Written by Stephen Bornstein, April 2021
With 56 years of hindsight.
The Scroll and its Zeitgeist.
Hindsight, Perhaps the Only Benefit of Aging?
This story is all about hindsight.The benefits of hindsight are a multitude. It is especially useful in identifying inflection points in both your own life and in history being made around you. Sometimes, you even know while you’re living it, something big is going on and you just want to be part of it.
The years 1965 to 1966 was certainly one of them.
At this present time, 2021 could also be one. I am writing 3 1/2 months after January 6th, when right wing thugs, fueled on conspiracies, attempted a violent insurrection at the US Capitol in Washington DC. All this during what the world is hoping are the last embers of this latest global pandemic. It provided all of us a rare, momentary opportunity to reflect on our collective past and the complex present.
Let’s go back in time 56 years.
1965-1966
1965-1966
The year the new youth counterculture found a mission and its voice.
The Scroll, was painted from September 1965 to June of 1966. During, what can arguably be looked back upon as an inflection point in America's long simmering and at present, a raging boil, Culture Wars.
Those years, 1965 and 1966, turned out to be a historic time for the growing counter culture, the new “Hip" (or Hippie) Protest Movement and it’s recently formed marriage with a uniquely California lifestyle.
We called it "Peace and Love".
Sex, drugs and psychedelic rock'n'roll became legitimate pursuits. "Groovin" supplanted Enlightenment as a mystical goal. For one thing, it was immediately attainable and implied being completely in the present and at one with your surroundings.
After all, if you’re really Groovin, who needs Enlightenment?
The Psychedelic Era Begins.
The beginning of the 1965 zeitgeist actually began in 1964, when I, along with much of the New York City's, Counterculture attended Dr. Timothy Leary’s lecture at Cooper Union, NYC, on November 29 1964.
I was there as part of Allen Ginsberg‘s Entourage, along with His life-Partner, long haired Peter Orlofsky. Allen was a at this point, a universally recognized, highly respected poet and an unofficial leader of America's Youth Counter Culture. I had just met him a month before through Barbara Rubin, after my time with Kerista, a free love group just beginning to form in the neighborhood. Some of my high school friends were there as well and it was a source of great pride for them to see me sitting with Allen’s group.
At this lecture, Leary's famous, “Turn on, tune in and drop out” was first articulated.
By 1969, President Nixon will have publicly referred to him as the "Most Dangerous Man in America".
Like Aldos Huxley’s “Doors of Perception”, Leary’s lecture gave LSD a scientific and psychiatric legitimacy.
If the Counterculture needed a compelling issue to coalesce around, this was it. A new Sacrament was born, the religion behind it, could develop later.
If the Counterculture needed a compelling issue to coalesce around, this was it. A new Sacrament was born, the religion behind it, could develop later.
Leary’s theatrical exhortations served as a clarion call to thousands of young truth seekers, this artist included.
It was Leary’s embrace of The Tibetan Book of the Dead, a few months later for his own LSD experience guidebook that engendered my painting of The Scroll.
The idea of the Scroll came to me shortly after arriving in San Francisco and meeting up with Allen. I had been thinking a lot about my Brother Peter's upcoming Bar Mitzvah and how he was currently studying, rather intently, the Torah Scroll. What kind of present could I send him? While shopping for a sketchbook in a little Japanese art supply store, hidden in a Chinatown alley, I came across imported rice paper scrolls in 25 foot lengths for four dollars each. With this new possibility, the idea came instantly.
My intention was to create my own LSD Guidebook. I had been studying Tibetan art for almost a year. These were informal, loose sketches. Now, I would be following in the Traditional Tibetan Painting’s Mystical Visionary Style. These “Tankas” (cloth hangings) are customarily burned after the
artist finishes them, to limit his earthly attachments. I could achieve the same, by giving The Scroll to Peter as a Bar Mitzvah Gift. These creations are created specifically for the artist's own enlightenment. This is accomplished by confronting his own personal, particular apparitions that he will
encounter in his own After Death "Bardo" State.
While still alive, the Artist, on a purely Mystical Level, will recognize these forces in his own life and see that the
“Karmic Winds” of the Scroll are indeed his own “Forces of Habit” and all its
universal consequences.
By illustrating this ancient mystical text under the influence of LSD....
The Scroll would ultimately serve as a vehicle for my own Enlightenment.
Oct. 1965 Anti-War Protest March
Our lives become very political, real fast!
From the spring of 1965 and the development of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement to the Anti-War Marches of the early fall 65 and it’s a confrontation with the Oakland Hell’s Angels, the entire Bay Area had become extremely politically energized. Even the Police Departments were openly politicized. There was now a perceptible youth rage due to increased Vietnam battlefield casualties and expanded draft conscription. Anything could happen politically.
Arguably, the same Hell’s Angels’ thuggery turned political that year, would 56 years later, along with openly expressed presidential acceptability, eventually manifest again during the January 6th 2021 Insurrection.
Arguably, the same Hell’s Angels’ thuggery turned political that year, would 56 years later, along with openly expressed presidential acceptability, eventually manifest again during the January 6th 2021 Insurrection.
Video of 1965 anti war demonstrations Oakland.
https://youtu.be/CZoyXiMrsLc
https://youtu.be/CZoyXiMrsLc
It would be a strange path for those dark forces. They would deviate momentarily as they became involved with the actual people that they attacked. The lure of "Hippie" decadence enticed them. However, their friendship was only short-lived and its lethal demise was filmed on camera for everybody to see at the Altamont Music Festival in 1969.
On Saturday, October 16th, 1965, Jerry Rubin, already an iconic anti-war activist, (Who had recently announced his candidacy for Berkeley mayor) and Allen Ginsberg were at the head of the Berkeley Anti-War Demonstration that day.
No one understood then, the actual ramifications that right wing, violent, White Supremacy along with a tactic police coordination would eventually engender in 2021, the attempted US Capital Insurrection.
The Anti-War Protest that day began in Berkeley marched down Telegraph Avenue and to the Oakland city line. There was a large army base and navy port there and it was a favorite anti-war target.
The marchers there were met by a phalanx of Oakland Police, their nightsticks at the ready. On the right side, was maybe, at the most, two dozen Hell's Angels, with Sonny Barger their president right in front. First they started taunting us and then they started beating us. They were openly using wooden clubs, right in front of the police, Which did nothing.
I was right out in front walking next to the flatbed truck where the speakers and microphones were. Allen immediately jumped up grabbed the microphone and started chanting Om.
Eventually the Berkley Police waded in and started beating everybody. I really don’t remember many arrests that day. It was like the police were just happy that the demonstrators got their heads bashed in.
The real question we asked ourselves was, "Why would a biker gang get so worked up to attack anti-war protesters in front of the police?" The obvious answer could only be, Police collusion!
The National News picked up on it like crazy. It appeared that night on all the major networks. The irony of The Hell's Angels, one of the most notorious, anti-establishment, organized groups, defending The Government's Pro-War Policy was recognized by everybody.
The National News picked up on it like crazy. It appeared that night on all the major networks. The irony of The Hell's Angels, one of the most notorious, anti-establishment, organized groups, defending The Government's Pro-War Policy was recognized by everybody.
After the incident and all the ridiculous publicity, Allen became convinced he could appeal to the common thread of governmental distrust that we both had. Unfortunately, his very Iconized Rapprochement (through a famous poem), tragically fell apart in a public murder that was filmed during the large Altamont Music Festival.
The whole mess clearly had white supremacist overtones.
After the Hell's Angles attacked us at the demonstration, Allen reached out to them through his many different contacts. In a few days, Sonny Barger, President of the Oakland chapter along with four other "Angels" showed up at our San Francisco apartment on Fell Street. They were festooned in Nazi and Confederate symbols. A big, fat one called "Tiny" had on a Nazi Storm Trooper helmet.
Who walks in with him, but a friend from my Brooklyn high school days, Shalom Maximon, was 6’-2” strapping blonde haired Jewish kid from Brooklyn, running around with the Hell's Angels in Oakland.
