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Shulamith Program_9.27_Page_01

Last year, around this time, I received word that a long ago friend of mine, with whom I had sporadic communications in the previous decades, had died.  She was Shulamith Firestone, whom I met way back in 1964, in Chicago.  It was after I’d returned from bumming around Europe and then Mexico for around a year and a half, and had made some of my first films.   We met because she was the girlfriend of my friend Charles (Chick), from my days at the Institute of Design, (IIT).  I went to Mexico to be in a film for him – which if I recall he ended up cutting me out completely though I was, comically, his lead character!  On my return to Chicago in summer of 1964 we shared a flat at the south end of the Loop, immediately beside the “L.”  The trains went by, loudly, like clockwork, right out the window.  Through this I got to know, fall in love with Laya, (and the rest), Shulie’s younger sister.  I remained in touch with her through all these years, as, fitfully, I did with Shulamith, who went on to become a kind of shooting star of the then birthing feminist movement.  She was deeply involved, as the following material will show.  I saw her occasionally after she moved to New York, and once took a little trip with her from there to Boston, I think in the early 70’s – the reasons for which are lost in the fog of my memory.   I saw her a handful of times since, and corresponded with her a little.   The last email, perhaps less than a decade ago, said something to the effect that she – the Shulamith I had known – no longer existed, deleted by the meds and institutionalization she’d been through.

While I couldn’t say I’d been present enough to actually observe, I did see enough, and my experiences in the radical left of the time (one of the founders of the left group Newsreel; deeply involved in the Chicago convention, and many other things) showed me in principle how such things seem to work, and to surmise that Shulamith, way out front in what at the time was a social heresy, got chewed to pieces by the mass media, and then by her erstwhile radical sisters.   Such is the way of politics, of whatever tilt.  As noted in the following, she withdrew in consequence, though perhaps it did not withdraw from her.

With Laya’s OK, I post the following, as I think it provides a glimpse into the tenor of those times, and perhaps in turn a small bit of history for those who were not present then, and for some who were, but were not actively involved inside, a clearer picture of what happened in those years.

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Perhaps it is a function of time, age, experience, and of course a close personal connection – but as I read this my eyes tear.  I am thrown back upon my whole life’s trajectory, back to those fervid days of youth, one in this instance arbitrarily set in the turmoil of the 60’s.  For those who preceded me it might have been the trauma of the Great Depression of the 30’s, or of World War Two which left its stamp.  For those of the current younger generation it might be the shock of 9/11 (and perhaps realizing that their own government had a hand in it).

As I watch the age spots blossom across my skull and skin, and see the slackening muscle tissue of my body, and am proffered the clear message that death is next – be it tomorrow or 20 years – it cannot help but provoke reflection.  Talking with my peers these days, often we concur that it – life, this process we go through – all means nothing, that whatever success (or failure) we have experienced, at bottom, it means nothing.  It is a process, which goes nowhere, and finally is empty of any meaning.  Such is the wisdom with which a long and fully lived life concludes.  The day of Shulamith’s death isn’t really known – her body was found some days after she had died, perhaps of a heart attack, perhaps of starvation.   As in the old black spiritual, you must cross that river by yourself.   By necessity, Shulamith did, though in a real sense tragically, she lived much of her life in the isolation of herself.

I do not in any way believe in an after-life, or the other consolations we invent for ourselves to wash away the reality of death, or the termination of ourselves, and the final meaninglessness of our lives.   I wish I had had the opportunity in life to give Shulamith what she needed and deserved, a kind of comfort which life refused her.

[For an excellent article on Shulamith, by Susan Faludi, see this.]

_L.Ehrlich2010_2678xLaya Firestone Seghi,  and myself, shooting 1967’s LEAH (foto Linn Ehrlich)

3 Comments

  1. Jon,

    So bleak……I think you need to come and hang out with friends. I suppose I feel quite differently (and always have) about life. Perhaps its because I’m jewish and for us the point of iife is simply to life, enjoy what the earth has to offer and work to make it a better place – whether or not one succeeds….it is in the doing that I think one (at least I) finds meaning, in the friendships formed, the victories won (or not) knowing all the while of the impermanence of things and us. It may be delusional, but then what isn’t.

    Marilyn Katz
    President
    MK Communications
    350 West Hubbard Street
    Chicago, Il. 60654
    312-822-0505 (o)
    312-953-1225 (c)

    • Hmmm… I don’t find what I wrote to be bleak – simply an acknowledgment of how things really are. I have a good time in my life, I enjoy things immensely, I feel increasingly tuned to where I am. But I know when all is said and finally done, it all “doesn’t matter.” It only matters to we living creatures while we live and in the manner we choose to make it matter to us. Some people obviously get great pleasure killing others; some would accept their own death before they acquiesced to those who demanded they kill. And everything in between. BTW – I am going to come visit. And I will have a big smile and laugh a lot as I usually do! xx

  2. Hi Jon, Just noticed this post of yours acknowledging Shulamith Firestone. Very cool. I was a very good friend of
    Shulamith’s. I helped to organize her memorial service at St. Marks etc. She did often speak of you to me over the 15 years I knew her, much later than when you knew her. She spoke very fondly of you as we discussed art politics and life.
    Nice to see your post.
    SIncerlely
    Lori Hiris


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