RETURN TO HAIGHT-ASHBURY
by
Louis Lopez
© 2023 by Louis Lopez.
All rights reserved. It is allowed to reproduce and distribute copies of this book PROVIDED that (1) full credit is given to the author Louis Lopez, (2) it is copied exactly as found here without any alterations to the wording and (3) no more than $20 is charged for each copy.
"I'm sure I don't need to finish high school. It's only one more year. I can learn everything they're going to teach me on my own."
Scott's father had known for a long time that there was going to be a confrontation on the subject, and he was afraid this was finally the moment. It was one week before the beginning of summer vacation. "You're probably right, but what's the problem with at least finishing your senior year. I know a high school diploma isn't that great of an accomplishment anymore, but it's pretty rough without one."
"There's plenty of people going a long way without finishing high school. How about Velma's son Jerry, he's doing real good selling real estate, and he was a high school dropout."
"Yeah, but he went back and got some college hours in after getting his GED. Right now you may think one more year in your life is an eon, but, believe me, you'll see later on that it isn't that much. You'll have plenty of time left. Besides, you don't want to miss all the fun of senior year."
"God, everyone at school is such a drag, such a twirp, so conformist--this whole town. Being out in the real world and learning to be a writer would be infinitely more out o' sight. I could go to San Francisco and check everything out and try to reconstruct how it was back in '68 when you went."
"Being a writer is an honorable profession, but you know only a few people make it. There's plenty of other good professions out there to consider. You may think I'm a drag but being an accountant can be enjoyable. I think you could actually make a good accountant, seeing that you like to dabble so much with numbers."
"I don't think you're a drag, Dad, but I don't see how accounting could be any fun. You're so much cooler than most other parents, it's hard to believe that you're an accountant. See, I want to write about what you and other people did in the '60's. People need to know what it was like back then."
"That's good, but it's not worth your not going on to get more school. You can still write all about that later. I think college could help you a lot. After all, many of the things going on in the '60's were happening on college campuses."
"God, if I could go to San Francisco, I could see all those old haunts of people back then--Ken Kesey, Richard Farina, Big Sur in The Confederate General at Big Sur by Brautigan. It would be so far out."
He and his father had talked many times before about what life was like in the '60's. Perhaps it was partly because his father and mother also often talked about it. They had actually met in San Francisco, both having made the pilgrimage many young people made in those days. Jim had come from Barstow, California and Ann from Provo, Utah. They finished college at San Francisco State, got married, and then eventually went back to Provo to raise a family, naming their first-born Scott McKenzie Burns after the vocalist of the hit song, "If You're Going to San Francisco, Make Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair." Scott had told his dad that he had a strong longing to have been able to live back then, and Jim also remembered how he had experienced fantasies while growing up in the 1950's about living in the '30's and '40's. He had wondered how it would have been to live back in the days of baseball greats like Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, movies stars like Clark Gable and Betty Grable. He had liked the way life was depicted in old movies. Everyone always seemed so happy and optimistic in those '30's musicals.
The arguing continued for the next two weeks. Finally, Scott's parents decided to give him a trial run at being on his own. They were worried that if they didn't give him permission to go, he might run away and go on his own like so some other kids were doing. He had mentioned it once or twice. Scott was set on going to the hub of the old scene, the Haight-Ashbury district.
His father told him about their decision a week before the school year finished. Scott literally ran up and bounced against the wall in his room with joy. "We'll pay for one month's rent, as long as it's reasonable. You'll have to pay for the rest of your expenses--food, clothes, entertainment--from the money you've saved up from your newspaper job. Of course, I know you'll be looking for a job and if you can find a good enough one to support yourself, you can stay."
"Don't worry. I know I can get a job in no time."
The next morning Scott was packed and ready to go. He packed light but made sure to take his lava lamp, a black light along with several black light posters, a dark brown leather Indian jacket with matching moccasins, three claw necklaces, albums like Disraeli Gears by Cream and Inagaddadavida by Iron Butterfly. Both his parents took a few days' vacation in order to take him, and his 10-year-old sister went along.
When they got to Haight-Ashbury, his parents were aghast at how much rents had gone up. It took two days to finally decide on an apartment, a third-floor efficiency with kitchen and living room-bedroom for a thousand a month. After all of Scott's belongings had been moved in and it came time to say goodbye, his mom and dad began to look a little worried. Scott began to wonder whether they might change their minds.
