stories from the haight
My mother was really excited as she pointed out the window of the restaurant, "The Pall Mall", a local five-stool breakfast-lunch counter located on Haight Street, between Clayton and Ashbury in San Francisco. Dad bought the restaurant in the early sixties. "Look", she said, "look at that bus with those crazy people in the windows". From the view point I had in the window stool, I could see the words "Bank Of America" just across the street slowly being blotted out by a silver bus with "Further" as the destination. On board, hanging out the windows, were the many faces painted green and day-glo orange of, as I was later to find out, “The Merry Pranksters.....” Now when things happen like that on the street where you grew up, you tend to not overlook the facts... that was weird.... none of the kids I grew up with ever did things like that, and even "the brothers" were cool.... we could all relate...but this....the hippies, they were real different and my mom and dad, along with other alot of other folks, were soon thrust into playing host to over 100,000 people from another planet who for some reason blasted off from somewhere and landed in our peaceful little middle class neighborhood.
The whole thing started just as smooth as silk. you’d look up and “The Pranksters” were 'blam" ... right there in your face. Soon there was music in the panhandle. Word would reach you by some incredible form of communication so subtle you could barely feel it, sometimes it came as a breath on the wind, other times it was a stillness in the air, or a rippled low tone drum vibe penatrating to some deep primal thing inside you. Sounds carried in many diffrent ways in the Haight. but you'd respond and sure enough without fail.. "Ramrod", and his boys would have a couple of blue Avis 24-foot flatbed stake trucks ass to ass with one side pulled off and presto, instant stage... party time...peace, love, dope and hey, what the hell's goin on here? The day they blocked off Haight & Cole and threw a party in the street was unreal......................zap gotcha... Leo knew what was goin on. Leo was the cop on the beat in the Haight and Leo knew everybody and everything. He was big, strong, Irish, and this was not his first summer as a cop on the beat for the S.F.P.D. Leo would stop for coffee and discuss the whole "hippie-dippie" situation with the local merchants. "God damn long-haired good for nothins. Ya outta see 'em; smokin dope and walkin around with hippie-dippie clothes on, and more and more coming around here everyday. The whole Haight is being over-run." ( my father would often say to me later, "I see you have your hippie-dippie clothes on, going out?" ).....yeah dad, way, way, way, out, and I wasn't the only one.......... The summer of love was best. While working for a local floral company we would load up the delivery truck with funeral sprays and flowers and down the road we would go stopping to pass out as many flowers as we could get away with........many lovely women that summer enjoyed those flowers, and it’s amazing how the loss of flowers on the sprays were never missed at the funeral homes, or by those who I suppose by that time were truly “The Grateful Dead..........” Searchlights, White Levis and Desert Boots, Longshoreman's Hall! Fillmore, King Kong Memorial Dance, "Oh No, It Wasn't The Airplanes That Killed The Beast, T'was Beauty." $2.50 to get in either Bill's place or Chets place with the most romantic and magical name the Avalon Ball Room. Travelling even faster now... deeper into the bowels of the city from the Haight. Moby Grape, Quicksilver, The Airplane, ( who, years later hit the nail on the head with "We Built This City On Rock & Roll"), The Dead, always The Dead...... Big Brother, The Charlatans, Dan Hicks, Chet Helms, Bill Graham, Canned Heat, The Sons, The Santana Blues Band?, 13th Floor Elevator, The Doors, Siegel Schwall, Jim Kweskin Jug Band, Country Joe & The Fish, Traffic, Spirit, The Flamin Groovies, and whatever happened to the Congress of Wonders?.... so much music, so many trips from so many angles.
It was always, every single time, such a great adventure, such a wonderful, full on gosh darn good time going to hear the groups either in the panhandle, at Speedway Meadows, at Fillmore or Avalon, nothing ever went wrong on these adventures............it was fun, fun, fun, and there was no T-Bird for daddy to take away....... We got away with a lot of things for what seemed like a real long, long time until the S.F.P.D. finally figured out what we were all doing in the park, but even then... The Haight-Ashbury will always have a special place in my heart. If one thinks of life as a walk down broadway, this play had a great run, and continues today to be a major influence. It will continue to be the summer of love to hundreds of thousands of people. I can still see that silver bus with the day-glo faces in my mind's eye riding past The Bank Of America. Was it a signal, was it a sign of what was to be?..............I think so don't you? Besides, as the saying goes, “Never Trust A Prankster” & if you can remember what happened... “You Weren’t There!”
-30- 931 WORDS
"Fine time for you to be lost, Wally. If it weren't for this fine mess you've gotten us into here, I'd be quaffing beers and pounding cheese cakes. But no, you had to take a short cut. Fine mess, fine, fine mess .. now come on, lets go back." "You ain't getting hairless on me are you, Vini? I mean, this is our chance. Fame, fortune, girlies. Youse a man or a mouse ..." "... pass the cheese please." "That's the spirit. Lets go before we gets busted." The light came on. They scrambled. A scream, a shoe, a mouse laying motionless on the floor ... a second mouse carting off with a large chunk of Red Lester. ">GASP< Vini,.... >GASP< this is it .... say goodbye to Becky for me. " "Will do, Wally. Later." "CUT!! .. Alright, what's with this 'later' crap? Can you see what's written here?! It says 'Adieu, my friend, adieu' .. Now start again !!!!" ------ Dr. Doug Platt of the Alzheimer's Medical center looked on and jotted down a few notes. "10:00 am - gave the #1 mouse 2 shots of the virus but no observable behavior changes appear to have taken place."
