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Media Jerry BledsoeTBB URDBBOBOUND SACE II TBB BOLl
We just want to write,' they say at he Ace 'and have funand
smash capitalism and pull the country out o the war.'.
When T he East Village Other one ofthe early underground papers,
collapsedin confusion and bitterness last winter,The Ne w York Ace
arose, phoenix-like,from the wreckage. The Ace, the city'smost
recent, possibly most ambitious,altempt at an al ternative
newspaper,was the idea of Rex Weiner, a sallow21 yea r old city
native with long curlylocks and bro oding looks.After The Other
folded, Weiner started thinking about a paper of his own.So he got
together with Bob Singer,
another former EVO writer, and theycalled a meeting of all the
writers andartists they kn ew, most of whom hadworked for The
Other. t was a boisterous meeting, as such events tend to be.Some
wanted the new paper to be somber and filled with hard-hitting
reporting. Some thought it should be highlypolitica l- OIT the pigs
" Others wanted a paper of columnists, a crazypaper full of satire
and spoof, a paperof the art s. What we came up with,"says Weiner,
is a blend of all these.That blend could be more aptly termed a
mishmash. In the first eight editions there was little or iginal
reporting,mostly warmed-over news heavily spicedwith personal op
inion. There were afew attempts at spoof, some heavyhanded satire,
a lot of grotesque cartoo ns. Unlike most other und ergroundpapers,
T he Ace even had televi sionand sports columns. But essentially
itwas a paper of columnists whose favorite subjects seemed to be
themselves.Since the paper was started with afew hundred dollars
that the two hadmanaged to get together , Weiner wasthe publisher,
Singer the editor. Thefirst issues were pu t together in Weiner's
Thompson Street apartment witha bootleg telephone on which
callscould be made but not received . Afterthe first issue , the
pap er fell under theinfluence o f AI Goldstein and JimBuckley,
publishers of Screw and othersuch literary efforts (both became
Acecolumnists). The design changed drastica lly and color was
introduced. A$5,000 no-strings-attached investmentby a Columbia
University student gavethe sta ff an o ffice in a basement on 17
thStreet and the will to stru ggle on.Late in the afternoon of the
day J.Photographed by Benne Friedman
The u11derground emerges; the scene outside "Tire Ace's"
basement office.Edgar Hoover died, the Ace sta ll members began
drifting into the office. twas as if they had been summoned, a
l-though they had not. There was just aneed to be with friends at
such a time.The office is a dreary place, smalland dingy, crowded
with four battereddesks, an assortment of decrepit chairs,and two
weary , sagging couches withserious gash wounds bandaged by tapeand
reopened by abuse. There is bu tone typewriter in the place, an
agingIBM Executive.The place was a mess. The wall swere haphaza
rdly decorated with posters, handbills, signs, a few scenic ca
lendars, and copies of the eight issues ofThe Ace that had appeared
since itsbirth. If the floor had ever been swept ,it was not in
recent times. t sufferedthe usua l rubble of cigarette butts,
beercans, and decaying cockroach ca rcasses.Mi xed in with all of
this were the pasteand paper remnants from the recentassembl age of
a 40-foot papier-mfichemarijuana cigarette which had beenhoisted
down Fifth Avenue fo r a MayDay Smoke-In in Central Park.
The staff itself was now slumped inthe couches and on the chairs
andhunkered on desk tops under the spu t-tering fluorescent light
tubes. Rock mu-
sic came from the radio, and the airwas pungent wi th marijuana
and tobacco smoke . The staff members laughedand talked. The Wicked
Wi tch of theWest was dead , and everybody wasfeeling good.But
somehow a mere party did notseem appropriate to the occasion.
Something more was needed . Some publicstatement was demanded . And
so whenA. J Weberman, the w ire haired musiccolumnist and noted
Esquire analyst ofsuperstars' garbage, said, ' ' No, man ,what we
ought to do, see, is hold amock funeral," the idea was seizedwith
zest."We could get a coffin, see. lind wecou ld get
what's-his-name's hearse. No,it got towed in. Well, anyway, we
couldget a coffin and carry it down to theF.B.I . Building- where
is the F.B. I.Building? and everybody could go byand spit in it, or
piss in it, or . Hey,gross, man Beautiful Somebody's gotto give a
eulogy. Right. I'll write aeulogy. No , let me. Somebody write
aeulogy. Then we could take the coffindown to the Staten Island
ferry anddump it into the river. GreatWhat about the media?