"Everything's going to be great, just wait and see. Thanks for paying for the apartment. It's expensive, but I'll get a roommate and I'll be able to pay you back part of it. I'm gonna start looking for a job tomorrow."
"You know if it gets too tough, just give us a call. Collect. We'll come and get you," his mother told him as she hugged him one last time.
"Hey, don't worry. It's just not going to happen."
The next day Scott went immediately to the two major San Francisco newspapers to put in applications for work as a reporter. He knew many famous writers had started as newspaper reporters, with Hemingway the most notable. And many of them had never gone to college. He felt confident that he could impress the editors enough to want to hire him even if he hadn't finished high school. For one thing, he had brought copies of articles he had written for his high school newspaper. He filled out an application at the Chronicle and was told he would be called later for an interview. At the Examiner he was actually invited in to speak to an editor who looked around 30. He was friendly but looked pressed for time. He asked Scott why he wanted to be in the newspaper business.
"I don't actually want to be in the newspaper business. I don't want to be in business at all. I really want to write novels, but I figured this is the best place to start."
"Many fiction writers used to start with newspapers, but that's less true now than it used to be. I've been thinking about writing a novel myself someday. It seems a lot of writers nowadays are getting degrees in creative writing. Is that what you're studying in college?"
"I'm not going to college. I'm not even going to bother to graduate from high school. I think you'll agree that there's no requirement for diplomas or degrees if you want to be a writer. I've been an almost straight 'A' student, and I think I'm ready to start now." The man reared up in his chair and wrinkled his brow slightly, apparently now trying to concentrate better on the conversation.
"You say you're not going to finish high school?"
"That's right. I know the fundamentals of grammar and so on real well, and I know I can get going right now. I don't want to waste any time. The only training I need is in the school of real life and hard knocks, and I still believe in 'tune in, turn on, and drop out.'"
The editor listened to Scott a little longer and asked him twice more if he was sure that finishing high school wouldn't be helpful, but Scott was confident. The editor got up and excused himself saying he had an appointment to make and told him they'd let him know if something came up.
It was almost a month before Scott could come up with a roommate. Several people had said they liked the place, but none of them could afford half the rent. Scott began to get desperate. He met a man in his late '30's at a bar who said he had been in San Francisco for more than 20 years. He was easy to laugh, thin, with dark-blond, scraggly hair. He was ready to move into the apartment right away, but he only had $200 toward the $1,000 rent. He promised he would come up with the rest of it on the first of July when he would also pay August. Scott agreed. He looked like a real decent guy, and he had a lot of stories to tell about the '60's and '70's. He had gone to Woodstock and talked about how everyone had shared.
Scott soon made friends who always knew of parties to go to or other things to do. Drugs weren't in the open, but it was easy to score if you asked the right people. Scott wasn't interested in anything but pot. One night Mike, a friend, told him of a party. "It's going to be wild, man. The last time those people had a party it was fantastic. You'll see what I mean and you won't even need to take a woman."
They got there early, but the house was already filled with people and there were plenty of women. Scott noticed two different joints being passed around. "Yoweee," he yelled, "this is going to be far out." It seemed like a good party but nothing out of the ordinary until about an hour had gone by, and then people began taking off their clothes and having sex in different parts of the house including the dining room.
"Wow, this is just like when Jefferson Poland and his friends in the Sexual Freedom League went skinny-dipping in Oakland in '65," Scott said.
"Told you it would be good," Mike smiled.
Scott felt shy and hesitant. Then he felt an arm come around his neck from the left. He turned and a woman had her face right up to his. "Hey, cutie. How you doing? Why don't you join the rest of us. Get into free love, honey." Her face was round and she looked very old, like in her '30's. She started running her fingers through his hair as she asked him what his name was and where he lived. She brought his head toward hers and gave him a long kiss. Then she started to take off his clothes. He felt reluctant to get involved with a woman so old and overweight, but as more clothes came off he felt more willing. He left his clothes in the middle of the living room as she led him to a bedroom.
