Madison Turf War
In July of 1970, Wisconsin “liberal” gubernatorial candidate Patrick Lucey had sold five parcels of land on the 400 block of Mifflin street, including ‘Solidarity House’, to William Bandy, an infamous slum lord and real estate developer. After acquiring the lots and decrepit student occupied houses (432-442 W. Mifflin), Bandy assured residents living in the occupied parcels that he would not raise rents and that they would have the first option to purchase the land if he ever decided to sell.
The tenants organized themselves into a loosely structured collective to be able to better assert their rights as a group. Within days of his acquisition, however, we discovered that Bandy had commissioned an architect to prepare plans for a high-rise development. Moreover, Bandy intended to sell to a Milwaukee real estate firm that planned to raise rents from $800 to a whopping $1500.
Many of the residents who had moved into the Bandy houses were highly politicized and had moved in looking to organize the houses as a statement of tenants’ rights in opposition to the property speculation prevailing in the neighborhood. At a publicly assembled meeting of Bandy residents, to which I was invited as a prior occupant and because Fred, my Putney buddy, lived in my old house at 420 Mifflin, we voted to initiate a rent strike and demanded he turn over the empty, long-abandoned parcel be had deeded to the community and we had turned into a mini-park, modeled after People’s Park in Berkeley.
The year before, a pitched battle tried to protect a transformed lot near the University of California, foreshadowing Occupy Wall Street by 40 years. In May 1969, Governor Ronald Reagan mobilized and dispatched the National Guard with helicopters spraying tear gas (in a 50 year precursor to today’s BLM insurrection), unabashedly proclaiming: "If it takes a bloodbath, let's get it over with.” Seventeen days of round-the-clock street fighting ensued, with one killed and one blinded for life.
Reagan’s vicious armed attacks in Berkeley were on the community’s minds when Bandy, directly out of central casting as a greedy, unscrupulous developer and land speculator, steadfastly refused to negotiate with the rent strikers.
In mid-August, Bandy informed the residents that he intended to double their rents; in a calculated provocation and virtual declaration of war, he nailed eviction notices on the doors of the houses. The collective accused Bandy of showing “the same disregard for people that slumlords have shown black neighborhoods” and asserted that the plans of landlords were always incompatible with the needs of tenants.
Despite the eviction notices Bandy nailed to tenants' doors, court proceedings moved slowly. Impatient and frustrated with his inability to exercise his authority, Bandy took matters into his own hands by “leasing” the properties to a local biker club, the C.C. (Capitol City) Riders. (Madison was the state capitol of Wisconsin.) Bandy expected that the C.C. Riders would act where the courts hadn’t by evicting the tenants by whatever means necessary.
Striking residents, fearing retaliation from the bikers, barricaded the doors and windows, turning the four houses into mini-fortresses. The C.C. Riders responded by publicly “swearing” that they would transform Mifflin/Basset into “a respectable community by December,” further declaring their intention to control Madison’s “People’s Park.”
Expecting to find frightened peace loving hippies, the C.C. Riders menacingly arrived flaunting lead pipes, knives, chains and guns. To their shock, they were met by steadfast, determined residents armed with shotguns and other weapons for self-defense, not on the official curriculum but by now a component of our “learning experience.” For all their huffing and puffing, the bikers departed the neighborhood’s first skirmish defeated, frustrated, and humiliated.
Early in the morning hours of September 27, still having failed to evict the rent striking tenants, Bandy descended on 442 W. Mifflin accompanied by a contingent of C.C. Riders wearing their club colors as if suited up for battle. The raiding party managed to physically force its way into 442, drenching the entire building with caustic roach poison, claiming to be fumigating for rodents. Two tenants had to be hospitalized, one remaining in an oxygen tent for almost a week. Their “chemical attack” only acted to consolidate the community’s collective determination as the strike, and defense of the strikers, had become a shared mission of Mifflin/Basset residents.
Tensions were further exacerbated later in the week when C.C. Riders rode up to the Mifflin Street Food Co-op at the corner of Mifflin/Basset, which had come to represent the soul and heartbeat of the community. Without provocation of any sort, C.C. Riders, brandishing knives, pipes and chains, invaded the Co-op, sending at least one community member to the hospital. Though the Co-op and those shopping there had no direct participation in the rent strike, both became collateral damage.
By now, as if by osmosis, the rent strike involved the broader community, which organized itself on a war footing, preparing to defend turf and residency from Bandy’s super-jingoistic motorcycle henchmen. The same evening as the Co-op attack, Bandy drove into the area, acting in a clearly provocative manner. Within minutes of his van being spotted, several hundred, already on high-alert, piled out of their houses and from their front porches to surround his vehicle at the Mifflin/Basset intersection.
Hearing the ruckus, I darted to my front window, which overlooked the corner of Mifflin/Basset, to check out the unfolding scene. I rushed down to join the growing crowd. Just as I hurried down the porch stairs, a huge boulder crashed through the van’s windshield, as if a meteorite had suddenly fallen from the sky scoring a direct hit.
