Iffy Sez by Iffy the Dopester

To those of you old-timers who remember me, I say top o' the teacup to you; to those less inured in the recent history of our fair city, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Iffy—Iffy the Dopester, they always called me, and for well nigh 15 years I resided inside the pages of that paper right down the street here on Lafayette, the Free Press. I sort o' went into hibernation round about the early fifties, though—you might say those weren't the most stimulating times for someone of my background.

Anyway, I've had this hankerin' in my heart to come back, but frankly, just between you and me, I couldn't bear to peddle my pearls in either of the two Detroit—ahem—newspapers. The Free Press, I'm afraid, is but a tombstone now in the annals of lively journalism. And the News—well sir, you don't have to be a reptologist to spot a den o' vipers, if you know what I mean. So imagine my delight when THE SUN moved in right downtown on Newspaper Row, between the twin gray ghosts mentioned above, into the historic Shelby Hotel. Why, no sooner had the SUN editors set up shop, than they sent out word on the Iffster grapevine . . . I ain't been recapitulatin' so many cosmic insights since 1936 without a very considerable grapevine, which as I undertake to commence once more in more or less regular fashion, I find ripe with fruit. But, I digress. Anyway, after some delicate negotiations, during which eight and nine figure sums didn't go undiscussed, I wus on a masthead for the first time in more than a score of autumnal equinoxes. My one non-negotiable demand is also my motto: I sez 'em as I sees 'em, and no rogues or picaroons can expect to escape comment from these quarters.

I find it altogether fitting and pleasurable, upon this occasion of my own re-harkening, to introduce some new people, and to formally present some familiar people. SUN publishers David Fenton and Barbara Weinberg, of course, have been putting out the paper together for the past two years. David is a former wunderkind photographer for Liberation News Service, out of which experience came his striking book, Shots (Douglas/World 1972). David has been involved with producing the SUN since its re-emergence in Ann Arbor in 1971. Barbara, who has done a splendid job in her capacity as SUN art director for the past two years, continues in those duties, having been well-prepared for her job by a whole swelter o' degrees at various East Coast and Midwest universities too numerous to mention.

That done, I'm proud to be incarnate alongside the SUN's two new editors, Derek Van Pelt, the editor of this here first section, and John Sinclair, editor of that sizzling new section of the paper, Kulchur. Derek hails from down Lake Erie a bit, Cleveland way, where he had a major hand in all o' that noble city's noble journalistic enterprises—Cleveland After Dark, Burning River, Cleveland Magazine, and Exit. Besides being a fine editor. Derek is a fine writer, and you can expect his bylined commentary often. John Sinclair, of course, hardly needs an introduction, so massive have been his contributions to the life of this area for more than a decade now. The cultural renaissance signaled by the Artists' Workshop in 1964, and the astounding work there produced, stands as a unique accomplishment in the annals of cultural achievement. But, then, he'll tell you all about it in his own pages, so I'll just summarize—Trans-Love Energies, the White Panther Party and Rainbow People's Party, the MC-5, the Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festivals—all were shepherded by John's steady hand. His chief co-worker in these enterprises, Ms. Leni Sinclair, has begun, I'm happy to say, her tenure as SUN production manager.

'Course John and Leni's work was interrupted for two and a half years in prison for possession of two sticks of reefer, but even while incarcerated and in the process of overturning Michigan's vicious marijuana laws with a master legal assault, as well as a mass campaign, John produced a most remarkable chronicle of his activities—a book. Guitar Army (Douglas/World 1972). I don't mind sayin' that I detected more than a little of the old Iffy method in his columns over the years for the old Fifth Estate and I'm delighted "The Coatpuller" and "The Dopester" will share the same pages this time 'round. Now as I take quill in digit to ponder the next two fellas, my heart fairly palpitates with glee. First, Ken Cockrel, I have the privilege of announcin', is going to be commentin' in the manner of which many a prosecutin' attorney has been withered on the proverbial vine by. That is to say, and all of you folks who peep his stuff in the Michigan Chronicle can testify to this, Ken has a persuasiveness, a clarity of construction, a lethal logic, and a clean grasp of the issues that's hard to measure, much less equal. I don't mind sayin' for the record that I'd walk into a room of torch burnin' Ku Kluxoids with Ken Cockrel representing me.

I've another Ken to introduce—Ken Kelley, who's whatcha call a Consultin' Editor, which is just a hifalutin' way of saying that The SUN will be able to draw on Ken's considerable range of experience. First as the editor of the Ann Arbor Argus in the late '60's, then SunDance Magazine, a fine but ill-fated venture in the early '70's, and a slew of other publications, including the Berkeley Barb. Ken's a freelance journalist now—he's got a very revealing interview with Mrs. Salvadore Allende in the current Penthouse—and he's workin' on a book about Detroit even as I write this. And from what I've seen of it, I can safely predict that it will set some people back on their collective fundaments.

Enough said! Write me, c/o ITD, SUN, Suite 3000, Shelby Hotel, Detroit 48226, and give me your inside dope.