We both looked at each other with wonderment. We ended up sitting across the table from each other and advising each of the main participants. Strange, we never ran in to each other again. I heard, twenty years later, he created a successful event promotion business, and died tragically, too young.
The whole mess clearly had white supremacist overtones.
After the Hell's Angles attacked us at the demonstration, Allen reached out to them through his many different contacts. In a few days, Sonny Barger, President of the Oakland chapter along with four other "Angels" showed up at our San Francisco apartment on Fell Street. They were festooned in Nazi and Confederate symbols. A big, fat one called "Tiny" had on a Nazi Storm Trooper helmet.
Who walks in with him, but a friend from my Brooklyn high school days, Shalom Maximon, was 6’-2” strapping blonde haired Jewish kid from Brooklyn, running around with the Hell's Angels in Oakland.
We both looked at each other with wonderment. We ended up sitting across the table from each other and advising each of the main participants. Strange, we never ran in to each other again. I heard, twenty years later, he created a successful event promotion business, and died tragically, too young.
The end result of Allen’s sit down with the Hell’s Angels, was for their entire group to attend a big Acid Party at Kesey’s La Honda compound. Everyone in our group assumed that once The Hell's Angles took LSD, we would all end up friends. It would take a couple weeks to coordinate such a complex event, so we had ample time to plan.
However, despite efforts from America's Conservative Forces, it was the very compelling “Central Core Beliefs” of the burgeoning Youth Counter Culture of 1965, that has gone on to form the generally accepted and legal culture of 2021.
All of the young people that espoused those causes in the 1960’s, went on to live the rest of their lives. Those beliefs they formulated then, they generally continued to hold. Today’s Society is a reflection of that earlier time. The whole society’s attitude has inexorably changed, in America and around the world. Certainly not everywhere and obviously not by everyone.
Civil rights, racial equality, LGBTQ acceptance, legalized marijuana, free attitude towards non married co-habitation, legal same sex marriage, (Allen was the first male to openly declare a man as his spouse, in the "Who's Who" 1960 edition), women’s rights, including over their own bodies, and the separation of church and state.
Aren't these the same front lines of today's Cultural War?
In 1965, San Francisco’s Haight Ashbury District was just forming and psychedelic electronic rock music had supplanted poetry as the new “Lingua Franca” of the subculture community. With its large mansions for rent, “The Haight” was a perfect location for communal living, couch surfing and just Hangin' out.
In fact, Lawrence Ferlinghetti even stages an invited get together in front of the City Lights bookstore to commemorate the generational change over with his often reproduced photo of the “Last Gathering of the Beat Generation”.
The Jefferson Airplane band becomes a local neighborhood phenomena. Their songs about the revolution, will energize a large swath of American youth. Eventually turning San Francisco the following year into a destination for 100,000 kids, during a much publicized “Summer of Love”.
They had their first concert at a local club in August 1965. They were very accessible. Anybody could go visit them at their house, and discuss their lyrics, their politics and the future of the “Hip” movement.
Big Brother and the Holding Company, another neighborhood group was just beginning to openly look for more members. Janis Joplin would travel in from Austin to join in July of the next year.
The Jefferson Airplanes demo tape, fall of 1965
https://youtu.be/T10XFKBYnu0
Jefferson Airplanes, Volunteers of America
https://youtu.be/SboRijhWFDU
Jefferson Airplanes, Revolution
https://youtu.be/KigBEoBxhmE
https://youtu.be/T10XFKBYnu0
Jefferson Airplanes, Volunteers of America
https://youtu.be/SboRijhWFDU
Jefferson Airplanes, Revolution
https://youtu.be/KigBEoBxhmE
September 1965
I had only recently arrived in San Francisco on the second of two attempts to hitchhike across the country. I was still 17, so I convinced an older friend, Howard Allouf to accompany me. It took 7 days. A very long time! We separeted shortly upon arrival.
Shortly, I managed to find Allen. He was very happy to see me. Almost immediately, he introduced me to Neal Cassidy.
I was already pretty familiar with his character from “On the Road”. At first, It was strange meeting such a iconic literary character in person, but I was 17 years old and everything seemed possible then.
Neal and I became immediate friends because of our common appreciation of classic World War II, G.I. issued Benzedrine. Neal was absolutely kinetic to begin with and with Amphetamine he became downright frenetic. I myself was always a bit that way. We got along great.
I was already pretty familiar with his character from “On the Road”. At first, It was strange meeting such a iconic literary character in person, but I was 17 years old and everything seemed possible then.
Neal and I became immediate friends because of our common appreciation of classic World War II, G.I. issued Benzedrine. Neal was absolutely kinetic to begin with and with Amphetamine he became downright frenetic. I myself was always a bit that way. We got along great.
Astonishingly, Neal seemed to have an endless supply of Highly Potent LSD. He did mention it came directly from The Source. He always had a few Totally Empty, Clear Magenta Capsules in his front pocket, which he would freely offer. I remember thinking how strange it was, carrying around, so cavalier, so much loose LSD.
He could, I saw this many times, hold full conversations with three people at the same time.
Neal had an old shift car (which he could actually drive without using the clutch) with a front bench seat. With his Girlfriend Ann Murphy connected at his hip, there was always a place available in the passenger seat.
Not many people wanted to drive with him. I remember one moonlight night on Pacific Coast Highway in Big Sur, driving down the center of the highway with our lights off. The white line shining in the moonlight disappearing beneath the center of the car.
Neal could see oncoming cars three blind curves ahead by their glow. That gave him more than enough time to turn on his lights and move back to his lane. He really loved doing it.
Ken Kesey and his Acid Tests
Suddenly, Our Lives Become Psychedelic.
Being introduced by him to the Merry Pranksters and Ken Kesey at his La Honda Compound almost seemed like a fairytale encounter. There was nothing like that in New York City Beat subculture. Back there we were living in century old abandoned tenements. Here, Kesey, who had become a highly read author of two best sellers (not yet Hollywood movies), had acquired the whole side of a mountain. There was a rickety wooden bridge over the creek connecting it to the winding canyon road. His house was literally nestled between the giant redwoods, Kesey lived in a large real log cabin with his two wives and three kids.
Meanwhile at least 35 - 40 other people lived outside and up the mountain side all the way to the very top. A guy named The Hermit, a really troublesome lunatic lived at the very top. He carried a loaded pistol and even threatened me with it before they took it away. I don’t think anybody there really showered. The Grateful Dead also called The Warlocks inhabited a small flat space halfway up the hill. They lived in a bunch of lean-tos and make shift tents. They looked like nice enough guys, but I don’t think you really would want to ride in a car too long with them.
I lived with Allen in San Francisco, but I stayed often overnight at Kesey’s in a Tree house at least 30 feet up a giant redwood right in the front yard, near the main house. Its full time resident, was an artist named Paul Foster. He had recently come back from India, and was also a Master of Tibetan Painting styles. There was abundant psychedelics, DMT, I had to take special care not to fall out of the Tree House.
Everyone would usually gather at the main house at least once a day. The whole thing seemed informal, however, there was a very structured hierarchy with Kesey at the top and a young fellow named Babs as his Lieutenant.
Babs actually had a place a few miles away, where the first acid test, a closed, private get together took place.
When, I first came upon the scene, they were all working on editing footage that they had shot on their Mischievous Bus Trip across the country during the 1964 Goldwater - Johnson Presidential Campaign. The bus was painted in red white and blue, and they all wore what looked like as identical collegiate cheerleader outfits and had a sign festooned on the bus “A vote for Barry is a vote for fun”. Barry being Barry Goldwater.
Anybody who has seen that famous campaign commercial, that begins with a young girl plucking a daisy and ends in a nuclear mushroom cloud, knows the nature of that campaign. There was certainly nothing funny about it.
Infamous 1964 Presidential Campaign commercial
https://youtu.be/riDypP1KfOU
https://youtu.be/riDypP1KfOU
Kesey had a strange technique for energizing everybody, and getting them on the same page. It sounded a little like a Coney Island Barker to me, so I guess I was a bit immune.
