Nineteen seventy-six was a watershed year. As a nation we had come out of the dark times of Vietnam and Watergate. The turbulence of the sixties was still fresh in our collective memories. Yet there was a sense of resilience, and a mood of general optimism. There were new leaders emerging bringing fresh energy to move the country forward. Expanding freedoms for women, gays and minorities. The promise of new technologies at the dawn of the computer age. The country coming together and putting our differences aside to celebrate our shared heritage. There was the feeling that this year was special and that a new era was ahead. As the Bicentennial approached the country was ready to party. Massive festivities were planned across the country and anticipation was building as the Fourth drew near.

I was twenty two and living in the city. The season at ACT had ended and I was picking up the odd gigs doing street fairs and the occasional load in at the Marines Memorial. Between those and my unemployment I was doing well enough. The rent at the flat in North Beach was split between a half dozen roommates, give or take, so there was money left over for the essentials, namely beer and Friday nights cruising the bars on Union Street.

The Fourth arrived as a bright sunny day in the city. Ellenwood and Red and I piled into the Olds and headed out to Golden Gate Park with the super 8 camera to catch the parade. The patriotic spirit was high in the park as the marching bands and drill teams passed by. Then we went back to the flat to get high and wait for crescendo to the festivities. There was a spectacular fireworks show planned for that night on Alcatraz Island that would light up the entire bay. They had been hyping it on TV and in the Chronicle for weeks, saying it would be larger than any that had happened before. So as the sun set we made our way up to the roof to catch the show that was scheduled to begin at 9:30. As we settled in we had a perfect view of the Rock. At 9:15 as we sat waiting we could see the fog rolling through the Golden Gate and by 9:30 the bay was blanketed in a impenetrable murk. This being the government the show went on as planned and while we couldn’t see a thing I must say it sounded most impressive.

As I look back that year stands out as a turning point. It was only a couple of years until the dark times returned. The ensuing decades have seen successive waves of boom and bust, of war and peace, but somehow the highs never equaled the lows. As we approach the two fiftieth I don’t sense any of that feeling of resilience, of optimism, that celebratory mood in the country. The attempts to recreate it seem forced and unsatisfactory. Much has changed in the country in fifty years. Leaders trying to take the country backwards. Freedoms under assault. Technology that triggers anxiety about the future. A country that seems hopelessly divided. The malaise which envelopes the country seems as thick as the fog on that night fifty years ago.

Looking forward toward the next fifty years the question facing we the people is which America are we. Do we continue downward into darkness and division or do we recapture the spirit of seventy-six, of hope, of optimism, of trying to make the world a better place. One nation with liberty and justice for all.