Peace March for Nuclear Disarmament Reaches a Rocky Mountain High : After a Cloudy Start, a Chance to Walk in the Sun

Looking around the campsite at Red Rocks Park, a spectacular setting between the Rockies and the city where giant red sandstone rocks jut out from the hills, marcher Bill Jensen of San Francisco had a grin on his face while he talked.

The Great Peace March for Nuclear Disarmament was in God’s country. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. It was a dazzling afternoon. The colorful tents were pitched early for the night, and a few marchers were carefully painting the window trim on an old bus, one of the many support vehicles being spruced up with fresh coats of paint. Even the portable toilets were sporting floral murals.

“We’re past the struggle stage,” Jensen said. “Now we’re getting into our renaissance.”

No Overstatement

Considering the circumstances of the day and those of the past three months, Jensen’s comment seemed no overstatement.

They had come 1,050 miles since leaving Los Angeles on March 1. Numbering 550, they had completed one-third of their walk across America to Washington. A few days later--earlier this week--they would leave Denver.

Twelve hundred people set out from Los Angeles, far short of the 5,000 people the sponsoring organization, PROPeace had called for. Inadequately supplied, poorly financed and in debt, the marchers walked under many such clouds for two weeks. Finally, on a desolate, windswept site between Victorville and Barstow, they got the word that PROPeace was pulling out. They were on their own, the support vehicles and equipment being repossessed.

They spent the next two weeks stalled beside a dusty auto graveyard in Barstow, their numbers steadily dwindling, as they regrouped and incorporated as the Great Peace March. They held endless meetings and debates, drew up statements and petitions, held elections, redesigned their government and held elections again.

As they raised money, looked for supplies and solicited support from peace groups and churches, their stated destination was still Washington. In reality, however, it was Las Vegas that loomed on the other side of the desert and no one was certain the patched-up march could make it that far.

Las Vegas is far behind them now. As are the desert, Utah, the Rockies and the snow. In Denver marchers were describing their natural Rocky Mountain high, recalling their tears and laughter as they crossed the Continental Divide at Loveland Pass. Literally and symbolically, they were saying in Denver that passing meant it was “downhill all the way” for the Great Peace March.

And then Denver.

Colorado’s Lt. Gov. Nancy Dick had been out to the campsite that afternoon, following up the letters of welcome she and Gov. Richard Lamm had sent the marchers when they entered the state the week before. And, within an hour of Jensen’s remark, folk singer and veteran activist Pete Seeger would arrive at the campsite to spend the night, a rainy one, singing with the marchers, and helping with the trash pickup in the morning.

The morning would also see Congresswoman Pat Schroeder (D-Colo.), a member of the House Armed Services Committee who has supported them ever since the march was first announced by PROPeace a year ago, arrive at 7:30 and slog through the mud to one of the big tents that serve as meeting halls to pledge her support and admiration.

And when they marched through downtown Denver to the State Capitol, a live radio broadcast from the mobile unit of a local station featured announcer and “America’s Top 40” disc jockey, Casey Kasem, who had flown in for the occasion. Standing before them, a Great Peace March T-shirt over his shirt and tie, Kasem praised their efforts to “turn this world around and set it straight.”

Rally at Capitol

The following day, at a rally at the State Capitol sponsored by a coalition of Colorado’s peace groups, singer Holly Near joined those who had come out to speak, entertain and celebrate the marchers and the crowd of 3,000 who joined them for the day.

It seems they have hit their stride: They plan to cross into Nebraska next week, and reach Chicago in August. That will put them two-thirds of the way to Washington.

There seems little doubt now that the Great Peace March will reach Washington, notwithstanding continuing money problems and physical difficulties. Their numbers have held at 550 for the past two months. Marchers who left in disillusionment or despair have come back. Others, having left for good, have been replaced. And, current plans call for an additional 100 marchers to be phased in before the march reaches Omaha around the Fourth of July.

What remains uncertain is whether they will be able to hold together as a group, accepting common goals, logistics and leadership--challenges that have been there from the beginning but that are moving to the forefront now that the survival stage of the march seems behind them.

Also uncertain is just what they will have accomplished--whether it will have been an adventurous and rewarding walk across America; an experiment in peaceful, communal life-on-the-road; a mildly effective consciousness-raising program about nuclear disarmament among the people they happen to meet along the way; or a mass mobilization of the populace that will revitalize the peace movement and produce a groundswell demand for an end to nuclear weapons that politicians cannot ignore.

Still Much to Be Done

For those who want it to become the latter, which was the original and still-stated goal, there is the growing realization that considerable organizing and advance work will have to be done between here and Chicago.

“If we do well and slowly build between here and Chicago, and also start getting national publicity, it’ll have a steamroller effect,” said Joe Libertelli, a recent graduate of Antioch School of Law in Washington who joined the march around Las Vegas.