What he would do, is using rhetorical questions, get everybody to arrive at the same conclusion. Like “How can we really piss off The Man?” Or “How can we hasten this culture shift?” As if things we could do as a group could change society as a whole.
In New York, all we did was talk about it. However, little could any of us imagine what lay ahead and the effect that a few LSD Infused Rock Concerts could ultimately have on society.
These modestly attended events went on to become the half million kid Woodstock Festival. The individual drugs and music would change over the years, however, the combination became a common global phenomenon well into the 21st century.
In 1965, The whole Acid Test idea developed organically. Kesey started asking questions, “How can we take advantage of this six week governmental screw up in the laws concerning possession of LSD? “or “How can we take advantage of this almost endless supply of exceptionally pure LSD?” or “ How can we, using our available resources, create a whole new psychedelic experience?”
The Acid Test Rock Concert idea came naturally. The idea of dosing thousands of untested people with LSD seemed a little more problematic.
What could possibly go wrong?
Let’s just say, that during the Bus Trip across the country, they left a few flipped out Pranksters along the way. .
Back in San Francisco, I got two jobs for about a total of 30 hours a week. That still gave me 50 hours to paint The Scroll. It was the perfect creative vehicle for that time. It rolled up and could fit in a small knapsack along with a small wooden palette and a few extra tubes of Japanese watercolors. You only unrolled the portion that you were working with. You could literally paint in a corner.
In 1965, The whole Acid Test idea developed organically. Kesey started asking questions, “How can we take advantage of this six week governmental screw up in the laws concerning possession of LSD? “or “How can we take advantage of this almost endless supply of exceptionally pure LSD?” or “ How can we, using our available resources, create a whole new psychedelic experience?”
The Acid Test Rock Concert idea came naturally. The idea of dosing thousands of untested people with LSD seemed a little more problematic.
What could possibly go wrong?
Let’s just say, that during the Bus Trip across the country, they left a few flipped out Pranksters along the way. .
Back in San Francisco, I got two jobs for about a total of 30 hours a week. That still gave me 50 hours to paint The Scroll. It was the perfect creative vehicle for that time. It rolled up and could fit in a small knapsack along with a small wooden palette and a few extra tubes of Japanese watercolors. You only unrolled the portion that you were working with. You could literally paint in a corner.
Many times, I’d been in the middle a hectic scene going on, while I'm meditating in the corner, intently painting the scroll. Or occasionally, up in the Tree House at Kesey’s.
One job was working at City Lights for Shig. The Japanese American general manager who was also a defendant in the famous “Howl Obscenity Case". This gave me time to help around the bookstore, interface with Larry Ferlinghetti and generally pick up on the literary scene in North Beach.
The other job was at an “Art” movie theater diagonally across Grant Avenue. It was small, maybe seating for 100 people and showed European and and Kenneth Anger films in the afternoon and evenings.
The other job was at an “Art” movie theater diagonally across Grant Avenue. It was small, maybe seating for 100 people and showed European and and Kenneth Anger films in the afternoon and evenings.
Turns out that Anger, a well known independent filmmaker and Self-Identified Warlock, lived upstairs. Probably owned the building. One night, with just a flashlight, I had to go into his empty apartment, following directions hastily given over the phone, to reset a breaker switch for the totally dark theater. His apartment was filled with very disturbing small pagan alters. In the pitch black, it was like a carnival spook house ride.
I did almost everything at the theater. I cleaned up before we opened, made the complementary coffee, took the tickets and when the film started, became the usher with the flashlight for the first 30 minutes. Then, I generally had an hour to kill. I spent a lot of time standing in the dark, on the side of the screen, looking back at the audience. Watching the people, watch the film, and their reactions was one of the most revealing experiences of my life. One can observe the entire gamut of human emotions.
I could finish working at the bookstore and walk across the street to the theater. It was great. It even included a short stent when the little theater was part of a larger local film festival. I actually got to work with Vic Morrow, a well known TV and movie actor and in that instance, a director, producer and promoter.
Working in North Beach give me a chance to learn about the history of the area and The Beat Generation.
In October or November, Allen, Peter and I are walking on Broadway near Columbus Avenue in San Francisco. Allen’s explaining to me the history of some of the retail establishments in the neighborhood. And how it became the center of the Beat Generation’s birthplace.
This one particular famous dinner theater club, with a drag revue, Allen said ironically catered to local mafia like clientele.
Who do we run into, but Lenny Bruce. I vaguely knew who he was. Certainly not enough to fully appreciate the moment.
They Immediately embrace each other and Lenny invites us to his hotel room just across the street in an inexpensive four-story hotel that’s still there, called the Europa.
Once inside his room he immediately started to prepare a drug for injection. I can’t remember what it was, I think it was amphetamine. I believe he offered us, but I don’t remember any of us taking it.
Allen and Lenny spent about half an hour discussing things, primarily legal. The one subject I do remember, was them discussing Paul Krasner and his magazine, The Realist and how he needed all the help we could provide. I had seen Krasner at an Anti-War Rally once. He would openly burn photostatic copies of his draft card as a symbolic act, technically not a crime, then the Police would arrest him anyway, as a symbolic act.
After about 30 minutes we bid farewell.
Lenny Bruce died in LA, of a drug overdose in April 1966, barely six months later.
During all this time, I was working frenetically on the Scroll. It was also very exciting being part of Allen’s Entourage. The inner group included Allen, Peter, his girlfriend Stella, his brother Julius and me. Allen had a Volkswagen Bus which Peter drove. I sat in the front with them. And that allowed at least four more people in the back. We could even fit more if we needed. So, it was like driving around with a whole entourage.
The party at Kesey’s with the Hell's Angles was well planned with great anticipation. Nobody at Kesey’s was sure what to expect. However, we knew that once the Angles crossed that rickety wooden bridge, we were basically on our own. Alcohol and LSD were always unpredictable. I for one was hoping for the best. I remember spending a lot of time at the party up in the Tree House with Paul. We only had a half a dozen people take the risky climb up and visit us.
By this point I had become as Neal described me “My new best friend”, followed by a smart remark about my young age.
Neal gave Allen and I and inside track into Kesey’s thinking. However, the bloom had begun to fade between Neal and the Merry Pranksters, you can see that his head was somewhere else. What Neal really like to do was to be driving somewhere. He always had his shirt off, or at most a T-shirt and couldn’t sit still for very long. I got to know him and even his ex-wife, Carolyn pretty well.
Neal told us about Kesey’s access to Owsley Stanley’s millions of LSD doses. And that the drug was temporary legal in California. He told us that Kesey was thinking about doing something big. Something Mind blowing!
I could finish working at the bookstore and walk across the street to the theater. It was great. It even included a short stent when the little theater was part of a larger local film festival. I actually got to work with Vic Morrow, a well known TV and movie actor and in that instance, a director, producer and promoter.
Working in North Beach give me a chance to learn about the history of the area and The Beat Generation.
In October or November, Allen, Peter and I are walking on Broadway near Columbus Avenue in San Francisco. Allen’s explaining to me the history of some of the retail establishments in the neighborhood. And how it became the center of the Beat Generation’s birthplace.
This one particular famous dinner theater club, with a drag revue, Allen said ironically catered to local mafia like clientele.
Who do we run into, but Lenny Bruce. I vaguely knew who he was. Certainly not enough to fully appreciate the moment.
They Immediately embrace each other and Lenny invites us to his hotel room just across the street in an inexpensive four-story hotel that’s still there, called the Europa.
Once inside his room he immediately started to prepare a drug for injection. I can’t remember what it was, I think it was amphetamine. I believe he offered us, but I don’t remember any of us taking it.
Allen and Lenny spent about half an hour discussing things, primarily legal. The one subject I do remember, was them discussing Paul Krasner and his magazine, The Realist and how he needed all the help we could provide. I had seen Krasner at an Anti-War Rally once. He would openly burn photostatic copies of his draft card as a symbolic act, technically not a crime, then the Police would arrest him anyway, as a symbolic act.
