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In This Issue...
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History
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The Day the Music Died
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The Day the Music Died
By Phil Reader
The well-known lyric of the title was penned in 1971 by singer-songwriter Don McLean for his nostalgic composition “American Pie.” Its specific reference is to the 1959 plane crash which took the lives of rock-and-roll singers Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and J.P. Richardson (better known as “the Big Bopper”). It was a tragedy which not only changed the face of rock music forever, but shook the foundation of a whole generation of Americans.
But in a larger sense, the song symbolizes the vast social changes of the late 1950s and early 1960s. In Santa Cruz, the seminal event which identified this turning point took place more than two years earlier, on June 2, 1956.
That Saturday night about 200 teenagers had crowded into the Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium for a dance which featured saxophonist Chuck Higgins and his Orchestra, an all-black L.A. band which was currently enjoying success with a hit record titled “Pachuko Hop.”
The evening had proceeded well until about 12:15, when police Lt. Richard Overton entered the auditorium with a small group of officers. The scene which greeted his eyes so “outraged” him, according to his later report, that he immediately ordered the building closed, dispersing the crowd and sending the band packing.
Overton explained his actions by saying that “Rock-and-roll and other forms of frenzied” music had resulted in “obscene, abandoned, and highly suggestive dancing” by the teenagers at the affair. The dancers “engaged in suggesti[ve], stimulating and tantalizing motions induced by the provocative rhythms of an all-negro band.”
The music, he said, had excited the crowd to such passion that at times he feared they would become uncontrollable. To Lt. Overton, it “was quite obvious that this type of affair was detrimental to both the health and morals of our youth and community.”
Santa Cruz Bans Rock and Roll
The following day Police Chief Al Huntsman held a press conference where he said that he “absolutely” agreed with the actions taken by Overton. The authorities then placed a complete ban on rock-and-roll, announcing that “dances of this type will not be tolerated in the future anywhere in Santa Cruz.”
Santa Cruz quickly found itself in the national spotlight as newspapers, radio and television commentators across the country reacted. The battle soon spread far outside the County, the loudest reactions in Oakland and Los Angeles. The storm of publicity which followed the incident resulted in the cancellation of countless shows and dances throughout the state.
Back in Santa Cruz the music ban had the effect of rallying the young people of the town into concerted action for the first time. A delegation of students from Santa Cruz High School marched down to City Hall, carrying their objections to District Attorney Ray Scott and City Manager Robert Klein.
Teachers allowed their students class time to discuss individual rights and civil liberties. Informal gatherings were held on campuses, churches and street corners. A number of “Letters to the Editor” found their way into print in the columns of the Santa Cruz Sentinel.
Ban Deemed Racist
Arlene Freitas, who had attended the dance, disputed the assertion that the dancers had been whipped into a frenzy by “the provocative rhythms of an all-negro band.” She called the statement “prejudiced, uncalled-for and untrue.” She noted that “dancing of this sort had occurred at the Halloween dance where a white band had played and much less was made of that.”
She closed her letter by writing, “I’m sorry your paper has taken this view of rock-and-roll, I disagree with you about the destruction of health and morals of our youth, if anything it helps by eliminating prejudice between the races.”
Another correspondent, Mary Avila, remarked that “it was not right to blame all teenagers” because of the actions of a few couples. “Why did they [the authorities and press] exaggerate so as to make people think that the crowd was going crazy? Why did they have to print the dirt?”
These kind of observations were repeated over and over again for the next week. Finally, City Manager Klein stepped once more into the raging controversy by declaring that the city had no intention of banning “harmless” rock-and-roll dancing. He said that the police action in halting the “indecent” dancing at the Civic Auditorium has been misconstrued in many quarters.
Yet in spite of Klein’s disclaimer, no rock groups were booked at the Civic for the next year. That summer, the only open rock-and-roll dances were held at the Live Oak Grange Hall, outside the city limits. These were all well attended, with dancers overflowing into the parking lot and no dancing style excluded.
A Widening Generation Gap
The ban and its after-effects left a lingering undercurrent of disaffection among young people. During the next decade, the “Generation Gap” widened in Santa Cruz as the local counterculture scene began to develop.
Two future icons of San Francisco’s Beat Generation, Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady, could be found at this time working for the railroad out of the Watsonville Junction. These experiences were the basis of Kerouac’s poem “October in the Railroad Earth.”
In 1959 the “Sticky Wicket” opened, a coffee house which featured folk music as well as jazz. Attached to the cafe was a small library and theater. Also that year Cabrillo College opened with a small staff of progressive professors.
In 1964, Peter Demma and Ron Bevirt open the Hip Pocket Bookstore on Pacific Avenue. Before long the controversial store became embroiled in an obscenity case being accused of outraging the public decency by exhibiting a series of paintings and photographs which prominently featured close-ups of nude males.
About this time, author Ken Kesey became a local fixture with his band of Merry Pranksters. He rolled into town aboard a multicolored bus called “Further,” later immortalized in The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test.
By the time UCSC was built, America was a nation transformed. The conservative Eisenhower years were long gone and the counterculture firmly established. In Santa Cruz, the dramatic move to the political left was only a single ripple on a vastly changed landscape. By then few remembered that one of the opening salvos of this cultural revolution had been fired right here on June 2, 1956, the Day the Music Died.
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