Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1969) “Monsieur Big Bill Miller, former provo, currently a candidate for city council, pictured with comrades above, has been ordered to vacate The Store by the man who holds the lease, Mr. Yarmo, owner of Yarmo’s dress shop, next door to the store on Telegraph Avenue. The Store is a teenage hangout-haven. They created it, they seem to run it. Selling old clothes. Talking tactics. The Store, like Moe’s books across the street, stays open long into the street war, letting people rest in temporary safety. Bill is willing to find another location so that Yarmo can have his shoe department. But Yarmo is in a hurry. On February 18th, Bill was informed that he had three days to get out or start paying $1000 a month rent. Last summer, Yarmo kept a cool head. He felt he needed police “protection” and urged other merchants to cooperate with the authorities. Bill suggested that protection from the police was more like it. Tete a tete. Nose to nose. Bill told me: “I understand Mr. Yarmo’s been threatened and I’m sorry about that…” Meanwhile, as Bill and I spoke, a Berkeley prowl car double-parked out in front of Pepe’s, three doors down. Kids whisked by the door. Bill excused himself. I followed him out. Two young cops grappled with a longhair in the tiny space between their car and a parked car. He would not go. Not for “spitting on the sidewalk” as the cops said. Forty Avenue hips surrounded the car. Kicked in the headlights. Flattened the front two tires. The police could barely control their prisoner. A strawberry malt splattered across the lovely brown uniform. They hobbled off in their crippled car, with prisoner, to the peppery tune of bottles heaved in crossfire, accompanied by loud unforced laughter. Word of the incident flashed down the street. The following day, street brothers joined campus militants in the first major skirmish of 1969.”
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Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1969)

“Monsieur Big Bill Miller, former provo, currently a candidate for city council, pictured with comrades above, has been ordered to vacate The Store by the man who holds the lease, Mr. Yarmo, owner of Yarmo’s dress shop, next door to the store on Telegraph Avenue.

The Store is a teenage hangout-haven. They created it, they seem to run it. Selling old clothes. Talking tactics. The Store, like Moe’s books across the street, stays open long into the street war, letting people rest in temporary safety.

Bill is willing to find another location so that Yarmo can have his shoe department. But Yarmo is in a hurry. On February 18th, Bill was informed that he had three days to get out or start paying $1000 a month rent. Last summer, Yarmo kept a cool head. He felt he needed police “protection” and urged other merchants to cooperate with the authorities. Bill suggested that protection from the police was more like it.

Tete a tete. Nose to nose. Bill told me: “I understand Mr. Yarmo’s been threatened and I’m sorry about that…”

Meanwhile, as Bill and I spoke, a Berkeley prowl car double-parked out in front of Pepe’s, three doors down. Kids whisked by the door. Bill excused himself. I followed him out.

Two young cops grappled with a longhair in the tiny space between their car and a parked car. He would not go. Not for “spitting on the sidewalk” as the cops said. Forty Avenue hips surrounded the car. Kicked in the headlights. Flattened the front two tires. The police could barely control their prisoner. A strawberry malt splattered across the lovely brown uniform. They hobbled off in their crippled car, with prisoner, to the peppery tune of bottles heaved in crossfire, accompanied by loud unforced laughter. Word of the incident flashed down the street.

The following day, street brothers joined campus militants in the first major skirmish of 1969.”

Never Give A Inch Four longhair freaks left San Francisco Civic Center Saturday, heading for New York. On foot. They are not protesting anything. Their purpose is just to find out for themselves whether or not it’s a free country. They are starting out with $20, a Boy Scout handbook, blankets and rubber ponchos, a great deal of beef jerky, and fine new boots. The boots are courtesy of Hugo’s, a shoe repair shop at 84 Fourth Avenue. “Free means you don’t pay,” say the hikers. They hope to run into generosity like Hugo’s everywhere in the country. Upon their arrival in New York, they expect to be greeted on the Lower East Side with the hip equivalent of a ticker-tape parade. “We expect everyone to shower us with their old roaches.” The two men on the hike are both Vietnam veterans. Their motto is: “Never Give A Inch.” — Rex Nordson for San Francisco Express Times (1969)
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Never Give A Inch

Four longhair freaks left San Francisco Civic Center Saturday, heading for New York. On foot. They are not protesting anything. Their purpose is just to find out for themselves whether or not it’s a free country.

They are starting out with $20, a Boy Scout handbook, blankets and rubber ponchos, a great deal of beef jerky, and fine new boots. The boots are courtesy of Hugo’s, a shoe repair shop at 84 Fourth Avenue. “Free means you don’t pay,” say the hikers. They hope to run into generosity like Hugo’s everywhere in the country.