After about 30 minutes we bid farewell.
Lenny Bruce died in LA, of a drug overdose in April 1966, barely six months later.
During all this time, I was working frenetically on the Scroll. It was also very exciting being part of Allen’s Entourage. The inner group included Allen, Peter, his girlfriend Stella, his brother Julius and me. Allen had a Volkswagen Bus which Peter drove. I sat in the front with them. And that allowed at least four more people in the back. We could even fit more if we needed. So, it was like driving around with a whole entourage.
The party at Kesey’s with the Hell's Angles was well planned with great anticipation. Nobody at Kesey’s was sure what to expect. However, we knew that once the Angles crossed that rickety wooden bridge, we were basically on our own. Alcohol and LSD were always unpredictable. I for one was hoping for the best. I remember spending a lot of time at the party up in the Tree House with Paul. We only had a half a dozen people take the risky climb up and visit us.
By this point I had become as Neal described me “My new best friend”, followed by a smart remark about my young age.
Neal gave Allen and I and inside track into Kesey’s thinking. However, the bloom had begun to fade between Neal and the Merry Pranksters, you can see that his head was somewhere else. What Neal really like to do was to be driving somewhere. He always had his shirt off, or at most a T-shirt and couldn’t sit still for very long. I got to know him and even his ex-wife, Carolyn pretty well.
Neal told us about Kesey’s access to Owsley Stanley’s millions of LSD doses. And that the drug was temporary legal in California. He told us that Kesey was thinking about doing something big. Something Mind blowing!
He told us about a big party, Halloween eve, at Ken Babs Farm House, not far from the La Honda Compound. He said hundreds were invited, even the Hell’s Angels.
He told us that everybody was going to be dosed with LSD. That this was a test, for some larger event that would involve thousands. Neal called it “An Acid Test”.
He told us that everybody was going to be dosed with LSD. That this was a test, for some larger event that would involve thousands. Neal called it “An Acid Test”.
I remember getting there at night. It was in a large flat area with no houses in the vicinity. And there was parking for hundreds of cars. It got real dusty, real quickly. We were like ghosts walking in the headlights. To be honest, It was little ominous. All of us in Allen’s entourage knew that this was potentially the start of something different.
Years later, I would read someone's recollection of the moment as "Allen Ginsberg arriving with a bunch of New York intellectuals".
It was being held at Bab's place purposely to keep it under the radar. The local police were keeping close tabs on what was happening at La Honda. I had the feeling this was some kind of rendezvous in the wilderness. The house itself, was kind of a regular sprawling ranch house. It didn’t have that one large big cavernous room, like Kesey’s Place, that helped create such a special vibe. The funny, result was that Keasy didn’t appear like such a big person as he did in his own place. I clearly remember, even after the fog of 57 years, answering, all most challenging him during one of his his rhetorical rages. I was the only one. Everybody looked at me, admonishing me. I couldn’t believe that these Californians had that kind of cult worship.
Shortly after arriving, I was introduced to the “Audio Tape Decks Delay Mechanism”. It looked a little bit hillbilly. It was made from two reel to reel tape decks, one on record and the second one on playback. It produced not only a delay, but it would record you playing to yourself. Very enthralling, because a single player could soon sound like a whole group. they were two different makes, so one recorder was propped up on a bunch of magazines. The whole thing depended on maintaining a slight tension to the 1/2” magnetic recording tape. Too much and it would break, too little and it would just pool up on the floor, like a roll of toilet paper.
The “Warlocks”, soon to be called the “Grateful Dead” were there, I didn't see their instruments. I don’t remember them playing. There was really no room for a band. What we did have, were tambourines, bongo and conga drums, cheap wooden flutes (like the same one I used for one of the Scroll's handles) and harmonicas. I very quickly, kind of, informally volunteered to be one of the group of people keeping an eye on the device.
It was being held at Bab's place purposely to keep it under the radar. The local police were keeping close tabs on what was happening at La Honda. I had the feeling this was some kind of rendezvous in the wilderness. The house itself, was kind of a regular sprawling ranch house. It didn’t have that one large big cavernous room, like Kesey’s Place, that helped create such a special vibe. The funny, result was that Keasy didn’t appear like such a big person as he did in his own place. I clearly remember, even after the fog of 57 years, answering, all most challenging him during one of his his rhetorical rages. I was the only one. Everybody looked at me, admonishing me. I couldn’t believe that these Californians had that kind of cult worship.
Shortly after arriving, I was introduced to the “Audio Tape Decks Delay Mechanism”. It looked a little bit hillbilly. It was made from two reel to reel tape decks, one on record and the second one on playback. It produced not only a delay, but it would record you playing to yourself. Very enthralling, because a single player could soon sound like a whole group. they were two different makes, so one recorder was propped up on a bunch of magazines. The whole thing depended on maintaining a slight tension to the 1/2” magnetic recording tape. Too much and it would break, too little and it would just pool up on the floor, like a roll of toilet paper.
The “Warlocks”, soon to be called the “Grateful Dead” were there, I didn't see their instruments. I don’t remember them playing. There was really no room for a band. What we did have, were tambourines, bongo and conga drums, cheap wooden flutes (like the same one I used for one of the Scroll's handles) and harmonicas. I very quickly, kind of, informally volunteered to be one of the group of people keeping an eye on the device.
Sonny Barger and a few of the Hell’s Angels were also there. This had now been the second time we tripped together as a group. They easily intermingled as part of the group now. However, this further cemented their relationship with Kesey and The Pranksters. They would go on to become the De Facto Security for the front stage at the subsequent Public Acid Tests. Afterwards, Bill Graham, a major concert promoter, would continue to use them as well. The whole world knows how badly that ended.
The only disagreeable instance in the whole evening was when everyone was really high, the loner, idiot, “The Hermit“ who lived at the very top of the hill, actually threatened me with a pistol that he constantly carried. I believe he was sexually attracted to me and became enraged when I rebuffed him. He must’ve done it often, because Babs just pulled the pistol out of his hand without even saying anything. I remember thinking, "from their adoptive names to their outfits, how theatrical these Californians could be".
The party lasted till dawn. We got in the VW bus and went back to San Francisco. To me it was a bit of an ordeal and I was glad it was over. I kept expecting for someone to flip out and start flaring their arms widely around.
It was with mixed feelings, that I received the news from Neal that Kesey was planning on going full blast and hosting a concert for 5,000 people. I kept thinking that sooner or later the authorities are going to get wind of it.
The entertainment? No problem, Jefferson Airplane, maybe? A new group, Big Brother and the Holding Company wanted in. I had met some of its members because they had also played with The Warlocks. they sounded a lot different from the Jefferson Airplane’s, they made a good mix. They debuted later in January at the Trips Festival. A three day Kesey and Owsley sponsored LSD driven event in downtown San Francisco. Allen planned on chanting with Peter and their Indian Harmonium instrument and lastly, Kesey’s in-house band, newly christened “ The Grateful Dead”. All fueled by Owsley’s latest creation, what appeared, to be an empty, bright Magenta Gelatin capsule. It contained, evenly distributed, at least 2,200 micrograms of very Pure LSD. I took a whole capsule only once. That was enough.
The only disagreeable instance in the whole evening was when everyone was really high, the loner, idiot, “The Hermit“ who lived at the very top of the hill, actually threatened me with a pistol that he constantly carried. I believe he was sexually attracted to me and became enraged when I rebuffed him. He must’ve done it often, because Babs just pulled the pistol out of his hand without even saying anything. I remember thinking, "from their adoptive names to their outfits, how theatrical these Californians could be".
The party lasted till dawn. We got in the VW bus and went back to San Francisco. To me it was a bit of an ordeal and I was glad it was over. I kept expecting for someone to flip out and start flaring their arms widely around.
It was with mixed feelings, that I received the news from Neal that Kesey was planning on going full blast and hosting a concert for 5,000 people. I kept thinking that sooner or later the authorities are going to get wind of it.
