Radical Chic & Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers - Tom Wolfe and 1970 Race Relations

My God, it was a roll call of the New York Society page, this party, this glamorous party, hosted by the composer Leonard Bernstein, with his wife, Felicia. It was a party of the Big Apple Rich and Famous, the glamorous, the chic. Otto Preminger, the famous director, was there. So were Sidney and Gail Lumet, and Barbara Walters, then a national news anchor. And various members of the Black Panther Party were in attendance as well. The Black Panthers? The Black Panthers, in full militant, leather gear, all badass and afros and wrap-around shades, all serious, glaring, and menacing, at a party full of rich, influential, hoity-toity white folk? Why, that’s so…dangerous, so…thrilling, and so…radical. So…Radical Chic.

Tom Wolfe’s (The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, The Pump House Gang) Radical Chic first appeared in 1970 in New York magazine. In his article, Wolfe captured the essence of a developing trend amongst the rich and powerful: fundraising parties held for militant or less-fortunate groups, with members of those various groups in attendance, mingling with the stars. In the case of Bernstein’s party, it was a fundraiser for the Panther 21, a group of Black Panthers held with a bond amount they couldn’t afford ($100,000 each,) jailed for conspiracy to blow up several buildings and facilities. Wolfe added an essay entitled Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers and published both articles as Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers. It turned out to be a worthwhile piece of racial-issue journalism.

With Radical Chic, Wolfe let the reader in on these glamorous parties, planned down to the point where the host’s regular servants were excused for the day, replaced by white servants, so as not to offend the guests of honor, be they Black Panthers, grape pickers, etc. The problem with these parties, as Wolfe saw it, was that, well-intentioned as they might have been, they became social events for the rich folk, a place to be seen, to be read about in the Society page, and, even better, to score chic points by eventually hosting one’s own party. In essence, the Black Panthers were there to be heard, as Panther Field Marshal Don Cox reiterates the Panthers’ ten-point program, a list of demands for an equal society. And yet, as one attendee exclaims early into the party, “I’ve never met a Panther-this is a first for me!” How exciting! How utterly fantastically exciting to get to rub elbows, to hob-knob with actual Black Panthers! “Harassment & Hassles, Guns & Pigs, Jail & Bail-they’re real, these Black Panthers. The very idea of them, these real revolutionaries, who actually put their lives on the line, runs through Lenny’s duplex like a rogue hormone,” writes Wolfe. And such was the Radical Chic, the thrill of hanging out with the dangerous Black Panthers, listening to their agenda of feeding poverty-stricken school children breakfast in the morning. Race relations were never quite as fun as this!

In his essay Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers, Wolfe takes the reader along on a meeting – a direct confrontation – between radical ghetto activists, often street gang leaders and ranking members, and the Flak Catcher. The Flak Catcher was usually the underling of a civil servant, attempting to appease the ghetto reps on issues such as summer jobs for ghetto residents. The activists called these confrontations Mau-Mauing, basically putting on an intimidating show that made the white man in the office tremble. In Wolfe’s article, the guys from the street were not Black Panthers, rather, in this case, a group of large Samoan men. As the group spokesman asked questions or demanded answers, the Samoan’s stood there, loudly banging their beautifully engraved Tiki sticks on the floor “Ba-ram –ba-ram-ba-ram-ba-ram” whenever they heard something they liked – a very unsettling scene for a white lifer in shirtsleeves and tie. And as Wolfe pointed out in the article, there were only so many summer jobs to be had, so each gang had to come up with more and more inventive ways to gain notice, to further the art of the mau-mau. Wolfe describes the sheer brilliance of one Bill Jackson. Calling himself Jomo Yarumba, Jackson managed to get to the mayor himself, face to face with the city leader, no mere flunky Flak Catcher. All Jackson did was amass some 60 youth from his ghetto neighborhood, load them up on sweets, “creamy wavy gravy,” and let them run amok in City Hall, which quickly led to a mau-mau with The Man.

Ah, yes, it’s not only amusing, but it’s a worthy read for anyone interested in the history of race relations in this country. Written with Tom Wolfe’s usual colorful flair, Radical Chic & Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers is a quick, 153-page read, about the size of two fairly long magazine articles. I found it both entertaining and educational. Now if I can only round up about 60 groms, a bunch of ice cream, cake, candy, and soda, maybe I can get myself a meeting with the mayor as well. I have no agenda; I just want to see Colorado Springs Government come to a halt as they try to control 60 sugarcoated kids. Thanks, Mr. Wolfe!