["If You're Going to San Francisco"]
The Founding Fathers promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
And in the summer of 1967, many young Americans reply,
Why not?
["You're gonna need some gentle love there"]
Thirty years ago, the place to run away to was Paris.
Today, it's hate asbury.
Friendly, dilapidated, and suitably tolerant.
Californians are used to social experiment.
They take to passing fads like dolphins to passing ships.
Above all, they enjoy a spectacle.
["If You're Going to San Francisco"]
Well, this is Ashbury Street here.
I don't know.
This street seemed to be a popular street among the hippies.
Why?
I really couldn't say because I've never asked any of them.
They came here because of the propaganda,
or songs that were put out about hate asbury,
magazine articles about hate asbury.
A kid is uptight with his family.
A kid that wants to run away thinks,
Wow, where can I run away to?
Kids know of hate asbury all over the country.
Wow, I'll go to hate asbury.
They'll put me up.
So they all come.
["Hallelujah, hallelujah"]
Eastern mysticism is ransacked for new truths,
new ways of becoming your own man.
The watchwords are love, frankness, and contemplation.
It's an old mixture with new sounds,
and as American as blueberry pie.
I hope Peter's doing it of goodness.
He's like, I want a heavy, heavy wedding.
Yeah.
I don't think I want to be a hippie,
so I won't be able to go that wide.
Before the Supreme Lord of the universe,
I now wed Bob.
Before the Supreme Lord of the universe,
I now wed Bob.
Do you now wed Michelle?
Before the Supreme Lord of the universe,
repeat after me.
I wed Michelle.
Before the Supreme Lord of the universe,
I now wed Michelle.
You are now wedded.
True enough, it's not the chapel in the valley,
but ritual is still needed for the big decisions.
You are now joined in matrimony.
The hippies give rise to a new industry, analyzing hippies.
Sociologists, psychologists, even newspaper pundits
turn out solemn articles on you.
Everyone reads them, except you.
Back east, Mayor Lindsay,
who knows a trend when he sees one,
pays for a mass wedding in Central Park.
New York is proclaimed fun city.
New Yorkers are not so sure.
But still, it's summer.
At the Sheep Meadow, home is where you hang your hat.
And Barbra Streisand definitely comes from home.
It's free and easy.
That's my child.
How do you do me?
Watch me smile.
But tell me when, after what?
Because I've got a room
and any place I hang my hat is home.
This is home.
Sweetening water, cherry wine.
Thank you kindly, suits me fine.
Kansas City, even Carolina.
That's my honeycomb.
And any place I hang my hat is home.
The word is out.
The park is safe at night.
Well, fairly safe.
Jacqueline Kennedy goes to Cambodia,
the last of the Golden Kingdoms of the East.
An audience with Prince Ianuk's mother
in the throne room of the Royal Palace.
The dedication of a street to the memory of her late husband.
And an informal get-together with Cambodia's sacred white elephants.
In Europe, dedication of a different kind.
Greek emigres and sympathizers pour into the streets
to protest their homeland's throttled democracy.
They are led by the world's most exuberant political exile,
Molina Makuri.
A century and a half ago, the poet Byron electrified
the capitals of Europe with his passionate plea
for the independence of the people of Greece.
In 1967, Stockholm, Paris, and London
turn out to hear a new voice with the same message.
Makuri leaves a burning trail of rhetoric
across the complacent continent.
The only practical politics that is workable today is morality.
And the moral man knows that when a Greek is tortured
of a faraway bar on the island, it diminishes him in Stockholm.
Hatred is contagious, tyranny is not a local matter.
Freedom for them, that is an urban reason.
In Athens, all power is in the hands of a group of unknown officers.
All political parties are banned.
The press is censored.
The Constitution suspended.
Thousands of citizens are jailed or exiled.
For the first time in 2,500 years, plays are censored.
The self-appointed Prime Minister is an army colonel called Papadopoulos.