Somebody 'sgo tta let the media know. No sense indoing it if the
straight media don't
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our goals," admits Rex Weiner. Ace iscreating a new audience.
We're writingwhat we feel is the temper of the times." It 's almost
like a magazine- cansee it becoming the paper to read inNew York to
find out what's happening. I see it changing the style of
underground papers around the country.There's a need in New York
for a realnewspaper."Weiner and Singer would like to seeThe Ace
become successful enough tosupport the people who work on it." All
of us are pretty sick of starving,"says Weiner. I don't see The
Acemaking us a million dollars. We justwant to write and have fun,
and alsosmash American imperialism and capitalism, and pull the
country out of thewa r, and keep people laughing."" I rn really
interested," says Singer," in what the paper can be
historically,which is a newspaper of the left, anarchist, alternate
culture, which is su-perior in reporting and literary attraction to
any other publication."A worthy aim, to be sure. But thetrouble
with putting out an anarchicnewspaper is all this damn chaos.
t had been hoped to get the specialedition onto the streets on
the day fol-lowing Hoover's death . That afternoon,as Hoover lay in
state in the CapitolRotunda, Rex Weiner was hunchedover the
typewriter in the Ace office.The writers had brought in their
copy,and Weiner was trying to set it in unjustified columns for the
stencil. Hewas making a lot of errors. Since hewas the only person
working on it, itwas obvious that the paper would notbe out this
day. Tomorrow morning,Weiner said.Later in the day, Singer came in
andthey struggled with headlines and pagelayouts. Man, he said, " I
wish wewere doing something industrial , making tire chains or
something.On Thursday morning, the day ofHoover's funeral , Rex
Weiner shuffieddown 17th Street and opened the Aceoffice a little
before noon. He went inside and flicked on the lights and
lookedaround. He was not feeling wellThe special edition was no
nearerpublication than it had been the daybefore. "We're having
coordinationproblems," he said.A few minutes later, Bob Singercarne
in. " Look, man," he said toWeiner, we're a little short. We
onlygot seven bucks in the bank-$6 .99, tobe exact."Weiner nodded."
How much do we need?" saidSinger.Maybe 40 bucks."We ll , I'm not
paying it this time."1 know , man, I'll try to get it."
There were other problems. Handbills advertising a benefit movie
showing for The Ace were supposed to havebeen plastered around town
the nightbefore. They had not been.Weiner was disgusted. Maybe
wecan do it this afternoon," said Singer,and Weiner blew up.We got
other people on the paper,he said, his voice rising. f they wantto
have a effing paper, let them doeffing something "Singer could not
stay. He had otherwork . He is trying to start a new magazine
called Speed and i t demands hisattention, too.The rest of the day
did not go wellCoca Crystal, a girl reporter and member of the
militant Emma GoldmanBrigade who had recently gained a degree of
underground notoriety by releasing rats and creating bedlam at
the51st Annual Republican Women'sLuncheon in Washington, ca lled to
sayshe was quitting. She didn't like theway the paper was going;
she thoughtWeiner and Singer didn't respect thestuff she was doing,
and she feared thatthe new girl in the office was trying tomove in
on her. Steve Kraus, who at42 is the oldest Ace writer, pleadedwith
her over the telephone. Oh,Coca, come on. That's ridiculous,
youdropping out. I mean, we've all beentogether for years on VO and
nowwe've got this paper I tea lly wishyou wouldn't feel this way.
Especiallynow, you know, when we're kind ofregrouping. This is not
the time to dropout. I know how you feel, but it's notas important
as keeping together andnot letting the paper fall apart.Weiner was
not able to get themoney, nor the paper on which toprint the
special edition, nor sympathetic copying facilities. That night
heand Singer argued bitterly.The mock funeral for J. Edgar Hoover
was not held at l l a.m. Friday asscheduled. It would never be
held.Neither did the J Edgar Hoover special edition of The New York
Ace appear that day. I t had been scrapped." It 's the same old
story," said Weiner. " Nobody did the work on it Assimple as
that."
He spent much of that day wanderingaround in search of a
"drive-away" carto take him to Miami. He had reportsthat the
Zippies were already descending on Miami to begin planning
activities for the Democratic convention andhe wanted to get there
before theymucked the whole thing up.This whole week was one of
blownthings, he said.Had the events of the week blownthe future of
The Ace as well? " I don 'tthink .it's significant," said Weiner.
TheAce he said, would survive. -
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