*Re-posted here on this date from an earlier, personal writing.
April 20, 2016. We've just touched history. So much of the work we've done to date has been poring over primary sources, scores of books, photographs, and old documents. With that comes a definite sense of traveling back through time and constructing the past in one's own mind. But there's nothing like the real, living, breathing (and singing) thing.
George and I embarked on this recent research trip out west without knowing exactly what we'd find. During our stay in California, we interviewed the author of one of our principle texts and held strategy sessions with our fundraising team. A brief stop in Arizona gave us our first glimpses of the Clint Jencks archive. And Wisconsin saw us dive into the Albert E. Kahn collection with the help of our intrepid and able research assistant, as well as sit down to interview our expert historical advisor on the FBI during the McCarthy era. Those are all gains which constitute a successful trip; we would have been happy enough with them alone.
But the crowning jewel came to us in New Mexico, where we traced the roots of several of our storylines to the now shuttered San Cristobal Valley Ranch. The ranch was an idyllic haven for progressives during the days of McCarthy, run by Craig Vincent and his wife, the folk singer Jenny Vincent. They created a safe space that was known for its diversity, equality, and sense of community, attracting the likes of Pete Seeger, Alan Arkin's family and many others, mine included. My grandfather loved the dynamism of the Western frontier and did a healthy share of his writing in one of the Vincent's log cabins while my father and his brothers tore though the mountain foothills on horseback. The San Cristobal Valley Ranch community became a true respite from the seemingly public insanity of the Red-Scare; it's only shortcoming was that it didn't last - or at least so we thought.
Mere days before George and I arrived in New Mexico, my father discovered that Jenny was still alive and received an invitation from her son to come see them both. So, a couple of days later, we pulled up at a nursing home in Taos, New Mexico, and immediately noticed that we had joined a line of people filtering in from the parking lot. The only difference between us and them was that whereas we were carrying camera equipment, they were all carrying musical instruments.
We all found places along the walls of a common room as folks exchanged warm greetings and set their instruments in tune. Then Jenny Vincent, all 102 years of her, rolled into the room in her wheelchair for her standing Tuesday sing-along. Positioned before the piano, it didn't take long before she began leading the group in the songs that have echoed off the mountains there for decades, like "Red River Valley" and "This Land is Your Land". I think the thought hit George and me about the same time as we exchanged glances from across the room: this was the same scene we had heard about in reminiscences of the ranch, with some of the very same people who had been there in the 50s still playing the very same songs. The San Cristobal Valley Ranch community had survived. And now we had come from the east, as my family had done decades earlier, to visit and connect with it once again.
The community was as welcoming as could be. We were able to sit with Jenny and her son that evening, with cameras rolling. She recounted the spirit of the ranch and remembered various guests, including Matusow. By now, everyone familiar with the ranch knows that Harvey was informing for the FBI while he feigned friendship with Jenny, Craig, and Clint Jencks during his stay there in the summer of 1951. His mark on this community was a destructive one. When I asked Jenny about her feelings on Harvey, she offered a soft grunt, slowly extended her arm and turned her thumb to the floor. We all laughed, but not for long. Jenny surprised us when she next said "But if I were to see him today, I would ask him what song he loved to sing in those golden years. And I would ask him to sing it with me." The poignancy of her statement filled the space around us. I thanked her for all she had done for my family so many decades earlier and George and I left her room in quiet.
Jenny's grace, compassion for all and love of connection through music are valuable reminders for us while we tackle Matusow Affair. It's important to dissect the bitter divisions which have brought this country to its lowest points. But when that happens, we need lessons like the one Jenny provided so simply, lest we forget how we are supposed to put it all back together. Thank you, dear Jenny.
- Ben Kahn, Executive Producer