strangers stopping strangers, just to shake their hand

I am very disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed.

June has been designated as Pride Month — unofficially — since 1970, when four US cities held pride marches to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the riots (and subsequent victory for gay rights by the gay community) at the Stonewall Inn in New York City. In 1999 — more than a quarter of a century ago — President Bill Clinton issued a proclamation naming June "Gay and Lesbian Pride Month." In 2011, President Obama expanded the recognition to include the entire LGBTQ+ community. Since then, Pride Month has been recognized and celebrated by individuals — both gay and straight. Corporate America jumped on the potentially lucrative bandwagon, incorporating the ubiquitous rainbow flag into their logos and product labels, in hopes it would A. display their support for the gay community and B. put them in line for a quick boom in business. Whatever ulterior motives big companies had, their hearts (if corporations have hearts?) seemed to be in the right place.

Lately, there seems to be a wave of unprovoked and unfounded hate washing over our country. I'm not saying that hate disappeared and then suddenly reappeared. The hate has always been there. It just appears that people have become more brazen, more vocal and more venomous in the age of the internet and social media. Behind the anonymity of a Facebook account or an X handle, folks spew the most vile, narrow-minded, fear-induced rhetoric without concern for possible repercussions. I've seen social media posts (and comments on posts) that reveal the most backward-thinking, prejudiced sentiment that I mistakenly thought was on its way out as my parents' generation dies off. I am really shocked (and disappointed) that people of my age — or younger — still maintain the bigoted ideals of a shameful time in our country's history. I really hoped we were headed in a better direction.

There was one group I thought was exempt from this parochial mindset. Deadheads. Turns out.... I was wrong.

The Grateful Dead has not existed for thirty years. (Don't count The Other Ones, Dead & Company, Furthur, the Rhythm Devils, Phil Lesh and Friends, RatDog, Billy & the Kids or any other offshoot assembly of former and fringe members of the original band.) The fans of the Grateful Dead — Deadheads — have always presented themselves as free-spirits. They promoted love, kindness, peace, cosmic consciousness and all that other hippie philosophy — long after the first generation of hippies started wearing suits and ties and working in the corporate world. Hoards of fans — too young to have experienced the psychedelic "love-in" vibes of the band first hand — have proliferated the message of brotherhood (and sisterhood) for decades after the demise of Jerry Garcia and his colleagues, through bands like Phish, Umphrey's McGee and other "Grateful Dead"-ish bands. Still, thirty years later, they sport joyful tie-dye clothing and flash the peace signs in photos splashed across Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, Snapchat (is that still a thing?) and other internet platforms with which I'm unfamiliar.

And just like Pride Month, several companies have jumped on the Grateful Dead's monetary bandwagon to capitalize on the band's popularity, legacy and image. Grateful Dead merchandise is still a hot commodity. Whoever controls the band's interest has licensed the familiar iconography for inclusion on t-shirts, stickers and hundreds of other items. (As KISS's Gene Simmons once said "Anything that can have KISS on it, should have KISS on it." Obviously, the marketing department of Grateful Dead Enterprises have sat up and taken notice.) I'm not knocking this practice. Oh no! Anywhere there's a buck to be made — have at it, I say. I'm just stating a fact.

One of the many licensees of Grateful Dead merchandise is a small company called Grateful Fred. Grateful Fred started in 2020 as a way for its founder to display his love of the Grateful Dead on his electric car. Soon, his company was producing well-crafted metal badges in a variety of Grateful Dead symbols that could be permanently adhered to your vehicle just above the manufacturer's factory-applied badge, where it would seamlessly and subtly integrate.

Like this....

Pretty clever, huh?

In its short existence, Grateful Fred has extended their line to include stickers, barware, badges for water bottles and cellphone cases and keyrings. They have evidently garnered a pretty large customer base, likely comprised of holdover Deadheads now in possession of expendable income, thanks to pensions as they reach the age of retirement and their dependents have moved out on their own. The badges are not cheap — running between ten and thirty dollars apiece. Just this year — this month, as a matter of fact — Grateful Fred introduced ten products in their "Pride Collection," including the iconic "Steal Your Face" logo with a bold rainbow background. Measuring almost two-and-a-half inches in diameter at a cost of thirty bucks, this little metal badge can easily be mounted on your Volkswagen microbus to let the world know you are a proud dual member of the Grateful Dead and LGBTQ+ communities — or an ally thereof. Pretty sweet, if I say so myself. And something that would surely be welcomed among the loving, inclusive Grateful Dead fold.

You would think

The post announcing the Pride Collection on Grateful Fred's Facebook presence was flooded — flooded! — with a plethora of comments expressing anger, disdain, and — most surprisingly — homophobia. Comment after comment showed unabashed hatred for Pride Month, gays and, now, Grateful Fred. Many declared they would never purchase another item from the company. Others dismissed the LGBTQ+ community as "bullshit," "sad," "mentally ill," and a variety of equally misguided, uninformed and repugnant labels. A few said "Go woke and go broke!" as they, once again, totally miss the point of what "woke" actually means. Others wondered when "Straight White Male Month" will be celebrated, turning a blind eye to the fact that straight, white males are celebrated everyfuckingwhere you look! Still others questioned why someone's sexuality should be celebrated, as they continually post photos of themselves hugging their wives and kissing their girlfriends. What are straight people so afraid of? They've been in charge for like.... ever!

I have seen similar posts on other company websites and Facebook pages regarding their support for Pride Month or the gay community in general. But.... from Deadheads? Really? A group that allegedly prides (no pun intended) itself on love and loving and spreading love. I suppose hate is just everywhere and nothing is immune from its infestation.