You've made some very repressive regulations.
You're not allowed to talk politics in the coffee shop.
You can't have people in your house.
Everybody's going to break the law.
No, we did not make a regulation like that.
That is not correct.
We have only, we are objecting to have political conversations
that are against the state.
You may express your opinion about politics,
but if it is not against the state...
Why are you frightened of criticism against the state?
We are not frightened of criticism.
We welcome criticism, but if it is well-intentioned...
But if you criticize the government, you can find yourself in prison.
No, that's not correct.
If your criticism is well-funded,
and you come out with something that has to be corrected
or something that the government is not doing that is right,
we are always accepting this.
Sir, if I am to call total politics in the coffee shop
and I say that I think the government is making a mess of things,
I won't be arrested.
If you make that remark, as you put it, without justifying it,
then you might find yourself in a position to answer why you have said it.
When you see a man with long hair, I think that...
Charged with stamping up subversive activity is Interior Minister Patikos.
You have a bad opinion against him, for me.
This is my opinion. I don't know about your opinion.
What do you think about Minsk?
I think the same.
I believe that the women who show their men,
it is a provocation for the men.
Don't you trust the Greek men?
Especially for the Greek men.
Expo 67.
Montreal dredges the bottom of the Saint Lawrence River,
slaps together three mud piles, then erects a $750 million fair on top.
It's fabulous, it's fun, and 50 million customers click through the gates.
Sixty-two nations arrive in various shapes and sizes.
Some of the pavilions are sheer camp, disguised as art.
Buckminster Fuller waves in with the biggest onion in the world.
The Soviets put on a massive display of their technical achievements.
Expo lasts for 185 days and everyone loves it.
It's Canada's birthday party and all the neighbors wear paper hats.
It's a beautiful day.
Charles de Gaulle visits Expo like Jove descending to the planet Earth.
The last of the grand old men of Europe, he's outlived all his great contemporaries.
And in the manner of a duke visiting his bourgeois cousin in a remote province,
the general decides to be rude to his hosts.
Long live Montreal, long live Quebec, long live free Quebec, long live French Canada, and long live France!
Prime Minister Pearson asks the general to explain himself. The general declines.
He cuts short his visit and flies home.
The Soviet Union celebrates 50 years of communist rule.
The world applauds the economic gains communism has brought to a backward peasant land.
But Soviet leaders are only now beginning to acknowledge that the past half century has been filled with terror and oppression, as well as achievement.
As posters of Soviet leaders fly everywhere, one face is conspicuously missing.
Stalin, the man who ruled Russia for more than half of its 50 communist years, is now an embarrassment to the men of the Politburo.
So is his daughter.
Said Lana Stalin comes to the United States.
She has come hoping to find a quiet, secluded life.
She may find it, but not for the moment.
Hello to everybody. I am very happy to be here.
It is very difficult to explain in a few words why I am here and why I have come.
The Russians say that the United States is using Svetlana to discredit their anniversary celebrations.
They say she is an unhappy prisoner in America.
Can appearances be that deceiving?
I hope next week I will be able to meet you at the press conference and I will be able to answer more questions which you will be interested in.
Thank you very much.
Only a few weeks later, President Johnson and Soviet Premier Kosygin patch up the rift caused by Svetlana's defection.
The two world leaders meet in the hope of reducing any misunderstanding which could lead to atomic conflagration.
Would you ask the photographers to please move out?
Before he can tell a waiting world the results of the talks, President Johnson must first face a small conflagration among the reporters outside.
Just move in and sit down so you have the cameras over there, please.
The chairman and I met again today and have gone more deeply than before into a great number of the many questions before our two countries in the world.
For Soviet Premier Kosygin, the amiable meeting at Glaspera is a happy respite in a year of troubles.
The world's first space casualty is a Russian, cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov.
