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This title is part of UC Press's Voices Revived program, which commemorates University of California Press's mission to seek out and cultivate the brightest minds and give them voice, reach, and impact. Drawing on a backlist dating to 1893, Voices Revived makes high-quality, peer-reviewed scholarship accessible once again using print-on-demand technology. This title was originally published in 1972

Intro -- Contents -- Chapter One: Through the Looking Glass -- Chapter Two: Out of the Closet -- Chapter Three: Staying Younger While Getting Older -- Chapter Four: Does Age Count Anymore? -- Chapter Five: The Marriage of Self and Society -- Chapter Six: The Golden Years? They've Gotta Be Kidding! -- Chapter Seven: . . . And Now About Sex -- Chapter Eight: The Shrinking Ties That Bind -- Chapter Nine: Hey Folks, You're Spending My Inheritance -- Chapter Ten: Taking Care of Mom and Dad -- Chapter Eleven: Oh My God, We're Old! -- Chapter Twelve: It's Better Than the Alternative, Isn't It? -- Chapter Thirteen: One Last Word -- Acknowledgments -- Notes.

Let the people speak! Words enshrined in American political life since we were but a collection of colonies and the
issues of the day were aired and decided at the Town Hall Meetings that defined the political culture of the time. And
speak they did, whether in the late-seventeenth-century Salem witch hunts inspired by Puritan theology or in 1773,
when the Boston Tea Party signaled the popular discontent with British rule that led to the American Revolution.

Asserts that the US initiative movement has been professionalized & subverted by moneyed special interests, with resulting propositions often incomprehensible to voters. The case of CA is used to illustrate. It is contended that a serious conversation about democracy & a national movement to change the structure & culture of US politics is required to reform the initiative process. D. Edelman. Adapted from the source document.

Fire and Flood. We call them natural disasters, but a closer look suggests a human hand at work as well. Three years before Katrina hit the gulf coast, Mike Parker, the former head of the Army Corps of Engineers, warned that the levees, which crumbled under the impact of the hurricane, were bound to give way one day. To support his plea for funds to repair them, he brought samples of the corroded steel supports to his White House superiors. "It doesn't matter if a terrorist blows the lock up or if it falls down because it disintegrates," Parker told the director of the Office of Management and Budget. "Either way it's the same effect, and if we let it fall down, we have only ourselves to blame." The response from an indifferent and irresponsible administration was to force Parker's resignation.

In the spring of 1995, when Lane Kirkland's old order was toppling and John Sweeney's young(er) Turks were poised to revitalize the American labor movement, one of the movement's leading operatives gave me his take on what was behind the revolt. "We didn't join the labor movement when it represented 20 percent of the work force," he said—and by "we," he meant a generation of more militant organizers, children of the sixties, who were then in their forties—"only to see it drift down to 5 percent on our watch."

Until recently, my husband and I had been seeing one of those "Oh-I'm-so-glad-he's-my-doctor" physicians for two decades. Then one day the mail brought the announcement that the office was closing its doors and that the four doctors who had been in the practice were either retiring or leaving San Francisco. They enclosed a list of doctors who, they said, had indicated they had room in their practices. So started my search for a new primary-care physician. I looked the list over, saw a familiar name, and dialed the number. "Yes," the receptionist assured me, "doctor is taking new patients." It was all very friendly; I made an appointment; she set about recording the necessary information, and then the crucial question. "What insurance do you have?" "Medicare and AARP" (one of the several medi-gap insurance plans to which those of us who can afford it subscribe), I replied. I heard a small intake of breath, a ten-second silence that felt like much more, and then, "Oh, you should have told me before that you're Medicare; doctor isn't taking new Medicare patients." And with that she severed the connection and, I assume, wiped my appointment off the book.

It's impossible to look back on the sixties without thinking, What a time that was! Politics and culture intermingled in a heady mix, the personal was political and the political personal; every act—whether demonstrating against the Vietnam War, smoking dope, having sex, or listening to rock and roll—had meaning beyond itself. The civil rights movement, the sexual revolution, the women's liberation movement, and the counterculture were all demanding changes that would alter the social landscape forever. Peace, freedom, equality, justice were the watchwords of the time. Yet, even among the young male revolutionaries of the New Left, equality didn't mean the women with whom they worked, studied, and slept.

A symposium paper in response to Marshall Berman's paper, "1968: Lessons Learned" in which the author responds to the following questions from a modern leftist perspective: (1) What has changed and/or stayed the same since 1968? (2) What issues might be learned from 1968 for the future of the left? (3) How is knowledge of their success and failures useful to leftist today?