Marchers Prepare to Start Long Walk for Peace : Despite Delays, Problems and Changes, Symbolic Journey Begins Saturday

“We’ve been camped out here for two weeks. So far we’ve had 30 m.p.h. winds, frost on the tents one morning, my sprained ankle and now the deluge. I fully expect locusts before we leave on March 1.”

It was the weekend of the great rainfall of mid-February when David Mixner, founder and director of PROPeace and leader of its Great Peace March across America, uttered his lamentations, still on crutches from his inglorious exit from a portable toilet at the White Oak Recreation Area in the San Fernando Valley.

“I stepped down wrong,” he said of his fall, chuckling philosophically about injuries anticipated on the nine-month march, “It’s going to happen. I may as well be the first to set the example.”

Problems Abound

The locusts never did hit. But locusts are about the only problem that has not plagued PROPeace in the final weeks of preparation.

A fierce Mother Nature. A seemingly chronic financial crisis. Equipment delays. Obstacles to liability insurance. Lack of permits. Culture shock for new marchers. Expectations not realized. Canceled grand plans. Stress, burnout and dissension among staff. Rumors about all of the above within PROPeace, and in Los Angeles’s sizable and diverse peace movement, and beyond.

They begin their journey Saturday, setting out about 1,400 strong at last estimation--far short of the year-long plans for 5,000 marchers. Their send-off will be a 1-to-4 p.m. free rock concert at City Hall, not the hoped-for Olympian-scaled ceremony before a 100,000-capacity crowd at the Coliseum.

The logistics of the march remain basically the same: At 4 p.m., the marchers will set out from City Hall, walking to Cal State L.A. where they will camp for the first of 255 nights on the road. They will walk a distance of 3,235 miles at an average of 15 miles a day, six days a week, through 15 states, arriving in Washington on Nov. 15.

And the overall goal is the same: global nuclear disarmament. As Mixner voiced it one day at White Oak, by their efforts and contact with fellow citizens across the country, the marchers hope “to create a climate where we make it impossible for leaders of the world to do anything but start taking down these missiles.”

And to that end, he is fond of saying, they will do whatever it takes: “If it requires change, we chaNge. One key to all of this is our flexibility. It’s one of the great strengths of PROPeace. We’re determined to succeed, no matter what.”

The changes in Saturday’s opening ceremonies are signs of a healthy organization to Mixner and others. But they also are viewed by many as glaring indicators of flaws in the organization and trouble ahead. The grandiosity of the plan, and the grand dreams of the man who thought it up, are at once cited as the reason why the march will succeed--in growing to 5,000 participants by Denver, in reaching Washington and creating that climate that will lead to disarmament--and a sign it will fall apart before it ever reaches Barstow.

It falls short of being a consensus, but for all the misgivings, fears and blame placing, an attitude seems to be developing that the changes PROPeace has had to make, and the difficulties that people are experiencing, just may be the best thing that could happen to the group.

One source close to the march for more than a year, who has grown steadily disaffected with it, did not wish to speak for attribution but predicted three possible outcomes: It would disintegrate fast, it would fumble its way to Washington only to have it not matter at all, or it would be taken over by the marchers who would depose the leadership and make it their own, a true grass-roots movement, gathering momentum as it moves across the country.

There is no telling about the first two predictions, but the latter seems to be in process, except that there has been no palace revolt. Rumblings, grueling confrontational staff meetings and a few resignations and departures, but no coup.

Any early traces of a smooth operation somewhere between a well-financed presidential campaign and a media-hyped Hollywood-packaged event are fast disappearing. In its place is the event that the marchers themselves have been shaping. As organizer Mixner put it, looking pleased rather than threatened, “The Great Peace March has become the marchers. It’s theirs now.”

While the numbers may be disappointing, it is beginning to have the look of the “genuine article”--a grass-roots organization on the move and growing, where the bonding that is going on among the participants is palpable and where the attitude is an unwavering, almost formidable, “We’re going.”

Conceived of by Mixner in late 1984, and announced last April, PROPeace (People Reaching Out for Peace) operated out of offices on Beverly Boulevard in West Los Angeles (where its headquarters remain) as an amazing, fast-growing computerized machine organized with advance, legal, field, communications, merchandising, fund-raising and march divisions.

It needed $21 million and 5,000 marchers. By last fall, when formal recruitment was about to begin, it had raised between $3 million and $4 million in cash or pledges. There were high hopes for corporate sponsors and profitable videos, films and merchandising tied to the Coliseum event. And there was no doubt that 5,000 people would commit 10 months of their lives, and each raise a dollar a mile, $3,235, to cover individual expenses.

By December, PROPeace announced it would allow 700 slots to be rotating ones reserved for organizations and indicated that in the event that the number of marchers fell short of 5,000 they would go anyway. Mixner, who has insisted that people be just as willing to make sacrifices for peace as they do for war, had fought from the start for a firm 5,000 marchers who would go the whole distance. He ignored the advice of his staff on that point, but finally admitted he had been wrong.