Upon their arrival in New York, they expect to be greeted on the Lower East Side with the hip equivalent of a ticker-tape parade. “We expect everyone to shower us with their old roaches.”

The two men on the hike are both Vietnam veterans. Their motto is: “Never Give A Inch.” — Rex Nordson for San Francisco Express Times (1969)

Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1968) A beautiful barricade, consisting of perhaps ten desks, twenty chairs and five filing cabinets, was constructed—protecting those in Moses Hall from imminent assault by police representing the entire Bay Area. Unfortunately, the door opened outward. It didn’t even seem like a good idea at the time, although it was fun while it lasted. A group of students were essentially saying “fuck you” to the university. It worked. Everyone was outraged. Now the campus leaders, because of what happened in Moses, are able to call a strike of the student body. They say action must be taken but that Moses Hall was a “tactical mistake.” But there is a new “issue” and the campus has the students in Moses Hall to thank for it. Actually, it wasn’t as bad as the Chancellor said it was. Property was more rearranged than damaged. Those who used the sit-in to steal typewriters and play with the files certainly weren’t the ones who stayed to be arrested. Police spilled out the file cabinets, student’s didn’t. Every time there was a rumor that the police were coming, there was a line at the bathrooms. The toilet paper, however, was streaming down the side of the building. People expected to be killed. A sinister looking crowd, milling around bonfires outside, kept us company through the night. We knew that when the police arrived the crowd would split, but their presence did give some comfort. Our comrades on the outside were upset when we wouldn’t leave the building. Some individuals did get away by slipping out just before the arrests. Even if everyone had left, however, most would have been picked up on warrants the next day. A sea of police swept out whoever stayed around the building at five thirty in the morning. It was really impressive to those watching inside. Hundreds of blue helmets reflected the still burning bonfire. “Repressive tolerance,” someone observed. When they broke into the building it was an anticlimax. Two officials cleared a desk from the last barricade, then replaced it so that the press could photograph them doing it. They walked into the room where we sat peacefully, scared shitless, and led us out to preliminary booking. No one was informed that he was arrested. Everyone was searched, photographed and fingerprinted and led into a room downstairs. Stu Albert, amateur attorney, observed that we had never been asked to leave the building. Since we had never been told that we were under arrest, a vote was taken. We decided to leave the building. A confused cop from Novato refused to let us go. The girls sang “Solidarity Forever” as they were led to the bus. The guys, not knowing the words, sang “Mickey Mouse” instead. Then we went to Santa Rita. — Paul Glusman Check out this interview with Nacio Jan Brown on the Leica Camera Blog And here are my previous posts of his photography
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Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1968)

A beautiful barricade, consisting of perhaps ten desks, twenty chairs and five filing cabinets, was constructed—protecting those in Moses Hall from imminent assault by police representing the entire Bay Area. Unfortunately, the door opened outward.

It didn’t even seem like a good idea at the time, although it was fun while it lasted. A group of students were essentially saying “fuck you” to the university. It worked. Everyone was outraged.

Now the campus leaders, because of what happened in Moses, are able to call a strike of the student body. They say action must be taken but that Moses Hall was a “tactical mistake.” But there is a new “issue” and the campus has the students in Moses Hall to thank for it.

Actually, it wasn’t as bad as the Chancellor said it was. Property was more rearranged than damaged. Those who used the sit-in to steal typewriters and play with the files certainly weren’t the ones who stayed to be arrested. Police spilled out the file cabinets, student’s didn’t.

Every time there was a rumor that the police were coming, there was a line at the bathrooms. The toilet paper, however, was streaming down the side of the building. People expected to be killed. A sinister looking crowd, milling around bonfires outside, kept us company through the night. We knew that when the police arrived the crowd would split, but their presence did give some comfort.

Our comrades on the outside were upset when we wouldn’t leave the building. Some individuals did get away by slipping out just before the arrests. Even if everyone had left, however, most would have been picked up on warrants the next day.

A sea of police swept out whoever stayed around the building at five thirty in the morning. It was really impressive to those watching inside. Hundreds of blue helmets reflected the still burning bonfire. “Repressive tolerance,” someone observed.

When they broke into the building it was an anticlimax. Two officials cleared a desk from the last barricade, then replaced it so that the press could photograph them doing it. They walked into the room where we sat peacefully, scared shitless, and led us out to preliminary booking.