Turning to Earth after 27 hours in space, Komarov's capsule parachute failed to open, plunging him to his death on the hard Russian soil.
Komarov, the first man to die on a space mission, joins three American astronauts in death.
Virgil Grissom, Edward White, and Roger Chaffee are trapped in a flash fire while testing the Apollo capsule.
The president's investigating team is highly critical, charging deficiencies in design, poor workmanship, and inadequate safety regulations.
Carl Sandberg writes of the dead.
Can a bell ring in the heart over a face past any forgetting, in the afternoon when a stillness comes, and now never come morning?
The unofficial poet laureate of the United States dies too at 89 at his home in North Carolina.
Harold Holt, prime minister of Australia, plunges into his favorite sport.
It's another world down there, he has said, as fascinating as I imagine traveling in space must be.
Pulled out to sea by an undercurrent, the prime minister is never seen again.
Donald Campbell sets out on his last race. He wants to be the first man to hit 300 miles an hour on water.
In California, there are all sorts of daredevils.
This one is a skydiver, with a difference.
On the ski slopes, the king of the daredevils is Jean-Claude Keeley.
He is almost out of control style, offends the purists, but for Keeley it's how you win, not how you play the game.
Among the women, Canada's Nancy Green is an underdog.
At first, Nancy acts her role, but when the season is over, she walks away with the World Cup.
In baseball, the Cinderella team is Boston's Red Sox.
In the tightest pennant race the American League has seen in decades, they squeak by in the last game of the season.
Center of attention in the clubhouse celebrations is Triple Crown winner Carl Jastromski.
His teammates honor him with a champagne shower.
But in the World Series, the bubble bursts.
The Cardinals of St. Louis take the seventh and final game and find their own hero, pitcher Bob Gibson.
In this pre-Olympics year, Winnipeg hosts the Pan-American Games.
Harry Jerome falls, but he still wins the 100-meter dash.
Compared to her rivals, Nancy McCready looks like she's in the wrong class.
But when she makes the final toss of the Lady Shotwood, Nancy doesn't need any judges to tell her the result.
American athletes dominate the games, especially in track and field and swimming.
Vancouver's mighty Mosey Lane-Tanner heads to set a world record to prevent an American sweep.
Along athletes under the strain of competition, each according to his own method of release.
For Sir Francis Chichester, the genteel sport of sailing is a lonely, harrowing adventure against the oceans of the world.
The first man to sail alone around the globe, Chichester follows the route of the old clipper ships
around the Cape of Good Hope to Australia and home by way of the Horn.
The Queen knights him with the same sword used to knight Sir Francis Drake.
The aristocrats of yachting are the 12-meter sloops.
Off Newport, Rhode Island, in crevice wins four straight races from the Australian challenger, Dame Patty.
America retains the America's cup.
The monarch of the high seas makes her final voyage.
The Queen Mary has survived fires, collisions, gales, even a wave big enough to turn her over.
Now she's on her last voyage, a victim of the economics of the jet age.
Bobby Kennedy, still the junior senator from New York.
A European tour takes him to four capitals.
He confers with de Gaulle as an audience with Pope Paul.
The Kennedy name, the Kennedy magic, is still a potent force.
But everywhere he goes, Vietnam goes with him.
Anti-war picketers are becoming a universal phenomenon.
At Oxford University, Bobby defends his country's position.
What's been lost now to those of you who are critical of my country's actions in this regard,
I think that we should remember that what the United States has said,
and what I think the United States stands for,
is that we will permit the people of South Vietnam to determine their own destiny.
I can't believe that anybody here, even if they're critical of the United States,
and the United States position there, would argue with that position.
Why not permit them to determine their own destiny?
Oxford students receive him warmly, but the protests go on.
And so does the war.
In Saigon, a National Day military parade and a 48-hour holiday
mark the result of the country's fifth election in 14 months.
Twenty representatives of foreign governments, including Vice President Humphrey,
come out for the inaugural speech of the new president.
