trick up his sleeve, with regard to our captured rat float. He, along with a small group of Ratsketeers, succeeded in finding the float (or what was left of it), and bringing it back into the foray. The float itself, even in its tattered state, still had the power of a king's throne, inspiring both Yippies and non-Yips alike within our ranks.

As we marched I was privy to hear the story of how the Ratsketeer mouse ears came to be. Some fellow Yipsters out of New York told me how Aron Kay had managed to locate a store that would sell him a large quanity of rat ears, and at wholesale, provided he could produce a business license. John Lennon and Yoko Ono, who had been instrumental in securing the release of jailed White Panther leader John Sinclair, had offered to provide the funds for the Ratsketeers ears. However, the Yippies had no business license.... Well, where there is a Yip with weed there is a way. A heavily stoned Aron Kay, together with Tom Forcade (who would go on to found High Times magazine a year later) managed to create a faux business license, which Tom then utilized to pick up the rat ears at the low wholesale price.

Soon our assemblage was approaching the Washington Monument. A leather-clad Zipster entered the crosswalk, holding his banner so as to signal approaching traffic and allow a safe crossing for us all. However, the pigs were now beginning to get more aggressive—a motorcycle cop intentionally ran right into him. The Zipster was knocked down and in need of assistance to get to safety. I, along with a few others, helped him hobble to the lawns of the Monument.

We were now on the grounds of the Washington Monument. Kids began spray painting on the base of the Monument itself, in delightfully colourful slogans and symbols. We could hear Pete Seeger singing to the masses of over 100,000 in proximity of the White House, a couple hundred yards away from us. Meanwhile, we were fending off the attacks of mounted pigs on horses. We escaped, seeking safety by running into the masses of the more docile anti-war demonstrators listening to the peaceful concert, who the cops were leaving completely alone.

As I reached the outskirts of the peaceful demonstrators, I came across two young men who were commenting on the day's events. “Could you imagine what would happen if all these people attacked the White House?” remarked one. “Yeah!” the other replied. “Now that would bring about the revolution!”

I couldn't let this pass and immediately quipped, “I could certainly go for that!” We continued talking about current politics and issues, and our discussion deepened. Eventually, they invited me to join them for coffee and continue our conversation, and I accepted. It was getting colder outside, and the protest demonstration was winding down.

Later that evening while watching TV with my two new friends at their hotel, I was all smiles when I saw the coverage of the rats that had been thrown onto the Nixon parade route by some of the Ratsketeers. One newscaster even held up a dead rat in a baggie on live TV. The evening's news coverage also featured the loud chants and shouting of the Yippies at Nixon's Inhoguration.

The Yippies' methods of protest and agitprop street theatre were so unique in both style and substance that they skillfully turned street protest into newsworthy artistic theatre. They effectively merged the creativity of '60s counterculture with the protest movement, developing a rock and roll party atmosphere within the revolution. The Yippies made smashing the state FUN!

Stay tunes for Part 5 The Nixonian Aftermath