To the editors:
Yes Julie Phillips (“Boomed Out,” July 31), everyone in the 60s either burned draft cards or napalmed natives. We all were either Archie Bunkers or citizens of the Woodstock nation. We all tuned in, turned on, and dropped out only after getting bored with toga parties. We were all either peace creeps or Jesus freaks.
Not only that, when our parents were young they all danced the Charleston, then joined bread lines until it was time to conga off to WWII. And I think all our grandfathers and grandmothers wore handlebar mustaches and went 100 rounds with John L. Sullivan.
Yes Julie Phillips, it is fashionable to reminisce about the 60s. It is even more fashionable for journalists and other assorted Einsteins to analyze stereotypical symbols (or straw men), and strain to come up with some new just as meaningless stereotypes. Stereotypes of something that exists for only a small percentage of us nonjournalists.
Because you see, Julie Phillips, there is always a buck to be made by you “creative types,” no matter what the medium, as long as your cliches are slightly fresher, the labels just a little more shallow, and the purveyors even more contemptible than before.