J. Troy Tinnes
So Bob and I were going to try and get some mushrooms and get all loaded at a small party at his house that night. Some other So. cal people were going to be there including some girls I wanted to fuck. As we were leaving Bob's house, going towards haight to catch a bus, I was pulling out some money for the bus and two twentys accidentally came out and fell to the ground. It was windy and as I bent over to pick up one bill, a guy came off the sidewalk and grabbed the other one. My first thought was, "well isn't that freindly," quickly followed by, "He's not going to give that back." I tried to grabe the money. He replied by pulling out a huge pocket knife and in a gruff voice stated "that's Mah Munnay!" I was scared, Bob was scared, he went and got some freinds with a bat and we left. We tried to buy mushrooms and hash on Hiaght Street. We met a hippy who seemed really nice. He sold us Mitakes and tar from a telephone pole. We ate the mushrooms, and attempted to smoke the hash. We got some nutrition and flavor and a bad cough, but nowhere near loaded. So with or remaining four dollars, we bought two or three bottles of purple cisco. We got Fucked up, I puked Kraft Macaroni and cheese all over the dishes in the sink. I tried to sleep with this girl from So. Cal. who liked me but I had treated her too badly in the past. That was when I realized I hated everybody and everything, including myself.
dablyputs
But last night (12.22.1999), I was in the Haight. I was riding the bus home from downtown. I was barely aware of my surroundings. It was late--after midnight--and I was sitting, resting my head against the glass of the bus window, my eyes barely open. A flutter of movement outside the window startled me into wakefulness. An arm was moving. Was someone throwing something at the bus? I focused on the motion. It was someone in a pickup truck, smiling and waving at the bus, smiling and waving at me. I didn't recognize him. Then I remembered that I was wearing the Santa Claus hat. I'm a big guy, generally looking kind of scraggly. My hair is long and unruly. I have the look of a man at ease with neither iron nor shaving razor. Under normal circumstances, my appearance inspires concern. When I'm wearing the Santa Claus hat, though, things are different. Small children laugh at the sight of me. Some adults do, too. Others at least smile. I smiled, looked around, took stock of my surroundings. The bus had reached Fillmore. We were still in the genuinely cool part of the Haight. Perhaps a genuinely cool person had just smiled and waved at me. Could it be that the secret of cool lies in fashion accessories? Certainly sunglasses sellers had tried to convince me of this before, but I had never believed. Yet... If I just wore the Santa Claus hat long enough, would I be somehow transformed? I decided I was too tired to worry about it, too comfortable in my Sunset district existence to start hankering after cool now. I snuggled as best I could into my plastic seat, waiting for the bus to ferry me home.
I don't remember the details but I ran across his site. Casual until one night of talking on the computer left me with a lasting impression. Friendship and sharing I suppose you would call it. He lived in the Haight. I was married to someone I loved but didn't know anymore. I was working a great job during this time and feeling powerful. I wanted to get away for a bit and find myself, meet him. I would think about us having fun, swinging in the park. I thought about myself making art and exploring a city I always wanted to see. I remember flying and knowing it was wrong. I had just quit my job only a few days before quite unexpectedly. One of the dearest people in my life was struggling to fight cancer and had taken a turn for the worst. What was I doing? The Rose Room in the Red Victorian was so beautiful. The weather was so beautiful. Is San Fransisco always so beautiful? Right outside my window I photographed the Haight Street sign. Should I call him? Should I really meet him knowing that I am not the self confident woman I thought I was. I felt like a lie. We met. I knew he questioned my motives. In a moment of complete humiliation I threw myself at him. For one moment, holding him, hearing him tell me I smelled like roses there was no pain. He was my friend. But I couldn't bear the rejection and he left. I never saw him again. I watched the people out my window. I couldn't move. I began taking medication to help me sleep but sleep did not come. I took more. I began to see and hear things. My husband's voice telling me the next flight out was not for another day. Talking to me, don't take anymore. I won't, I will take something different I thought. A yuppie drug cocktail. I remember a doctor on the plane. A sweet woman telling me not to give up. The rest I only remember from what is told to me till I got out of the hospital. It was 12 years to the day that I had attempted suicide the first time. I never told him what happened. I never told him I was in a coma for almost two days. It wasn't his problem. It was just sychronicity. My dearest one finally died. She wants me to put this away. I know she brought me to this site. This story is for her. She knows what happened in that room now. The story I never told anyone. She was the only one that didn't ask why. This is for you on your 30th birthday now spent in the hereafter.
turtle
{ 15 April 2005: Posting has been discontinued. }
|