The entertainment? No problem, Jefferson Airplane, maybe? A new group, Big Brother and the Holding Company wanted in. I had met some of its members because they had also played with The Warlocks. they sounded a lot different from the Jefferson Airplane’s, they made a good mix. They debuted later in January at the Trips Festival. A three day Kesey and Owsley sponsored LSD driven event in downtown San Francisco. Allen planned on chanting with Peter and their Indian Harmonium instrument and lastly, Kesey’s in-house band, newly christened “ The Grateful Dead”. All fueled by Owsley’s latest creation, what appeared, to be an empty, bright Magenta Gelatin capsule. It contained, evenly distributed, at least 2,200 micrograms of very Pure LSD. I took a whole capsule only once. That was enough.
Allen’s and Peter’s intention was never to stay in San Francisco for too long. When I first got there in September they were staying with Shig, The Japanese American manager from City Lights Bookstore.
We then moved to a cottage in Berkeley, for a short period of time with Stella Levi. She is the girl in the famous photo with me. I had met her in Paris the summer of 1964 even before I met Allen. She became Peter‘s girlfriend through her friendship with his previous girlfriend, Janine Pama Vega, The wife of the artist Fernando Vega, who I also met while in Paris.
We had a strange incident there with an knife welding intruder in the middle of the night. The sudden appearance of us four naked men, surprised him, and we apprehended him without a struggle. The real problem was, we didn’t know what to do with him. He gave us an incredulous story about being chased by several men, and taking refuge in our house. However, we we still were reluctant to call the police. Allen didn’t know how they would interact to all of us. We finally called his older brother who came and picked him up at dawn.
Allen then rented an apartment in San Francisco on Fell Street. Right across the street from the Golden Gate Park Panhandle. It was a little off the beaten track, but the neighborhood had easy parking for the VW Bus.
It was a small apartment on the first floor with one of those San Francisco Bay windows facing the street. There were always people coming and going. Neal seem to drop by at least once a day on his way either to La Honda or back from there. He never really lived anywhere. I never personally saw him sleep.
I remember spending Thanksgiving 1965, driving back and forth to La Honda and San Francisco, high on LSD in the front seat of Neal’s car, several times leaning over and looking at him and asking him if everything was OK for reassurance.
Allen was well known in San Francisco and there were always requests for his involvement in some civic activity or another. He had become like an unofficial leader in the community. We were always busy.
Bob Dylan comes to town in December for a series of well publicized concerts. Allen and he had become very close. Allen even performed in one of Dylan’s First Music Videos earlier that year.
Allen was well known in San Francisco and there were always requests for his involvement in some civic activity or another. He had become like an unofficial leader in the community. We were always busy.
Bob Dylan comes to town in December for a series of well publicized concerts. Allen and he had become very close. Allen even performed in one of Dylan’s First Music Videos earlier that year.
Dylan had also bought Allen a little portable professional tape recorder, a Uhur. It quickly became Allen's pride and joy and he showed it off to everybody. It would actually change the way he composed poetry. Allen was now meticulously recording all the time we spent with Dylan, including his concerts. Stamford University, that houses the Ginsberg library, posted them on YouTube, in a long, five hour series of recordings. It provides a very comprehensive picture of the atmosphere at that time. You can hear Allen discussing with Dylan many of the issues of the day.
The main one became, that Dylan, the protesters’ Icon, had just converted to electric guitar and that created an unbelievable amount of controversy.
We all spent the next couple days accompanying him around town and attending several of his events. We spent some time in his dressing room, where we all got high on amphetamine.
We went to several of his concerts, where the first half was acoustic. When in the second half, he came out and played his electric guitar, he actually got booed by the audience. This was almost like a cardinal sin. He had been become the unofficial, spokesman for many of the protest movements. His fans looked at him like he was selling out to the musical financial interests. I was sitting in the audience next to Joan Baez, high on LSD, like I was much of the time that month. Peter leans over and tells her, she stroked my cheek. We were both troubled by the reaction of the audience.
Dylan also gave a famous rambling press conference which, we attended and was filmed by a known documentarian.
The main one became, that Dylan, the protesters’ Icon, had just converted to electric guitar and that created an unbelievable amount of controversy.
We all spent the next couple days accompanying him around town and attending several of his events. We spent some time in his dressing room, where we all got high on amphetamine.
We went to several of his concerts, where the first half was acoustic. When in the second half, he came out and played his electric guitar, he actually got booed by the audience. This was almost like a cardinal sin. He had been become the unofficial, spokesman for many of the protest movements. His fans looked at him like he was selling out to the musical financial interests. I was sitting in the audience next to Joan Baez, high on LSD, like I was much of the time that month. Peter leans over and tells her, she stroked my cheek. We were both troubled by the reaction of the audience.
Dylan also gave a famous rambling press conference which, we attended and was filmed by a known documentarian.
Stephen's Scroll Project earns Allen's admiration and a respected place in his traveling Entourage. Nov. 1965
However Allen’s plans had always been to travel to Southern California around the end of 1965, and then slowly drive back across the country to NYC. He invited me to go along with him. I knew immediately, it was an opportunity of lifetime.
I was still 17 years old. About four months away from turning 18. The Military Draft was always in the back of my mind. Since I wasn’t going to college, I had no deferment. Almost everybody I knew was dealing with it in one way or another. Everybody was giving me advice. None of it seemed like it would work. It’s hard to describe now, how it consumed everybody’s life. I wasn’t looking forward to turning 18.
The First Public Acid Test was to occur shortly before we would be leaving. We would miss the subsequent ones that had already been planned. Quite frankly, after that initial Acid Test at Babs’ house, I was growing a little tired of the Pranksters constantly striving to outdo each other. They seemed to be performing for Kesey’s attention. I eagerly looked forward to a change of my surroundings.
The actual, First Public “Acid Test” went off well. A large group ended up dancing in the empty Sunday downtown streets at dawn, which made me very paranoid. I had been in charge for a while of the “Tape Deck Delay Mechanism”, right next to the small instruments.
However, after I got high, I went off in the corner. The Grateful Dead was playing under that name, for the first time. They really wanted to be a hit. The sheer vibrations of the music forced me off the stage.
After that, I really only remember partying on the street as the sun was coming up, hoping that the police wouldn’t come and arrest everybody.
I was still 17 years old. About four months away from turning 18. The Military Draft was always in the back of my mind. Since I wasn’t going to college, I had no deferment. Almost everybody I knew was dealing with it in one way or another. Everybody was giving me advice. None of it seemed like it would work. It’s hard to describe now, how it consumed everybody’s life. I wasn’t looking forward to turning 18.
The First Public Acid Test was to occur shortly before we would be leaving. We would miss the subsequent ones that had already been planned. Quite frankly, after that initial Acid Test at Babs’ house, I was growing a little tired of the Pranksters constantly striving to outdo each other. They seemed to be performing for Kesey’s attention. I eagerly looked forward to a change of my surroundings.
The actual, First Public “Acid Test” went off well. A large group ended up dancing in the empty Sunday downtown streets at dawn, which made me very paranoid. I had been in charge for a while of the “Tape Deck Delay Mechanism”, right next to the small instruments.
However, after I got high, I went off in the corner. The Grateful Dead was playing under that name, for the first time. They really wanted to be a hit. The sheer vibrations of the music forced me off the stage.
After that, I really only remember partying on the street as the sun was coming up, hoping that the police wouldn’t come and arrest everybody.
One thing for certain, everyone who attended knew, that this was the first time, that so many people had "Tripped" together.
The most amazing thing, is that someone had enough presence of mind to record the whole thing. I found it 57 years later on YouTube.
I was lucky to meet Gary Snyder a couple of times. A very disciplined guy, married to a Japanese woman and deeply immersed in Japanese culture and mannerisms. He had a cabin high in the Sierra Nevada mountains which took a several hour hike in from the nearest road. Allen said he bought the lot next to his, with the intention of building a cabin sometime in the future. It all seemed a bit Martinet to me.
Things were heating up. Kesey now had a whole schedule of events planned. He planned on dosing thousands and thousands. It created a lot of notoriety and brought down a lot of attention on him.