The unmistakable sound of breaking glass sent a seismic shock wave rippling through the crowd, while we apprehensively waited for Bandy’s next move. With blood running down his face, Bandy jumped out of the van wildly waving a pistol at the crowd. Instantly, we all moved back or scooted behind parked cars for fear of being shot by an apparent madman. A brave few broke from the crowd, while crouching low circled the van, punctured the gas tank and torched the vehicle. We all scurried further back, fearing the vehicle would soon explode. Bandy fled the neighborhood on foot, his van lighting up the sky like a roman candle.
In a last, desperate attempt to resolve the strike, we planned a negotiating session with the C.C. Riders. Having been active in the strike, I was drafted as part of the negotiating team – a position I only reluctantly agreed to perform, as I knew that the bikers were now out for blood, having taken some palpable hits and suffering wounds to their macho-driven egos.
We blocked both ends of the 400 block of Mifflin with barricades to prevent cars from entering, setting up a folding card table in the middle of the street – one side for us (facing in the direction of the Capitol building) and one side for the C.C. Riders. The neighborhood had been forewarned of the impending confrontation; Bandy had come to symbolize the “other side” in what had taken on all the characteristics of a guerrilla skirmish on city streets.
Eerily, the 400 block was empty of cars, porches were deserted and no one dared stroll down the sidewalk; electricity filled the air with anticipation high. As I looked over at the Bandy houses on the left of the card table, a flag of the Viet Cong guerrillas – the National Liberation Front fighting for independence in Vietnam – hung from a second floor window. The barrel of a rifle or shotgun could be seen jutting from virtually every second floor window up and down the block. I momentarily felt as if I were in a wild west showdown at the C.C. Corral.
The tension in the air was so thick one could cut it with a knife. I glanced up again with my eyes meeting those of my close friend Lloyd, who steadily looked down the barrel of his .44 magnum. At least Lloyd had experience with his rifle, having hunted with his father. Seeing Lloyd provided a modicum of comfort, as I nervously waited with the contingent of strike negotiators in the middle of the abandoned block, I couldn’t help wonder what would happen if gunfire erupted from both sides of the street with us “negotiators” caught in the middle of whizzing bullets. Worse yet, if the C.C. Riders arrived armed, the whole block could easily erupt into a battle zone with random bullets flying in every direction.
Before I could fully contemplate the deadly consequence of such a scenario, the deafening roar of Harleys shattered the silence, approaching from the 300 block of Mifflin. Advancing slowly for maximum impact, a contingent of motorcycles roared into view slowly approaching the card table. Dismounting from their bikes, the C.C. Riders planted a large American flag on their side of the table.
Instantly, any pretense of actual negotiations gave way to ranting accusations by the bikers regarding our patriotism – or perceived lack thereof. Their bluster remained relatively restrained, however, by the ominous sight of dozens of rifle barrels pointed directly at them and their pristine bikes. Within minutes, the “negotiating session” ended, with both sides retreating to our respective sides of the city, knowing that the day’s battle might be over, but not the war, neither in Madison nor Vietnam.
The Launch of We the People
A confluence of events all that transpired within a few months - the vicious assault on the student body conducted by the police and National Guard during the uprising protesting the invasion of Cambodia; the intense confrontations and armed struggle with the C.C. Riders over the Bandy houses; and the intimidating FBI invasion of our neighborhood after the bombing of AMRC - shook the Madison movement to its deepest roots.
Some turned inward, focusing on their personal lives and future careers, forsaking the student movement. Others continued to see the on-going need to build the anti-war movement on campus, but their efforts were an uphill struggle. The most dedicated and committed left Madison for working class communities throughout the midwest to carry on with organizing efforts. We had witnessed the pinnacle of the organized, mass student movement; never again in the 1970’s did the numbers of active students on campus come close to the pre-bombing period.
While many felt dismayed and mourned the retreat of the campus movement, Mother Jones leader Susan Colson offered an alternative perspective:
I don’t think the anti-war movement died. I think that what happened was that there was a lot of repression, which affected the kinds of work that was going on. There were increasingly new directions that political people were taking. They moved into communities that had been touched by a lot of anti-war organizing and tried to talk about whole new issues about life in this country.
As referenced by Susan, the many dedicated activists concluded that with the ebb of the campus movement, the time had come to leave Madison to transition to factory and community organizing. As the Mother Jones’ founding document had laid out, “cadre may eventually leave Madison to work in the cities, army, etc.” [Emphasis added.] For many, that “eventually” had arrived.
I was imminently headed to Milwaukee along with comrades who moved there. Rather than join the immediate exodus, however, I opted to complete my studies. At the same time, I shifted my political focus to Madison’s East Side working class community.
Serendipitously, a collection of off-campus radicals, many in the progressive, community-based Wisconsin Alliance, were in the early stage of pulling together staff to launch a labor oriented, anti-capitalist newspaper on Madison’s working class East Side. I joined the fledgling effort before the political orientation of the paper had been established, affording me the opportunity to contribute to fleshing out what a labor-oriented paper should look like.