Commenting on the current debates going on within the march about what to do once in Washington in November--camp by the thousands until Congress reconvenes in 1987, fast, or commit acts of civil disobedience, he said, “I think the work is here. What happens in D.C. is icing on the cake. We can’t influence a lot of politicians there who want to get reelected unless we’ve done our work here.”

But there was no steamroller effect in evidence in Denver.

The marchers met either warm welcomes, tolerance or indifference. But while there was virtually no open hostility, it cannot be said that the Great Peace March took Denver. There was no tumultuous welcome. Crowds did not line the street when the marchers paraded through the downtown area during a weekday lunch hour.

Last Saturday, at the rally, politicians did not turn out in great numbers to make sure they were seen and photographed on the podium. And while the crowd at the rally and barbecue that preceded it was a good-sized one of about 3,000, it was nothing like the crowd of 75,000 that turned out at the same time to attend Denver’s People’s Fair about one mile away.

But what does distinguish the march at this time is the considerable amount of outreach work that is going on in the communities.

Outreach Program

“We like to say we hit the churches in the morning, the schools in the afternoon and the bars at night,” Coleen Ashley of Fullerton, one of the march’s seven board members, chuckled about the outreach program.

While in Denver, for example, marchers were invited into 24 schools and 12 senior citizens programs, said Adeline McConnell, a marcher from Denver who organized the outreach.

At Smiley Middle School, marchers Anne Macfarlane of New Zealand and Kathy Belge of Syracuse, N.Y., visited a ninth-grade social studies class. The presentation was a little disjointed, with the speakers seeming to lose the fidgeting, giggling class at times with references to the “D.O.E.” (Department of Energy) and the march’s goals for a comprehensive test ban treaty, a freeze, a reduction in weapons and the scrapping of the Star Wars program.

However, when Belge asked, “How many of you guys are afraid of nuclear wars?” the hands shot up and one kid blurted out, “I’m afraid of death.” They had questions: about why the U.S.S.R. and U.S.A. wanted to blow each other up; about why money was being spent on weapons and not food when “people are starving and stuff.”

Macfarlane and Belge left urging the students to consider forming a chapter of Students for Social Responsibility, an anti-nuclear group.

Outreach among the churches and synagogues culminated last Sunday with an ecumenical service at St. Pius X Catholic Church where, according to one of its organizers, the Rev. Pard Keyser, a retired Presbyterian minister from Temple City now on the march, 20 religious leaders--Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Bahai, Sufi--conducted a witness and prayer service for global nuclear disarmament.

Earlier in the day, Doug McWilliams of Cleveland and Brenda Peltier of rural Virginia, both members of Collective Vision, one of the musical groups that has emerged on the march, sang and gave meditations at the worship service at United Church of Christ’s Parkview Congregational Church.

‘Up to You and Me’

Their remarks had to do with their conviction that the march could empower people, convince them they could make a difference and change the current situation regarding the arms race. Their words reinforced their songs--”it’s up to you and me,” “planting seeds of peace,” “it’s a God-given right to choose/to create the world in which we wish to live.”

The congregation loved them, coming up later to thank them, write them checks, buy cassettes of their music, or embrace them, as one woman did, rushing out of the sanctuary, saying, “Hey, you guys, I want to give you a hug.”

On to the bars. Namely BJ’s Carousel, a gay bar where straight and gay marchers mingled with BJ’s regulars, with entertainment alternating between the drag performers and the marchers’ Collective Vision and Wild Women for Peace.

The finale consisted of a performer in an evening gown, cape and curly wig who lip-synced “God Bless America” as sung by Connie Francis. Song over, he stripped down to leotard, panty hose, high heels and a leather and metal stud arm bracelet. Wig still in place, he spoke from the heart about the march and what it meant, glad to know, he said, that the marchers were trying to “put the country right.” A collection was taken and he announced the management would start it off with $100 and dropped the first bill into the plastic bucket.

Only in America. Watching in amazement, there was nothing much for board member Tim Carpenter, one of the principal directors of the march, to do but give himself over to the occasion, put on his mock-politician’s voice and say, “We’re reaching out! We’re reaching new constituencies never before reached by the peace movement.”

As they came into Denver they were reporting $50,000 in the bank. That is not big money. Fund raising continued throughout their stay. At the rally, where monitors passed plastic bags and took up a collection, a jubilant Carpenter introduced Dr. S. Y. Wang, a retired physician from Colorado Springs who had just written the march a check for $25,000.

Such funds will keep them a few days or weeks ahead of themselves, but they are never going to have such luxuries as a shower truck or laundry facilities. There never is going to be adequate or well-enough-organized storage for their gear. It bothers them. They moan for hot showers and jump at such offers from local citizens. But few really seem to attach much importance to such hardships any more.

Back on the March

Except for an occasional individual hitting the breaking point, they have adjusted. Los Angeles psychiatrist Richard Edeleman--recently back on the march with his wife Ann after the two had taken a few weeks to visit their new grandchild--admitted, his voice sounding his disbelief, that he could not wait to taste the march food again--the barley, sprouts, grains and beans that have become common fare.