By then, much of his time was devoted to fund-raising as “near deals” did not materialize.

There were individual large donors, including long-time peace movement supporters such as actor Paul Newman and businessman Harold Willens and others such as movie and television executive Ted Fields, communications executive Marc Nathanson and his wife Jane, businessman Max Palevsky, and singer Barbra Streisand. There were not nearly enough of them. And corporate sponsors, as well as traditional backers of more conventional peace movement organizations, held off. They were put off, Mixner has said all along, by the controversial issue of disarmament and by a failure to believe such a grand, never-been-tried-before scheme could possibly be realized.

Nor were they able to attract big-name entertainers who would perform for free at the Coliseum, a fact that Mixner attributed to performers being “benefited out” and that others attributed to poor planning and negotiating on the part of PROPeace.

Continued Financial Woes

Finances have had a continuing domino effect on the march plans. They are, if not broke, strapped, hurting for money, and “let’s face it,” Mixner said this week, “we’re going to be tight financially the whole way.”

Against such a backdrop, staff members who will accompany the march, and some marchers being trained for specific jobs such as security, pitched their tents at White Oak in early February, preparing for most marchers to arrive--East Coast first, West Coast last--starting Feb. 15. Due to cash-on-the-barrelhead demands of most merchants the early arrivals faced: no vehicle insurance and therefore no vehicles, no mess tents and town halls, no medical supplies, no storage vans outfitted with lockers, no showers and laundry facilities.

And no shortage of bad weather. As the marchers began straggling in, they often looked dazed and several days later confessed to having wrestled with “what did I get myself into?” But the bonding that is so apparent also began.

John Hassett, a 73-year-old World War II veteran, retired high-school teacher and daily 10-mile walker, arrived from Phoenix one rainy Monday afternoon.

Carrying his suitcase and looking a little shaky and anxious, he ducked into the small reception tent where Kitt Horn, a highly decorated Vietnam veteran, former POW, and self-appointed Peace March clown, greeted him.

“You’re going to make it,” Horn assured him, dismissing Hassett’s announced misgivings. Horn handed him a daisy out of a handy supply at his side, gave him a form to fill out and asked if Hassett had notified them of any preference for a tent mate.

He had not, but he had recently met someone in Phoenix he wanted to share his tent with, Hassett said.

“What’s her name?”

Hassett, still looking in consternation at the flower he was holding, gave as good as he got, saying, “Her name? If it was her, I wouldn’t be here.”

Within minutes he had been escorted to the registration desk, written down his personal insurance information, been issued two green plastic dairy cases and was squatting on the floor, fitting them with the possessions he would have for the coming year--anything over would have to go.

Down to Basics

He had planned well. His three books fit: The New Testament, Studs Terkel’s oral history of World War II, “The Good War,” and a juvenile book for those times when he’ll volunteer as “a storyteller to the little kids,” of whom there are about 90 on the march.

Dick King, head of reception and a man for whom there is no such thing as a problem that cannot be solved, gave Hassett his customary hearty welcome and hug. Since Hassett had arrived late in the day, King was putting him in the “motel,” his straight-faced name for the cluster of visitors’ tents.

Hassett was worried about a few things, he said. He knew he could walk, but how would he do in a tent? He had ordered camping equipment and the news had already reached him that not everyone’s had arrived.

Down the hall Dorie King, who with husband Dick has been a full-time unpaid staff member, director of general services, almost since the beginning, found Hassett all of the equipment he had ordered.

His worry turned to agitation when he checked into medical and was told that the details of his stress test had either not been sent by his doctor or misplaced. He momentarily feared the worst--after all the planning and anticipation and arranging, he would be sent home for lack of a form. The nurse, Rosemary Mancini, assured him he could stay. They would take his word for the moment, check headquarters for the form, call the doctor in Phoenix if necessary.

With that much assured, he allowed himself to relax, and eagerly began describing his teaching skills to one of the education coordinators responsible for the school children.

By the next day, Cheryl Zupko from Northern California, who had arrived at the registration desk at the same time as Hassett, was already an old friend, giving Hassett a lesson on assembling his tent.

Hassett had become a marcher and his adjustment was typical. The marchers were in the trenches now, cheering the arrival of the first locker van as a triumph, adjusting to mud, escorting visitors around the operation, sitting on the ground inside the rented mess tent while hoping for the day they could afford tables to eat at, throwing themselves into classes--on tent waterproofing, foot massaging, nuclear disarmament, nonviolence, conflict resolution, yoga. They played guitars and banjos, they sang and wrote songs, and put on skits for the first of the Saturday night roadshows that will continue throughout the march. By the end of the first week, there were enough in-jokes to make for a long, funny evening.