Nguyen Van Tu, former general, takes the oath outside Saigon's independence house.
President Tu offers to hold talks with Hanoi, but rejects the idea of a bombing pause.
At home, the war protesters find a new target, the draft offices.
Especially in Berkeley, draftees have a tough time getting into the Army.
But not every draftee is anxious to join.
Later, a jury in Houston will sentence Clay to the maximum penalty, $10,000 and five years in jail.
Demonstrations breed counter-demonstrations.
In New York, thousands take to the streets to show public support for the president's conduct of the war.
For the war or against the war, the parades and the marches get bigger, the slogans more bitter.
The gap in the American consensus becomes a chasm.
I oppose the war in Vietnam because I love America.
I speak out against it not in anger, but with anxiety and sorrow in my heart,
and above all with a passionate desire to see our beloved country stand as the moral example of the world.
I speak out against this war because I am disappointed with America.
There can be no great disappointment where there is no great love.
But one world is like every place on the deck, to be out as a chip from dead.
And the sand will roll out a carpet of gold.
October, anti-war demonstrations in 50 cities across the nation.
But the biggest show of all is at the Pentagon.
America's best-known novelist is there, Norman Mailer.
I have come to recognize one thing standing out there in that crowd this afternoon,
which is if that war in Vietnam goes on for another year or two or three,
then just about every last one of us who wishes to think of himself as a man of good conscience
is for one cause or another, which is related to that war,
and I'm going to discover that he's going to have to face the fact that he will probably have to go to jail.
I think for the first time since that war began, I realized this afternoon
that if I wouldn't continue to think of myself as a serious man, I will sooner or later have to face that possibility too.
Mailer has come to Washington not to write a book but to get himself arrested.
It's easy to do and Mailer succeeds.
We'll find out from what he was doing in Washington at that peace demonstration
because he made a lot of noise down there.
Here's our two-fisted literary lion, Norman Mailer.
Later on the Merv Griffin show, he forces a showdown with his audience.
Mr. Treacher, Mr. Norman.
I wanted to get arrested.
I felt it was very important to get arrested because I wanted to protest the war in Vietnam,
which I think is an obscene war.
I'll repeat myself.
I think it's more obscene than all the dirty four-letter words that all the dirty American authors
put into all the dirty books that you ban in your libraries.
I think this war is more obscene.
One minute in the mind of General Westmoreland is more obscene than all those words put together
because we're burning children over there.
We're burning children over there we've never seen.
They're not even our enemies.
We're burning them over there because of some sort of incredible Faustian vanity
in the minds of men who never should have begun to think.
And like President Johnson, Secretary McNamara, Secretary Russ,
a bunch of ignoble, powerful fools, a bunch of dreadful people,
a bunch of people who have reduced this country to a frozen food locker.
Why do we have to leave? Why do we have to get on these buses?
Are we near machines? Are we like a herd of cattle running away from the place?
No.
We should go. We want a change in society. We want to really change it.
But angry words are soon displaced by a new sound, the sound of hysteria and despair,
the distracted lament of a nation that has already hurt itself too much.
Where are you leaving? You've got the day tomorrow.
If you really believe everything that you say, if you really don't like this war in Vietnam,
if you really don't want to see people killed, if you really don't want to see the Vietnamese killed,
if you really want to be strong and true to yourself, go back there and sit and think.
Go back, organize, think, and move. We came here. Please, let's not leave.
The United States enters its fourth year of urban revolt.
It's as if a flight of bombers has passed over Detroit.
The bitterness and neglect of 200 years of history erupts in a flaming miasma of terror, destruction, and revenge.
It's as if a flight of bombers has passed over Detroit.
Before the year is over, 50 cities feel the hot blast of race warfare.
90 deaths, 2,000 injuries, 12,000 arrests.
Damages? No one really knows.
Congress passes an anti-riot bill.