I am disappointed. Not surprised, just disappointed.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

why don't you hate who I hate

If you want to pick a sports figure as an inspiration and a role model, Serena Williams is a pretty good choice. On Saturday, Miss Williams won the French Open, the latest achievement in her illustrious, title-filled twenty-year career. Making her debut at the tender age of 14, Miss Williams fought hard to emerge as a true champion in the field of professional tennis, maintaining her ability and competitive edge into an age when most of her contemporaries have retired. So how did the judgmental world of social media congratulate Miss Williams on her latest victory? Well, some took to Twitter to call her "disgusting" and "manly." Others expressed more vicious sentiment, some with a decidedly racist tone. Miss Williams has been on the receiving end of sexist and racist slurs her entire career.

On the same Saturday, Mrs. Pincus and I attended a wedding. Aside from the bride and her parents, we didn't know any other guests. After a lovely and traditional ceremony in an historic rural church, we gathered at the outdoor pavilion of a nearby country club for the celebratory reception. Amid the open seating, Mrs. P and I chose an empty picnic table and chatted and watched as other guests filed in. A couple, slightly older than my wife and me, approached and asked to join us. We smiled, offering a gesture of welcome. As we enjoyed our dinner, we made informal small talk with the couple, touching on the usual subjects of jobs, relationship to the bride, the weather and travel. We mentioned that we had just returned from a cruise. We spoke briefly about our trip before they began tell us of a cross-country drive that they recently took. The gentleman spoke about some of the unusual things they encountered and happily reported (with a sardonic tone) about a hotel they visited that was — and I quote a man that we had only met twenty minutes prior — "filled with blacks." My wife and I were silently horrified.

My son is a disc jockey on a local Philadelphia radio station. In addition to other responsibilities, he hosts an all-request show every Saturday afternoon. In the current age of technology, requests are submitted via Twitter, Facebook and email, as well as the good ol' telephone. On this very same Saturday, he received a call by way of Katie, the young lady who sometimes answers the phone for him. A woman phoned to ask: "The guy that's on the radio right now... Is it E. Pincus?" Katie, the phone-answerer, replied, "Yes." The caller continued the line of questioning. "Is that his real name? Or is it a name he uses just for the radio?" Having no clue where this inquisition was headed, Katie answered, "That is his real name. Is there a song you'd like to hear?" She tried to get the caller back on track. But, the caller persisted, "Is he Jewish or does that question make me a bigot?" Katie immediately disconnected the call and shook her head in disbelief.

My friend Randi works for the local office of the Anti-Defamation League. She often organizes and facilitates in-person seminars about tolerance. Her presentations discuss bullying, antisemitism, racism and other topics to help educate the uneducated. She travels city-wide, to schools, to youth groups, to senior centers — anywhere that is willing to assemble an audience and willing to open their minds. Whenever I see Randi I tell her that, based on what I regularly witness, she will have job security for a long, long time.

I can't wait to tell her about Saturday.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

they’re selling postcards of the hanging

On this date, 94 years ago, The John Robinson Circus was setting up for a one-day stop in Duluth, Minnesota. Two teenagers, Irene Tusken and James Sullivan, attended the 8 o'clock performance. At 9:45, after an evening of entertainment, Sullivan and his date went home. Tusken briefly talked with her parents, then bid them "good night" and went off to bed. At midnight, Sullivan reported for his night-shift duty at the ore docks. Around 3 AM, more than five hours after the circus performance, Sullivan told his father, a dock supervisor, that he and Tusken had been accosted at gunpoint by several black circus workers. He went on to say that they raped Tusken while he was held at bay. Astonished and angered, Sullivan's father called the Duluth Police to report the incident.

At 4:30 AM, workers at the circus grounds had just finished packing up the rigging and equipment and loaded it all on a train. That train was stopped by police. One hundred and forty black laborers were awakened and lined up alongside the train tracks. When Sullivan and Tusken arrived, they hesitated and expressed difficulty in identifying the men who attacked them. They randomly chose six men who, in their assessment, fit the approximate description and body size. Police questioned other workers and, eventually arrested the six.

"Smile everyone. Everyone that can, that is"

The story of the rape swept through town. A crowd — swelling to nearly 10,000 — gathered at the police station. They threw bricks and screamed for justice. The city's public safety commissioner, acting as leader in the absence of the Chief of Police, ordered officers not to draw their guns. Without the benefit of proper crowd control, the police were helpless. The rabid throng broke into the police station and began to saw through the bars on the small cells inside. The terrified prisoners began praying. After gaining access, the mob pulled Isaac McGhie, Elmer Jackson and Elias Clayton out of their cells and out into the street. The men beat them. The women kicked and stomped them with high-heeled shoes. The crowd dragged the three men — each barely 20 years old — for several blocks and hanged them, one-by-one, from a lamp post at the corner of Second Avenue and First Street. Then the people jockeyed for prime position to pose with the dead men for a photograph. Elias Clayton was cut down, his half-naked body tossed on the sidewalk so he would fit in the photo. The smiles and laughter cast an eerie dichotomy with the lifeless and twisted figures at the photograph's center.

Subsequent questioning and further investigation suggests that no rape or attack had taken place. No one was ever charged with the murders of McGhie, Jackson and Clayton. Max Mason, a fourth black circus worker, served four years in prison for his involvement in a crime that never happened.

We should never forget incidents like this. We should talk about them and not sweep them under the rug, pretending they didn't happen. And we, as a society, should be ashamed of ourselves.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com