The only bedroom left had a couple in the near left corner. In the other corner were three guys--all very busy with each other at the same time. The woman led Scott to a spot next to a lamp. The first thing she did was to make him lie on his back, and then she straddled his face with her legs. She instructed him in detail how and where to move his tongue. They stayed in this position for a long time, and it was obvious she enjoyed it since she had two orgasms. She then got on her back and had Scott get on top of her and suck her tits. "You realize I'm only doing this to help you get the experience," she said with a smile.
Scott was very involved in his oral pleasure, but his concentration was suddenly interrupted by what felt like someone rubbing his butt. He turned his head to look. It was one of the men who had been in the corner. He had a big grin on his face, "Hey, don't let me interrupt you. I'm just trying to add a little extra," he said as he rubbed his pubic region against Scott. The other two guys were looking and laughed.
"Hey, get off him," the woman yelled at the man. "Leave us alone."
The man quickly moved away and then left the room.
The following weekend Scott went with another friend, Charlie, to a retreat on an old farm near Sonoma sponsored by a group called the Spiritual Light led by a Reverend Sudash Rabazz. About 300 other, mostly young, people showed up. Charlie said the Reverend was growing in popularity like an Oakland fire--definitely the hottest leader in the field of spiritual gurus. There were talks given by various people, and everyone kept waiting for the Reverend Rabazz to speak but no one knew when he would appear. Fresh, organically grown food was served free. There were plenty of outdoor games like volleyball and cricket. The other people at the retreat were very friendly and Scott felt very comfortable.
On Sunday afternoon it was announced that people could go live on a secluded farm indefinitely. Everyone would be taken care of in a closely knit environment in which people would work for the good of the community. Everyone who wanted to join could come back any time they wanted. They would only have to bring enough clothing for a few days and other personal items. Anything else they owned that they didn't absolutely need they were asked to donate to the Spiritual Light for the good of all. They would also be asked to make a donation of $200 in cash when they joined as members. This fee would help the organization, but it would also show good faith in those seeking to join.
Charlie got excited about the prospects of joining. "Come on, Scott, it'll be a very spiritual experience."
"Yeah, sounds like it," Scott replied but in his mind he wondered where he would get $200. "I've always wanted to live in a commune." He had a very uneasy sleep that night as he started to think of some of the negative things he had heard about religious communes. He had heard that people were sometimes kept against their will. The Reverend Jim Jones had started as a cult leader in the Bay Area, and he had heard of young kids--through the years since the late '60's--who had been "brainwashed" and stayed to work for only room and board. He hadn't believed most of those stories, thinking it was only possessive parents nervous about getting their children back home. Now he started to worry if there might be something to the stories.
The next morning Scott pleaded with Charlie for them to leave but Charlie wasn't ready. Finally Charlie realized he didn't have the $200 the organization was asking for, so by noon he too was ready to go.
When the first of the month came, his roommate couldn't come up with the rent money like he was supposed to. Nor did he have any money for his half of the security deposit, but he begged Scott for more time and promised repeatedly that he would have the money in a week. "Hey, man, like this manager at this restaurant on the other side of Golden Gate Park looks like he might be able to rehire me. I worked there two years ago until I like had to quit because this friend of mine asked me to come along and help his band out when they went on tour."
"Hey, dude, don't worry about it," Scott replied, "I can wait for the money." Actually Scott was worried sick because he wasn't sure how he would come up with the rent, but he didn't want to appear uncool or too hung up on money.
Scott was making frequent visits to Tanya, the woman he had met at the party. She was gladly teaching him many more things than what she had taught him at the party. She lived with two girl friends who had let her stay temporarily about two months back. Tanya had two small children, ages five and two. "I know they're getting tired of my kids," she said, "but the hell with them. Where do they want a person to live? I can't go out and just live in the streets with my kids." Tanya asked Scott if she could move in with him. He was for the idea but told her he felt he should ask his roommate first. The problem was that he hardly ever saw his roommate who would stay away for days at a time.
Tanya had two older children she said were in their twenties. She wouldn't give her exact age, but it was clear she was in her early forties. She had dropped out of high school in New Jersey and gone to Greenwich Village to be a "teeny bopper." She told Scott, "You're right on to be dropping out. Don't be a slave of the system. I remember how neat it was that so many young people were coming from all over the country to live in the Village and places like that. We were all tired of letting society and our parents run our lives. I met some great people then. Everybody was living free." Tanya believed she got pregnant at one of those parties and had her first child at 17. It had been hard, but she had been able to bring up her children with government help. She didn't believe in marriage. She was still receiving AFDC for her younger children, which was one reason Scott thought it might be a good idea to let her move in. It would at least be a steady source of income, and the landlord had already called to demand the rent.