The most amazing thing, is that someone had enough presence of mind to record the whole thing. I found it 57 years later on YouTube.
I was lucky to meet Gary Snyder a couple of times. A very disciplined guy, married to a Japanese woman and deeply immersed in Japanese culture and mannerisms. He had a cabin high in the Sierra Nevada mountains which took a several hour hike in from the nearest road. Allen said he bought the lot next to his, with the intention of building a cabin sometime in the future. It all seemed a bit Martinet to me.
Things were heating up. Kesey now had a whole schedule of events planned. He planned on dosing thousands and thousands. It created a lot of notoriety and brought down a lot of attention on him.
Big Sur and Bixby Canyon, Dec 1965
On the Road with Allen.
Allen took up Larry Ferlinghetti on the opportunity to stay at his famous cabin in Bixby Canyon, Big Sur. It had been written about in several of Jack Kerouac’s books, including one titled Big Sur, his description of the rugged wilderness overlooking the blue Pacific. Allen told me it was pure beauty. It made me excited to see it for myself. We quickly closed our affairs in San Francisco, Allen shipped some papers back to NYC, and off we went.
Of course we would be traveling with Neal. we would be stopping off to see Caroline, his ex-wife in San Mateo on the way south.
They both explained to me their beliefs on reincarnation and how they were all related in previous lives as well. And that they change roles and even genders in different lifetimes.
We stayed overnight at her house. In the morning she shot some 8mm color motion picture film of the whole group. We proceeded down to Big Sur.
On the way there we stopped in Monterey to visit Joan Baez. She lives in a beautiful house in view of the ocean.
Big Sur was like a fantasy land. Here was this impressive concrete span, perhaps one of the most photographed bridge in America, and a few feet off the road you felt you were in the wilderness. Ferlinghetti’s cabin didn’t have electricity or running water. Just a simple wooden house not far from the path towards the ocean. The whole environment felt unique. As we walked down the path by Bixby Canyon Creek towards the ocean, the sound of the waves and the cars up on the bridge combined together and sounded like a musical composition.
At the end of the path you walked under the bridge high above and the whole scene changed. It opened up to a small rocky beach bordered on either side by steep cliffs.
The small beach was with strewn with strands of giant kelp, some at least 60 feet long. They had these large rubbery leaves and cartoonish round seed pods, all the while smelling of the ocean itself.
It was a very private place, and felt very special. On only a few occasions, did we see someone that wasn’t from our group.
There were no other houses near us except one, owned by a full time resident, an architect. He had electricity, and it was always a pleasure visiting him.
We became a small group staying in a really cozy cabin. Additionally several people came to visit. Neal was a fixture. Another, was of course Larry Ferlinghetti, who stayed two days. A bearded Richard Alpert, Leary's research partner at Harvard, before his Ram Das, life-altering trip to India, came by for an afternoon. I was tripping that day, that prevented me from having any meaningful conversation with him. I just sat there and listened to him and Allen talk, while I played on the cliffs and the beach with the giant kelp.
I also remember being afraid one night on LSD taking a walk with Allen towards the beach in utter pitch blackness.
There weren’t any real public spaces in Big Sur. There was no room for any. The road hogged the cliffs and on the other side was a sheer drop to the ocean. Only one place had enough room on the ocean side for any kind of establishment. And that was the well respected Esalen Institute. The owner knew Ferlinghetti and Allen. It was a series of artful concrete hot tubs carved into the cliff walls, with stairs leading down from the road towards the beach. There really wasn’t anything else to do, so we spent quite a bit of time there, especially in the evenings lying in the hot tubs, far away from the troubled world.
Of course we would be traveling with Neal. we would be stopping off to see Caroline, his ex-wife in San Mateo on the way south.
They both explained to me their beliefs on reincarnation and how they were all related in previous lives as well. And that they change roles and even genders in different lifetimes.
We stayed overnight at her house. In the morning she shot some 8mm color motion picture film of the whole group. We proceeded down to Big Sur.
On the way there we stopped in Monterey to visit Joan Baez. She lives in a beautiful house in view of the ocean.
Big Sur was like a fantasy land. Here was this impressive concrete span, perhaps one of the most photographed bridge in America, and a few feet off the road you felt you were in the wilderness. Ferlinghetti’s cabin didn’t have electricity or running water. Just a simple wooden house not far from the path towards the ocean. The whole environment felt unique. As we walked down the path by Bixby Canyon Creek towards the ocean, the sound of the waves and the cars up on the bridge combined together and sounded like a musical composition.
At the end of the path you walked under the bridge high above and the whole scene changed. It opened up to a small rocky beach bordered on either side by steep cliffs.
The small beach was with strewn with strands of giant kelp, some at least 60 feet long. They had these large rubbery leaves and cartoonish round seed pods, all the while smelling of the ocean itself.
It was a very private place, and felt very special. On only a few occasions, did we see someone that wasn’t from our group.
There were no other houses near us except one, owned by a full time resident, an architect. He had electricity, and it was always a pleasure visiting him.
We became a small group staying in a really cozy cabin. Additionally several people came to visit. Neal was a fixture. Another, was of course Larry Ferlinghetti, who stayed two days. A bearded Richard Alpert, Leary's research partner at Harvard, before his Ram Das, life-altering trip to India, came by for an afternoon. I was tripping that day, that prevented me from having any meaningful conversation with him. I just sat there and listened to him and Allen talk, while I played on the cliffs and the beach with the giant kelp.
I also remember being afraid one night on LSD taking a walk with Allen towards the beach in utter pitch blackness.
There weren’t any real public spaces in Big Sur. There was no room for any. The road hogged the cliffs and on the other side was a sheer drop to the ocean. Only one place had enough room on the ocean side for any kind of establishment. And that was the well respected Esalen Institute. The owner knew Ferlinghetti and Allen. It was a series of artful concrete hot tubs carved into the cliff walls, with stairs leading down from the road towards the beach. There really wasn’t anything else to do, so we spent quite a bit of time there, especially in the evenings lying in the hot tubs, far away from the troubled world.
Los Angles, Topanga Canyon, Jan.1966
It was Christmas 1965. After about two weeks in Big Sur, it was time to re-enter the world and head south.
Just after Christmas, we bid a final, tearful farewell to Neal, it was the last time I was to see him and off we went, down Pacific Highway One, heading to the City of Los Angels.
All the Christmas decorations were still up. It was so strange to see what is normally associated in NYC with winter in Southern California. We drove straight through to Topanga Canyon.
For those of you not familiar with the area, Topanga Canyon is one of the more isolated and rugged areas of the large sprawling city we know as LA. It’s a winding, narrow, canyon road that follows a deep and rugged ravine from the Pacific Ocean Highway, over and through the mountains into The Valley. Much of the area abuts a state park. If you drive off the road there’s a possibility that you would never be found. It takes a special kind of person to live there, on the edge of civilization. Probably a little nuts. There’s only a few small grocery stores. Everybody knows each other. It had a reputation for even being a little incestuous among its married residents,
Just after Christmas, we bid a final, tearful farewell to Neal, it was the last time I was to see him and off we went, down Pacific Highway One, heading to the City of Los Angels.
All the Christmas decorations were still up. It was so strange to see what is normally associated in NYC with winter in Southern California. We drove straight through to Topanga Canyon.
For those of you not familiar with the area, Topanga Canyon is one of the more isolated and rugged areas of the large sprawling city we know as LA. It’s a winding, narrow, canyon road that follows a deep and rugged ravine from the Pacific Ocean Highway, over and through the mountains into The Valley. Much of the area abuts a state park. If you drive off the road there’s a possibility that you would never be found. It takes a special kind of person to live there, on the edge of civilization. Probably a little nuts. There’s only a few small grocery stores. Everybody knows each other. It had a reputation for even being a little incestuous among its married residents,
We headed directly to George Herms compound. He was one of the better known and original Assemblage Artists in LA. He and a few others created a unique LA look. He used old found objects to create compelling, provoking, sometimes disturbing sculptures.