It's aimed squarely at the young black militants who have given up nonviolence for a rhetoric that preaches revolution.
By the gun, if necessary.
One of the first to be arrested is Rap Brown.
What's the reaction to your arrest, Mr. Brown?
Of course. Mr. Barack has done it again, but that's not going to end the burning in Detroit, brother, because we built the country up and we'll burn it down, honkies and all.
Mr. Brown, did you tell them to burn down that school?
Be serious. I ain't got to tell black folks what to burn.
Did you tell them to shoot at Lady Bird?
Did I tell them to burn down Detroit? Did I tell them they were going to bring black people here?
Did you tell them to shoot at Lady Bird?
I say if they give me a gun and tell me to shoot my enemy, I might shoot you.
According to Rap Brown and the growing numbers like him, the country does indeed have a consensus that violence is the way to win.
You don't believe it? Look at this national budget and look at the money they spend on armaments. For what?
For this power, because they know that people yield under this power. That's the first power that the man has used against you.
That's the first power that's going to get him off of you.
When he knows, when he knows not that you are willing to die, not that you are willing to die, but that you are willing to kill for your freedom.
To kill for your freedom, and sometimes to be killed.
When Che Guevara is killed in Bolivia, he becomes a legend, his life and death the raw material for myth-making.
His writings become required reading for the disaffected young.
Many will call me an adventurer, Che once wrote, and maybe I am, only a different sort. One of those who risks his skin to prove what he believes in.
Camp art, somewhere between a chuckle and a sneer. A way of telling the world that you, at any rate, know the difference between what's rubbish and what's not.
I was watching a TV show one night, and I got the inspiration from that.
What show was it?
Well, it was called Batman.
1967 sees a steady increase in the number of women joining the country's labor force.
Jobs for women mean more independence. It also means one more barrier between the sexes is breaking down.
Tel Aviv in summer.
A modern city with modern problems. Housing shortages, inflation, air pollution.
But this is the state of Israel, a special state, with some special problems. Credit restrictions, immigration figures the lowest since 1948.
And stretching from Morocco to the Persian Gulf, the Arab world. Touchy, uncertain, and mostly hostile.
Cairo, with four and a half million people, Egypt's largest city. A heat wave from the southern desert adds to the tension.
Fifteen years after President Nasser's revolt, the population of Egypt has swollen to 30 million, and every year there is another million to clothe, to feed, and to educate.
But Nasser is popular. A modernizing reformer, he has given his people honest government and a sense of pride.
This summer, he makes his first big mistake. He closes the Gulf of Tehran and blocks off Israel's only pipeline to the oil refineries in Haifa.
On May 18th, he orders United Nations troops to wind up their 10-year stint on the border.
Israel attacks, and this time she means business.
It's called a six-day war, but the verdict is in after three hours.
Swooping low under the Egyptian radar and curving in from the Mediterranean, Israeli pilots take out 300 planes of the United Arab Republic.
Nineteen airfields are blown up.
The steel tip of the Israeli juggernaut crumples Arab forces.
Russian tanks, jeeps, and armored cars lie deserted, like dented chrome in an auto wrecker's back lot.
Seven divisions of troops are reduced to a few thousand soldiers wandering across the hot sands of the Sinai.
Boots and uniforms are strewn across the desert like some vast failed rummage sale.
Results for the Arab armies, a humiliating defeat.
For the civilian, increased bitterness.
For the economy, five million tons of annual oil production lost to the Israelis in the Sinai.
And for the Israelis, relief mixed with apprehension, jubilation tempered by sorrow.
To take Jerusalem has meant heavy casualties.
Moshe Dayan leads a return to the old city and the western wall of the temple, banned to Jews for 1900 years.
The stream of refugees across the Allenby Bridge is a sobering reminder.
More than a million Arabs live under Israeli control.
The bloodshed of June can be endlessly repeated.
For the problems of the Middle East can never be solved by war.