That Friday night he went to a few bars with some friends. After he returned from the restroom to the table they were sitting at, the others were all laughing. A half-hour later Scott started feeling funny. Other people seemed very distant. He was overcome with unexplained fear of the place and the other patrons. His friends started to act strangely. Even the sound of their voices was distant and echoey. Sometimes it seemed they were all laughing at him including all the strangers at the bar. Al said this would be a very good time to go to the top of the Fairmont. Scott didn't know what he meant, but they all caught a bus there. It was the strangest bus ride he had ever taken. He kept thinking it was going to crash and explode any minute even though he could see that most of the time it was going slowly with frequent stops.
At the Fairmont Hotel they had a drink at the bar, which was unusually expensive for Scott, and then took the outside, all-glass elevator to the top floor. It was a beautiful view on a clear night all around the Bay Area. They were the only ones on. To Scott the elevator seemed to take off like a rocket. He held tightly to the rail. The others were laughing except for one who was also clinging to the rail and looking worried. The lights outside were whizzing by like so many streaking comets threatening to crash into the elevator. The dark night outside seemed to want to implode the compartment. It seemed to Scott the night had the face of an old man, staring straight in with a cruel smile. He became terrified. He looked for a place to jump out. He tried to climb the glass of the section farthest away from the hotel wall. He actually was able to stand on the rail and touch the ceiling. He tried to find an opening. The others were laughing at him hysterically, like a thousand voices. The only one that wasn't laughing was the one clinging to the rail, now looking terrified and staring relentlessly to his right.
The trip down was no better. Scott couldn't figure how to get down from the rail. The floor kept moving far away and then getting closer, right up to his face. Nobody helped him. They were laughing too hard. Scott jumped when the floor seemed closest, but then it seemed like the drop took hours. He felt like he was floating in free space. It was both frightening and exhilarating. He finally hit the floor on his knees and elbows. He felt sharp pain through his entire body but was soon distracted by the free-falling feeling of the elevator. He stared out and it looked like the lights were coming right at him ready to crash into the elevator, disintegrating it and everyone in San Francisco. His body felt detached and floating, almost as if it didn't exist. He just lay there the rest of the way down, afraid to get up and waiting for the crash at any minute.
The next day he was exhausted and lay in bed all morning. His bones ached, especially his knees and elbows. He later found out they had put LSD in his drink and that they had also been on it. They all got together and had a good laugh. Scott remembered reading about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters sneaking LSD into the drinks of people in the audience at a Rolling Stones concert in 1965. They supposedly also did it on other occasions.
Two days later Tanya showed up at his door with her kids, clothes, and a few items of furniture. "They kicked me out. Just like that. They had the nerve . . . . a woman and her little children." Scott felt he had no choice but to let her stay. He still hadn't seen his roommate to ask his permission. A few days later he got an eviction notice from his landlord giving him three days to catch up with the rent. Scott had been looking hard for a job all this time. San Francisco didn't have any fast food restaurants where a young kid could get a job. The residents didn't like fast food.
The following day Tanya informed Scott that his roommate had come by. "He said to tell you he was sorry, but he had to leave town on something real important. He said he thought you'd understand. He was real sorry about not helping out with the rent, but times are tough. He hadn't been around because he'd been put in jail on some trumped-up charges."
Scott noticed his record player and most of his records were missing. "Where's my record player?" he yelled. "And my records?"
"Oh, he took them. I thought they were his."
A week later Scott was sued for eviction. He wanted to get out right away. He felt like he had committed a crime. He insisted they leave, but Tanya would have none of it, saying, "Hey, don't worry about it. Nothing's going to happen. You just stay in until they send the sheriff to come and put you out. I been through it lots of times."
He left anyway. He gave up on staying in San Francisco altogether and phoned his parents that he was coming home. As the Greyhound bus crossed the Bay Bridge, he looked sadly out the window. He wondered what it might be like to be an accountant.
THE END