On the morning of Pat Schroeder’s visit to Red Rocks, marchers stood around eating breakfast in the rain. They were holding plastic plates on which swam puddles of red Jell-O, oatmeal and rice pudding.

Hinton Harrison, a marcher who is a mime and frequently dresses in costume, riding a unicycle and juggling when they march into a community, stood watching in amusement as a visitor recoiled involuntarily at the breakfast fare.

“The chow looks good this morning, doesn’t it?” he joked. “What we’ll do for peace!”

What seems harder for them to joke about are ideological differences and questions of leadership.

The main difference seems to be between those who see the march as a way to start a massive movement for nuclear disarmament and those who believe the march itself, especially the experiment of the moveable Peace City, is important spiritually and practically as an example of what peacemaking is all about. Outside the dispute are those along for the walk. Their lack of commitment and sometimes their behavior poses a problem to some in the first group. They provide a challenge to the notion of a community living in peace to the second group.

Among the related, unresolved issues: Taking buses over dangerous terrain or insisting on walking (marchers have chosen both); requiring marchers to sign contracts; taking in new marchers; demanding or requesting that new marchers pay their way; committing acts of civil disobedience, such as many did at the Nevada Test Site; agreeing to “work” for the march by leaving it from time to time to do advance or office work.

Resistance to Authority

There is a resistance to authority, exacerbated by the fact that many of the problems of the defunct PROPeace are now attributed to lack of democratic procedures. Many of the marchers are young, and, as one older marcher observed, “resistant to parental authority.”

For some, the resistance and resentment focuses on three former staff members of PROPeace, Tim Carpenter, Allan Affeldt, and Dan Chavez, lawyer for the march. All three are board members whom marchers complain were not elected as the other four were, but self-appointed during the organizing process when desperate efforts were being made to save the march. The three are salaried, Chavez receives $2,000 a month; the other two $1,000.

Legal Problems

The nature of their responsibilities keeps them away from the march most of the time. Chavez is frequently on the road, obtaining permits or attending to legal problems at the main offices of the march in Laguna Niguel and Santa Monica. Carpenter works out of Los Angeles much of the time, and Affeldt is back and forth to the march. Everyone seems to agree the separation is part of the problem, making the leaders insensitive to the marchers and the marchers suspicious of the leaders, especially concerning money matters.

It is hoped that the recent hiring of a full-time accountant--Michael Cone who will work out of the Santa Monica office--will free up more time for the others and supply everyone with regular financial reports.

An open board of directors meeting has been taking place when the march is at rest. All of the issues are discussed, as are ideas and position papers on the nature of the march and future plans for it.

When the march was still in Denver, Franklin Folsom waited hours before his turn came to speak at the rally, jokingly shortening his remarks as numerous predecessors to the podium covered the same ground. Finally, Tim Carpenter introduced him, calling him “the conscience of the march.”

At 78, Folsom is the oldest marcher. A former Rhodes scholar, he is a writer, living in Boulder--where he stayed while in Colorado--with his wife, who is not on the march. Folsom is both a member of the march’s policy-making board and of its daily governing body, the city council.

From the beginning he has described the march as a means of re-energizing and uniting the peace movement and influencing voters “to ask themselves more than they have been asking and support candidates opposed to nuclear war. Unless we stop the appropriations in Congress, we will not have accomplished anything.”

That is why he is there, and to protect that interest he seems to have reluctantly become a part of the leadership. Before the rally, he spoke of those who seemed more interested “in the democracy of the march than its objectives, of form more than content.”

After Carpenter’s introduction, Folsom told the crowd he had a story to tell of a gathering of unemployed workers that left Denver for Washington almost 100 years ago in 1894. They were going to demand jobs.

It didn’t work out, he told them. They quarreled among themselves. People who thought they were leaders appeared. Splinter groups emerged.

“That march failed because it was not unified,” he said, his voice breaking as he shouted. “We are unified. We will get to Washington.”

Received as a Warning

He may have worded it as an affirmation, but from the looks exchanged among the people he had clearly moved, it was received as a warning.

The next day, as Elizabeth Fairchild and Connie Fledderjohann stood on the steps of the State Capitol waiting for the march to assemble and head toward Nebraska, they acknowledged the philosophical and personal divisions among the marchers.

Both marchers, Fairchild works on the media committee and often acts as an official spokeswoman. Fledderjohann, from Los Angeles, was one of the “spirit walkers,” who maintained the integrity of the march by continuing on foot while the majority were bused over stretches of dangerous terrain.

There were plenty of problems that could destroy the march from within. No doubt about it, both agreed.

“But, I’ve seen it happen so many times,” Fairchild said, “I’ll think to myself, ‘This march is going to fall apart 10 minutes from now.’ And then something will happen, it will rain or something, and everyone will pull together.”

Fledderjohann nodded her agreement. They were both hanging in and neither seemed worried.

“Sometimes,” Fairchild said, “I feel like the march is bigger than all of us. It just keeps going and pulls us all along.”