Los Angeles can be a difficult place for the visual artist.The East Coast was really the only center for the arts in the 60s. Unlike NYC, where competition is fierce, George and his collagest friend, Wallace "Wally" Berman, were able to achieve a respectable following in the sprawling Southern Califorina at that time.
George’s compound, consisting of a small house and a collection of rambling shacks, was set on a dusty narrow ridge extending perpendicular from the road. George had a wife, a couple kids and even some goats.
I still remember standing with George on his property in the early evening, looking north into the State Park, saying “I can’t believe I'm in LA!”
On New Year’s or around January 2nd, we went to a party at Wally's beautiful home, built into the side of the Hollywood Hills. A few days later, in a deluge, it would slip down the hill, and dry into a concrete like ruble. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Allen talking intently to a short guy in a tuxedo with long stringy hair and some finger splints on one of his hands. Shortly, Allen tells me, that this guy is Phil Spector, and we’re going to accompany him to his place.
We are joined by his tuxedo bodyguard and follow them in a black stretch limo to his house. From what I understand, it used to be the Woolworth Mansion. It was huge. It had a palatial interior, and a French designed gardens in the back. He had a white grand piano in the cavernous living room.
The reason his hand was in a splint, was the night before he and his bodyguard had been pulled over by the police. They didn’t believe it was his car and so they arrested him. In the police station, he became aggressive and they put his hand in the cell door and slammed it, breaking his finger.
I still had no good idea who this guy was. Allen said he was a major record producer. I wasn’t sure what they did, or why they made so much money. We stayed there for a couple hours, while Allen and Phil Spector put some of his poems to music. At dawn, we drove back to Tapanga.
George’s compound, consisting of a small house and a collection of rambling shacks, was set on a dusty narrow ridge extending perpendicular from the road. George had a wife, a couple kids and even some goats.
I still remember standing with George on his property in the early evening, looking north into the State Park, saying “I can’t believe I'm in LA!”
On New Year’s or around January 2nd, we went to a party at Wally's beautiful home, built into the side of the Hollywood Hills. A few days later, in a deluge, it would slip down the hill, and dry into a concrete like ruble. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Allen talking intently to a short guy in a tuxedo with long stringy hair and some finger splints on one of his hands. Shortly, Allen tells me, that this guy is Phil Spector, and we’re going to accompany him to his place.
We are joined by his tuxedo bodyguard and follow them in a black stretch limo to his house. From what I understand, it used to be the Woolworth Mansion. It was huge. It had a palatial interior, and a French designed gardens in the back. He had a white grand piano in the cavernous living room.
The reason his hand was in a splint, was the night before he and his bodyguard had been pulled over by the police. They didn’t believe it was his car and so they arrested him. In the police station, he became aggressive and they put his hand in the cell door and slammed it, breaking his finger.
I still had no good idea who this guy was. Allen said he was a major record producer. I wasn’t sure what they did, or why they made so much money. We stayed there for a couple hours, while Allen and Phil Spector put some of his poems to music. At dawn, we drove back to Tapanga.
The evening must have been a great learning experience for Allen. Thirty years later he would be recording his own songs with Paul McCartney and Philip Glass on "Ballard of a Skeleton".
After a few days at George’s, Allen decided to rent a large home in Canoga Park, where Topanga Canyon Road ends in the vast Valley.
It was a strange house, one of those large two-story southern California homes from the 1930’s. He literally sat on a track wedged between two highways. It would do for a month. We didn’t plan on spending much time there.
The house had this old wallpaper inside. And I found an old wooden box with large pieces of colored chalk. The second floor hallway looked like a temple to me. And so, I quickly rendered it to look like the inside of a Tibetan Temple. I drew large murals of Tibetan deities on both walls.
After a few days at George’s, Allen decided to rent a large home in Canoga Park, where Topanga Canyon Road ends in the vast Valley.
It was a strange house, one of those large two-story southern California homes from the 1930’s. He literally sat on a track wedged between two highways. It would do for a month. We didn’t plan on spending much time there.
The house had this old wallpaper inside. And I found an old wooden box with large pieces of colored chalk. The second floor hallway looked like a temple to me. And so, I quickly rendered it to look like the inside of a Tibetan Temple. I drew large murals of Tibetan deities on both walls.
There was one person in LA, that I asked Allen to get an invitation to meet.
Christopher Isherwood along with Swami Prabhavananda translated the edition of the Bhagavad-Gita that I studied intently at fifteen. I could recite much of it by heart. I always wondered if maybe they possessed some special wisdom from their knowledge of the book. I knew he lived in LA.
My study of the “Gita” had formed the beginning of my interest in India. I was actively pursuing to study Sanskrit there and read the book in it’s original form. I had been corresponding with several schools there since April of that year. Reading those letters in 2021 gives an insight into my interests in combining my artwork and oriental philosophies. I had posters of the Gita deities on my walls at home. Since the Swami lived in India, it made Isherwood seem all the more accessible.
I was a like a teenager visiting his favorite rockstar. I even brought along my own well worn paperback copy.
Allen knew him, and easily secured a afternoon meeting. Isherwood lived in a beautiful home. I believe it was somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. He was a handsome fellow in his 60s, and an openly gay, legitimate Hollywood and literally celebrity. He lived with a younger man named Don Bachardy. Who himself was a well-known portrait artist and would paint Allen, years later.
I really knew nothing about Isherwood, other than his connection with The “Gita”. Actually, he was a little amused that I sought him out for some special wisdom from ancient India. He had simply helped to edit the English he explained. Years later, I would find out all about him and his many other accomplishments. I wish I had known at the time, we could have spoke about Berlin, the setting for his best known work. My parents' hometown, I myself, had just been living there two years before.
I really knew nothing about Isherwood, other than his connection with The “Gita”. Actually, he was a little amused that I sought him out for some special wisdom from ancient India. He had simply helped to edit the English he explained. Years later, I would find out all about him and his many other accomplishments. I wish I had known at the time, we could have spoke about Berlin, the setting for his best known work. My parents' hometown, I myself, had just been living there two years before.
In hindsight, I realized how amused he must’ve been, that some 17-year-old kid, had Allen Ginsberg seek him out to ask for wisdom from the ancient orient.
It was a pleasant enough afternoon. However, I left a little disappointed, feeling that I had to get to India real quick.
The Scroll helps Stephen intrigue a Lover, Jan. 1966
Downtown LA was at least an hour away, and so it gave me an opportunity to see the city.
This girl, I think her name was Peggy was in her 20s, had short black hair and her own car.
Downtown LA in 1966 was a dump. Old buildings, street people, not a very respectable place. In an old office building, on an upper floor, behind one of those defused glass panel doors, was this old fat doctor’s office waiting room.
He charged $25 for a vial of methamphetamine and offered the girls a free shot in the buttocks if they lowered their panties. We took a seat among maybe a half a dozen people. Directly across the room sat this attractive older lady. She reminded me of Jeanne Moreau, from my art movie theater job. She was youthfully dressed in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Peggy, knew her and they started talking. They were speaking about people I did not know, so I kind of tuned out. Suddenly, the lady asks “Who’s child is this?” Referring to me.
Well, I jumped up, ran over to the empty seat next to her, and asked her what she meant. Soon we were talking. In a deep, throaty French accent, she introduced herself as, Suzanne. I told her my about painting The Scroll. I must’ve made a favorable impression. After making her purchase, she suggested that she drive me back to Canoga Park, so we could talk more in the car on the way.
At Canoga Park, I showed her The Scroll and the large Tibetan wall murals I had recently painted. Suzanne quickly became intrigued by this cocky young NYC Artist, who was painting so intently, this long mystical Scroll. She then invited me back to her place in Venice for the evening.
We drove all through LA to her rental house in Venice. Which is on the coast, maybe two blocks from the pacific and surrounded by these large, dirty, undulating, pumping oil wells. A very surreal and industrial environment. Not one that I imagined LA to be.
We walk in and immediately she introduces me to her dog, a large male boxer named Tiger. He’s very possessive, and eyes me like he was her Spanish chaperone.
