Bill Ayers, patriot
Posted on 05/29/2016 7:10:50 PM PDT by MarvinStinson
The site has photos of each officer.
We ought to have crushed the BPP like the Sri Lankan government crushed the Tamil Tigers. But like Washington warned us against, our rank among the nations is degraded not only by the perception of weakness, but also real moral weakness.
It was very stylish on the left to grovel for the cop killer black panthers.
Conductor Leonard Bernstein held a luncheon for them.
BPP and WU,,
Still together after all these Years.
These BPs are doing the work Obama wants done. Holder and his replacement are egging them on and they are not even trying too hard to hide it.
I am as serious as a heart attack when I say that if Obama and his underlings had the ability, there would be no Whites left in the world except for White Girls for them to rape.
Ii do not say this as an exaggeration. I fully believe every word.
But wait…there’s more murder (of police too) from these socialists/progressives gang members…
http://www.ojjpac.org/memorial.asp
Radical Chic: That Party at Lenny’s
Leonard Bernstein hosts the Black Panthers
By Tom Wolfe From the June 8, 1970 issue of New York Magazine.
http://nymag.com/news/features/46170/
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. These are nice. Little Roquefort cheese morsels rolled in crushed nuts. Very tasty. Very subtle. It’s the way the dry sackiness of the nuts tiptoes up against the dour savor of the cheese that is so nice, so subtle. Wonder what the Black Panthers eat here on the hors d’oeuvre trail? Do the Panthers like little Roquefort cheese morsels wrapped in crushed nuts this way, and asparagus tips in mayonnaise dabs, and meatballs petites au Coq Hardi, all of which are at this very moment being offered to them on gadrooned silver platters by maids in black uniforms with hand-ironed white aprons . . . The butler will bring them their drinks . . . Deny it if you wish to, but such are the pensées métaphysiques that rush through one’s head on these Radical Chic evenings just now in New York.
For example, does that huge Black Panther there in the hallway, the one shaking hands with Felicia Bernstein herself, the one with the black leather coat and the dark glasses and the absolutely unbelievable Afro, Fuzzy Wuzzy-scale in fact—is he, a Black Panther, going on to pick up a Roquefort cheese morsel rolled in crushed nuts from off the tray, from a maid in uniform, and just pop it down the gullet without so much as missing a beat of Felicia’s perfect Mary Astor voice. . . .
Felicia is remarkable. She is beautiful, with that rare burnished beauty that lasts through the years. Her hair is pale blond and set just so. She has a voice that is “theatrical,” to use a term from her youth. She greets the Black Panthers with the same bend of the wrist, the same tilt of the head, the same perfect Mary Astor voice with which she greets people like Jason, D.D. Adolph, Betty, Gian Carlo, Schuyler, and Goddard, during those après-concert suppers she and Lenny are so famous for. What evenings! She lights the candles over the dining room table, and in the Gotham gloaming the little tremulous tips of flame are reflected in the mirrored surface of the table, a bottomless blackness with a thousand stars, and it is that moment that Lenny loves. There seem to be a thousand stars above and a thousand stars below, a room full of stars, a penthouse duplex full of stars, a Manhattan tower full of stars, with marvelous people drifting through the heavens, Jason Robards, John and D. D. Ryan, Gian Carlo Menotti, Schuyler Chapin, Goddard Lieberson, Mike Nichols, Lillian Hellman, Larry Rivers, Aaron Copland, Richard Avedon, Milton and Amy Greene, Lukas Foss, Jennie Tourel, Samuel Barber, Jerome Robbins, Steve Sondheim, Adolph and Phyllis Green, Betty Comden, and the Patrick O’Neals . . .
. . . and now, in the season of Radical Chic, the Black Panthers. That huge Panther there, the one Felicia is smiling her tango smile at, is Robert Bay, who just 41 hours ago was arrested in an altercation with the police, supposedly over a .38-caliber revolver that someone had, in a parked car in Queens at Northern Boulevard and 104th Street or some such unbelievable place, and taken to jail on a most unusual charge called “criminal facilitation.”
And now he is out on bail and walking into Leonard and Felicia Bernstein’s 13-room penthouse duplex on Park Avenue. 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. Everyone casts a glance, or stares, or tries a smile, and then sizes up the house for the somehow delicious counterpoint . . . Deny it if you want to! but one does end up making such sweet furtive comparisons in this season of Radical Chic . . .
There’s Otto Preminger in the library and Jean vanden Heuvel in the hall, and Peter and Cheray Duchin in the living room, and Frank and Domna Stanton, Gail Lumet, Sheldon Harnick, Cynthia Phipps, Burton Lane, Mrs. August Heckscher, Roger Wilkins, Barbara Walters, Bob Silvers, Mrs. Richard Avedon, Mrs. Arthur Penn, Julie Belafonte, Harold Taylor, and scores more, including Charlotte Curtis, women’s news editor of the New York Times, America’s foremost chronicler of Society, a lean woman in black, with her notebook out, standing near Felicia and big Robert Bay, and talking to Cheray Duchin.
Cheray tells her: “I’ve never met a Panther—this is a first for me!” . . . never dreaming that within 48 hours her words will be on the desk of the President of the United States . . .
This is a first for me. But she is not alone in her thrill as the Black Panthers come trucking on in, into Lenny’s house, Robert Bay, Don Cox the Panthers’ Field Marshal from Oakland, Henry Miller the Harlem Panther defense captain, the Panther women—Christ, if the Panthers don’t know how to get it all together, as they say, the tight pants, the tight black turtlenecks, the leather coats, Cuban shades, Afros. But real Afros, not the ones that have been shaped and trimmed like a topiary hedge and sprayed until they have a sheen like acrylic wall-to-wall—but like funky, natural, scraggly . . . wild . . .
These are no civil-rights Negroes wearing gray suits three sizes too big—
—no more interminable Urban League banquets in hotel ballrooms where they try to alternate the blacks and whites around the tables as if they were stringing Arapaho beads—
—these are real men!
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the author of Obama’s books, William Ayers, was/is a member of Weather Underground.
The black Klan is synonymous with black panthers, BLM, and NAACP. These organizations represent only their race which is consistent with klans in general. Hispanics have La Raza. Oddly the old media brings a different color of coverage on all of these organizations.
I find it best to not post my true feelings.
I should ask forgiveness of my thoughts.
#4 Bernstein, at one time, was a secret member of the Communist Party USA. It was uncovered by a FOIA request, possibly by Cliff Kincaid and either Accuracy in Media or his own organization USAsurvival.org.
Lennie was Red Rat besides being a talented musical personality.
Sobering.
And a homo in the closet with a beard.
Bill Ayers, patriot
“I should ask forgiveness of my thoughts.”
No you shouldn’t.
Leonard Bernstein was forced to leave his position as conductor of the NY Philharmonic.
The board gave him a choice: Either announce he was leaving or it would be exposed that he was a raging homosexual who couldn’t stop going after members of his own orchestra.
He left, even though as a conductor he drew audiences.
Similar to the case of Jim Brown, the great football player.
The Cleveland Browns told Jim Brown he either had to retire or it would be exposed that he mistreated women, putting out cigarettes on their backs, and mistreating, torturing them in various sick ways.
The complaints were so constant that the situation had reached the point where the team management felt they could no longer cover it up.
Jim Brown announced his retirement, even though he could have played longer.
I couldn’t put up with that insanity for a second.
I guess that’s why I have never worked for anyone but myself.
And you were subjected to that was in 1977.
Just think what a level what it has reached today in the Valerie Jarrett military.
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