No one was informed that he was arrested. Everyone was searched, photographed and fingerprinted and led into a room downstairs. Stu Albert, amateur attorney, observed that we had never been asked to leave the building. Since we had never been told that we were under arrest, a vote was taken. We decided to leave the building. A confused cop from Novato refused to let us go.

The girls sang “Solidarity Forever” as they were led to the bus. The guys, not knowing the words, sang “Mickey Mouse” instead. Then we went to Santa Rita. — Paul Glusman

Check out this interview with Nacio Jan Brown on the Leica Camera Blog

And here are my previous posts of his photography

Eldridge Cleaver speaking at the Yippie Pre-Erection Day Party. Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1968). Excerpt from the accompanying article by Paul Glusman below: “Jerry Rubin said we should all come stoned, and I really got fucked up.” As Cleaver spoke, I had a flash. Ronald Reagan probably had an aide there who would make a full report on the speech. The aide would drive back to Sacramento and report: “Cleaver said ‘motherfucker’ 112 times, ‘fuck that shit’ 73 times, he threatened to kill Mayor Alioto, his wife and all of his children, he smoked dope on stage, he said he would shoot it out rather than go back to jail, and he modified his position on political power, saying it also comes out of the head of a cock.” Cleaver removed himself from the Presidential race, yielding to Pigasus [in the shopping cart]. Pigasus took the endorsement without comment.
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Eldridge Cleaver speaking at the Yippie Pre-Erection Day Party.

Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1968). Excerpt from the accompanying article by Paul Glusman below:

“Jerry Rubin said we should all come stoned, and I really got fucked up.”

As Cleaver spoke, I had a flash. Ronald Reagan probably had an aide there who would make a full report on the speech. The aide would drive back to Sacramento and report: “Cleaver said ‘motherfucker’ 112 times, ‘fuck that shit’ 73 times, he threatened to kill Mayor Alioto, his wife and all of his children, he smoked dope on stage, he said he would shoot it out rather than go back to jail, and he modified his position on political power, saying it also comes out of the head of a cock.”

Cleaver removed himself from the Presidential race, yielding to Pigasus [in the shopping cart]. Pigasus took the endorsement without comment.

Range War In Canyon. Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1969) This man is pondering an eviction notice ordering him to vacate the house he built with his own hands on land he owns. Last week Contra Costa real estate developers moved into the final stages of their plan to seize the town of Canyon from its hip homesteaders. Deputy sheriffs moved cautiously through the unfamiliar forest - setting babies crying in every house as they passed, a witness swears.
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Range War In Canyon. Photo by Nacio Jan Brown for San Francisco Express Times (1969)

This man is pondering an eviction notice ordering him to vacate the house he built with his own hands on land he owns.

Last week Contra Costa real estate developers moved into the final stages of their plan to seize the town of Canyon from its hip homesteaders. Deputy sheriffs moved cautiously through the unfamiliar forest - setting babies crying in every house as they passed, a witness swears.

Scan taken from Houston’s Space City! (1970) which ran Berkeley Tribe’s coverage of Huey Newton’s release from Oakland County Jail. Photo by Nacio Jan Brown. On Aug. 5 Huey P. Newton returned to the streets. Two months ago the California State Court of Appeals reversed the sloppy voluntary manslaughter conviction that had kept Huey in jail for the last 35 months. When he walked out of the courthouse, surrounded by a flying wedge of Panthers he gave the clenched fist salute to his supporters. Then, feeling the heat and obviously disliking the oppressiveness of his Alameda County khaki, he opened his shirt and took it off. Mobbed as he tried to get into a car, he stood on top of it, assumed leadership in an easy, natural way, quieted people down, calmly thanked his supporters for setting him free, and asked them to do the same for the Soledad Brothers, Los Siete, and all other political prisoners.
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Scan taken from Houston’s Space City! (1970) which ran Berkeley Tribe’s coverage of Huey Newton’s release from Oakland County Jail. Photo by Nacio Jan Brown.

On Aug. 5 Huey P. Newton returned to the streets. Two months ago the California State Court of Appeals reversed the sloppy voluntary manslaughter conviction that had kept Huey in jail for the last 35 months.

When he walked out of the courthouse, surrounded by a flying wedge of Panthers he gave the clenched fist salute to his supporters. Then, feeling the heat and obviously disliking the oppressiveness of his Alameda County khaki, he opened his shirt and took it off.

Mobbed as he tried to get into a car, he stood on top of it, assumed leadership in an easy, natural way, quieted people down, calmly thanked his supporters for setting him free, and asked them to do the same for the Soledad Brothers, Los Siete, and all other political prisoners.