I drew heavily on my experience from Richmond during my brief stint on People Get Ready. In discussions to determine the political thrust of the Madison paper, I advocated an approach and editorial policy similar to People Get Ready - a focus on conditions and struggles in Madison’s factories, as well as events particular to the local working class community. After a period of discussion, we arrived at a unified statement of purpose:
We are convinced that the control of … wealth is control of our society and that right now the rich control nearly every aspect of our society precisely because they control the machinery that we must use to create new wealth. And we have never hidden our belief that the present government is hardly more than a rich man’s tool and almost wholly unresponsive to the needs and aspirations of the people who work for those rich and must live in their society.
The name We The People was unmistakably lifted from the preamble to the U.S. Constitution. In retrospect, I think we believed that a safe, non-threatening name would act as a political shield - after all who disagreed with the U.S. Constitution? While there was nothing wrong with the name, it revealed our trepidation at being criticized as outsiders and fear of being red baited.
We all agreed that the article “To Hell with Bell!”, about the 1971 strike of one-half million telephone workers, constituted front-page material. We distributed the issue at the first strike meeting attended by some 400 union members. Our spirits were buoyed when We the People received a warm welcome and ringing endorsement from strikers and their union. No surprise as strikers always welcome support, but the positive reception reinforced our commitment to push ahead with the paper.
Soon, an 18-wheel short haul driver Joe Morse joined the staff. As he drove short runs for Mayflower, he had plenty of time. Joe, a bit of a loner who appeared out of nowhere, and I became partners. We strategized how to deepen the paper's ties to the East Side community. We hit on the idea of covering the scores of the weekly East Side pool league.
On Thursday nights, we’d stop at league taverns and distribute free papers. Everyone’s head bent forward to check out the scores as there was no public forum to keep track of each team’s standing. We hoped that after we left behind a stack of paper, patrons would read the other articles. Visiting East Side taverns with Joe, a working class trucker, was a welcome introduction to a new culture and a helpful transition from life as a student activist.
In addition to our coverage of the pool league, we took a shot at what we identified as ‘working class culture’ with an article about Johnny Cash. I no longer recall whether our cultural section hit the mark, but it represented early efforts at transitioning from the student movement to organizing workers.
A former grad student turned machinist, Don P, had recently been laid off at the Gisholt machine shop in a production cut back. Don penned an article entitled “Gisholt Sheds Workers Not Tears”, tracking the decline in the U.S. machine tool industry. How very prescient that article turned out to be as much of the midwest deindustrialized.
Gisholt workers received the paper enthusiastically. We soon realized that without any roots in the plant, or in the union, we accomplished little more than distribute the paper from outside at the gates in an effort to “educate” workers to the nature of the capitalist system. Analysis of Gisholt distribution reinforced my belief that only by being on the inside, sharing day-to-day experiences, fighting back with other rank and file workers, could one expect to have any lasting impact.
Another worker who somehow found us was a big, burly guy named Pete who had for years worked as a conductor on the Chicago Northwestern. Pete considered himself a modern-day follower of the Industrial Workers of the World (an anarcho-syndicalist union from the turn of the 20th century.)
Pete was a super nice guy, but another loner who was always seen, in all weather, wearing a buckskin fringe jacket with his long hair hanging well over the collar. Pete relished the idea of being a ‘radical’ and wrote articles attacking the rail union for its utter impotence. He’d secretly leave copies of We the People around train yards, although I don’t think he ever revealed to his fellow workers that he was the source of the paper’s distribution.
In retrospect, the most intriguing experience at We the People was my discovery years later that the FBI recruited an informant who reported back to the Bureau on my activities with the paper. Early one morning, I hawked the paper in front of Research Procuts, a small factory making air filter products. A young black worker stopped to buy a copy for a dime. He readily introduced himself as George Crowell.
Soon, George invited me to shoot pool and drink at an East Side tavern. Out spilled his life story, particularly details of the failed marriage he was experiencing. Hoping he had genuine interest in We the People, I spent many a night listening to him sadly bemoan the loss of his wife and kid.
In a FBI memo drafted 7/30/7, an Agent recounted, “On 7/29/71 … [name redacted] of Research Products Corp. … furnished a copy of a publication entitled ‘We the People’”. The Bureau found a susceptible candidate for recruitment as an informant - lonely, down-on-his-luck, divorced, sad, and separated from his only child. It is a sad testament to the Bureau’s cynical calculation to find a ‘lost soul’ and manipulate him as a low-level informant despite the damage it most likely did to his self-esteem and desire for companionship.
For whatever paltry sum the FBI paid George, he fed them what he thought they wanted to hear. In another Memo, George identified “JONATHAN MELROD” as “editor” of We the People. While I don’t recall being the editor, I’m sure George earned a few extra bucks by pumping up the supposed worth of his surveillance information.
After December graduation, I decided to take a road trip to Oakland to visit old friends in the RU. George accompanied me. I’ve often wondered if he did so at the behest of the Bureau, or as part of his own search for a new life. Regardless, we parted ways as I moved to Milwaukee where I planned to sink the deep roots necessary to galvanize the formation of a class conscious radical working class movement with the goal of remaking society.