They weathered the news that the Coliseum event had to be canceled and accepted Mixner’s explanation that tight on funds as they were, it would be irresponsible to commit themselves to $850,000 in production costs for what now, at best, would not bring any profit.

More Appropriate Ceremony

Although Mixner admitted having to swallow a lot of pride in canceling, holding out against the inevitable until the last minute, he was quickly echoing the marchers’ oft-stated response that the a free public ceremony was more appropriate in the first place. He was soon calling the change providential.

More recently, a week ago, Mixner called the marchers, then numbering about 800, together again and gave them the bad news about money. The situation was serious. They needed $500,000 right away, and they would be needing much more. Perhaps some of them should reconsider, he said. What if there came a time when they ran out of food? Were they prepared for that?

“That won’t happen. The churches will feed us,” he later said one told him, offering it as an example of the marchers’ unwavering determination and faith.

They offered to help. They took up a collection on the spot and came up with more than $10,000. He asked for volunteers to operate a phone bank, calling contacts around the country for funds, and for others to go out canvassing. Hundreds said they would do it, and this week were out in neighborhoods going door to door. Direct-mail fund-raising will begin in early March.

On Monday, an unseasonably sweltering day, the marchers left their campsite in the Valley and walked 18 miles to Griffith Park to set up camp in the carrousel area. They arrived to find no showers and had to be bused in staggered groups to a local YMCA. Some marchers exploded at that, one of them said later. It was one too many promises not kept or met. But most were euphoric at how well the march had gone, and by the growing sense they were on their way.

Although laundry services would not catch up with them until Las Vegas, insurance has been secured for between 75 to 100 vehicles, which are now in operation. The $63,000 for the mess tents was delivered, “by cashiers’ checks,” Mixner said. The bookmobile arrived. The medical van and supplies were on the scene. The portable showers were coming.

And there are 500 would-be marchers who have been accepted but placed “on hold,” according to Ida Unger, recruitment director, waiting to be phased in at Las Vegas. By then it is hoped equipment that has been delayed because of money problems or manufacturing time, will have been secured.

Some Problems Remain

Liability insurance and permits to camp along the way remain problems, serious ones. They have received quotes as high as $600,000 for $1 million coverage and as of Thursday were negotiating one policy with a premium below $200,000. Mixner has been saying for several weeks that they almost have a policy secured. Agreements allowing some sort of rollover, such as a 60-day renewable policy are also being explored, he said.

Permits will become a problem almost immediately, with not all of them secured for California. Most will follow once the liability insurance is secured. Others will not.

But it is zero hour. What if there comes a night when there is simply no permit to camp?

Mixner has tended to resist the question, saying there will be permits, it will happen. Finally, after several go-rounds, he explained that what he really believes is that the options are seldom exhausted. Each marcher has been given a contract, he said, that no acts of civil disobedience will be asked of them and that contract will not be violated.

‘People Will Understand’

“If we have to we’ll ride” around a town or through an area where permits could not be worked out. “People will understand that. We’re not on this march to antagonize and alienate people. We want to cooperate.”

There was a “campwide” meeting late Tuesday afternoon in Griffith Park, and no one was asking any questions about insurance or permits. If anything, the undertone among many of the marchers seemed to be a disdain or impatience with the perceived “bureaucratic” concerns of some of the organizers.

For most, it was: Nothing is going to stop us now.

They applauded Ida Unger’s speech urging anyone with doubts to leave without guilt, to go home and work for peace in a way they found more satisfactory.

And they cheered, many of them standing, when Mixner’s two little nieces, Elizabeth and Julia, in from Denver for a visit to “Unkie,” made their contrIbutions, $50 from Elizabeth’s classmates who baked bread and sold it, $40 from Julia who had been saving allowance money for months.

John Hassett stood against a fence in the back of the crowd, sunburned and calm.

“I’m sticking with it,” he said of the march. “I made it every inch,” he said of the walk to Griffith Park. And he was managing to climb in and out of a tent, even in mud.

“I lost three hours to take a shower and go to the laundry, it’s true,” he said, “but that’s not the worst thing that ever happened. It’s not a major problem if you’re committed. They (the organizers) made some promises they intended to keep. They couldn’t. I think they’re doing everything within human reason to make it possible.”

Connie Fledgerjohann, a 55-year-old marriage and family counselor from Los Angeles, seemed of a similar mind. Some people were angry that they had not been forewarned of possible problems and felt misled. Like most West Coast marchers, she was not surprised at the financial problems and the shakiness of much of the enterprise at this point. They had seen it developing, and while she was concerned, she also thought the march would happen. She has determined, at any rate, that it was happening for her.

“I’m going. I made the plans to do it and I’m going to do it, come hell or high water,” she said. “Some of us have even talked about continuing it on our own, if we had to, buying a van--but I really don’t think it will come to that.”

It was a calm, sober statement. She is not off on a lark. And she seems typical of most who are set to go tomorrow. They know only too well they have a long walk and one long road ahead of them.