Shortly after arriving, we got high on the doctor’s vial. Being the son of a doctor, I always like taking real pharmaceutical grade drugs. Very soon we started being romantic. I was just a kid and was following her lead, taking my time. I felt I was with someone a lot more experienced than me. It must’ve shown.
At that time, I still had very little knowledge of female sexuality. It is virtually impossible for a male to learn about it on his own body. He must be told! I'm doubtful, as a 17 year old, I could have accepted that kind of instruction from a contemporary girlfriend. Few girls that age even have enough presence of mind, to be able to do it. I knew clearly, at the time, that this was a great learning opportunity.
However, I had one advantage. As a 17 year old, I had quite an endurance. We could take all the time we wanted. I must have made another good impression.
There was a moment of awkwardness, however. When we were done making love, in walks her son, Nick who is 20 years old.
They are sharing the house together. He must’ve been accustomed to seeing his mother with younger men, and didn’t bat an eyelash. He was planning on entering the Marines in a month and would be moving out of the apartment he shared with her. I think he was a bit concerned about leaving her alone.
Within a few hours, she suggests we move in together at a new place she’s moving to. It’s a large house with two gay friends also in Venice Beach. This is going to be a tough decision. The trip across the country with Allen was very enticing. However here was an opportunity to move in with a very sophisticated, compelling lover.
I had a few days to decide, while she told me more about herself. Her name was Suzanne Carrie-Stansberry-Driscoll. She was French and I sensed very worldly. She was born in Paris (I had stayed in Paris, Aug 1964) and lived during World War II as a teenager hiding a Jewish cousin. After the war she became romantically involved with a military war journalist, and an officer. He had to leave to go back to the states, and she then fell in love with a young southern US Officer named Stansberry. They married, and move back to Alabama, where his family was wealthy. Their son Nick was born. Witnessing the horrors of Jim Crow and anti-black sentiment, she didn’t want her son growing up in that environment. So alone, by herself, totally on her own, she leaves and goes to visit the American war journalist in Minnesota. She would never tell me his name.
She moves in with him, as his mistress. He gets heavily involved in National politics. He suddenly gets cancer and quickly passes away. She then comes with Nick to LA. She starts working as a cocktail waitress, but soon gets a job selling sex. She becomes a high class call girl. Her Clients include, Frank Sinatra, Desi Arnaz and even her regular, Adam West, the TV Batman.
She told me all about her time with Sinatra.
She then became romantically involved with Bobby Driscoll, the Walt Disney child actor. He had been in “Song of the South”. He had been emotionally scarred by the sadistic haranguing from Walt Disney and his parents. Bobby, and other scarred child stars, became addicted to drugs. It became widely known, and they became socially shunned.
Suzanne became involved with Bobby, and a burglary of a veterinary office. They both got arrested. Bobby ended up getting 18 months in San Quentin. She waited for him. Shortly after he got out, he left her for another woman named Didi. They married and moved to New York City. This had been a two years earlier.
Ironically, I ran into Didi in New York two years later, after Bobby had died. I mentioned that I had lived with Suzanne in LA. She reluctanlty smiled in acknowledgment.
There was a moment of awkwardness, however. When we were done making love, in walks her son, Nick who is 20 years old.
They are sharing the house together. He must’ve been accustomed to seeing his mother with younger men, and didn’t bat an eyelash. He was planning on entering the Marines in a month and would be moving out of the apartment he shared with her. I think he was a bit concerned about leaving her alone.
Within a few hours, she suggests we move in together at a new place she’s moving to. It’s a large house with two gay friends also in Venice Beach. This is going to be a tough decision. The trip across the country with Allen was very enticing. However here was an opportunity to move in with a very sophisticated, compelling lover.
I had a few days to decide, while she told me more about herself. Her name was Suzanne Carrie-Stansberry-Driscoll. She was French and I sensed very worldly. She was born in Paris (I had stayed in Paris, Aug 1964) and lived during World War II as a teenager hiding a Jewish cousin. After the war she became romantically involved with a military war journalist, and an officer. He had to leave to go back to the states, and she then fell in love with a young southern US Officer named Stansberry. They married, and move back to Alabama, where his family was wealthy. Their son Nick was born. Witnessing the horrors of Jim Crow and anti-black sentiment, she didn’t want her son growing up in that environment. So alone, by herself, totally on her own, she leaves and goes to visit the American war journalist in Minnesota. She would never tell me his name.
She moves in with him, as his mistress. He gets heavily involved in National politics. He suddenly gets cancer and quickly passes away. She then comes with Nick to LA. She starts working as a cocktail waitress, but soon gets a job selling sex. She becomes a high class call girl. Her Clients include, Frank Sinatra, Desi Arnaz and even her regular, Adam West, the TV Batman.
She told me all about her time with Sinatra.
She then became romantically involved with Bobby Driscoll, the Walt Disney child actor. He had been in “Song of the South”. He had been emotionally scarred by the sadistic haranguing from Walt Disney and his parents. Bobby, and other scarred child stars, became addicted to drugs. It became widely known, and they became socially shunned.
Suzanne became involved with Bobby, and a burglary of a veterinary office. They both got arrested. Bobby ended up getting 18 months in San Quentin. She waited for him. Shortly after he got out, he left her for another woman named Didi. They married and moved to New York City. This had been a two years earlier.
Ironically, I ran into Didi in New York two years later, after Bobby had died. I mentioned that I had lived with Suzanne in LA. She reluctanlty smiled in acknowledgment.
Suzanne had lived in Topanga Canyon for a few years and knew all about its strange bohemian lifestyle, existing on the very outer edge of LA's civilization. She knew all of its denizens through Bobby Driscoll, including, George Herms, Dean Stockwell and Billy Grey. Suzanne spent hours entertaining me with incredulous stories about the area. Like how the US Military had an underground nuclear weapons depot there, that attracted UFO's regularly. Many people in Topanga would talk about "The Depot" as if it was an accepted fact. You have to love these Californians!
Suzanne obviously had a penchant for younger men. Her last boyfriend before me was Edwin Jones, Lena Hone’s only son. I met him once when he came to pick up his stuff. Poor fellow, he ended up dying in 1970 from liver disease.
I discussed this move with Allen. I think the prospect of all of us, piled in the car, driving all the way across the country, may have been a little daunting to him. I felt maybe he wanted to be alone with Peter.
Suzanne’s and my age difference was an obvious issue. She was 42, and I was 17. But then again, Allen was a lot older than me. He said he would be back in New York by the fall. If this relationship doesn’t work out we could always meet up then.
I discussed this move with Allen. I think the prospect of all of us, piled in the car, driving all the way across the country, may have been a little daunting to him. I felt maybe he wanted to be alone with Peter.
Suzanne’s and my age difference was an obvious issue. She was 42, and I was 17. But then again, Allen was a lot older than me. He said he would be back in New York by the fall. If this relationship doesn’t work out we could always meet up then.
And so, the decision to stay was made.
Suzanne once told me why she liked me. “You don’t look at me as a Jaded Woman”. To which I replied, “ What’s Jaded?” Remember, I was only 17.
Venice Beach, Feb. 1966
We also mixed sex with amphetamine. This is a volatile combination that permits marathon love making sessions. During which, I imagined we had a mystical "Master-Disciple" connection. Suzanne told me about the historic role of The Muse. How Muses were the spark for many an artists’ creativity and how little credit they received. And, how she could serve as My Muse. I was now probably operating, at the farthest reaches of my quickly developing, critical thinking.
Suzanne believed she had mystical powers of intuition. The way she explained it, is that there was an unseen universe functioning behind the reality we see. Just like gravity, there are certain laws that function on that plane, and once learned they can be used here on our level. She used to “throw”, many times a day, the Three Chinese Coins of the I -Ching, the great Taoist book of divination.
I
always felt Bob Dylan’s song “Just like Women“, which had just been released, was about Suzanne and I. It was my life that was being described in that song. He even mentions "her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls".
Before we moved out, we both said goodbye to her son Nick, who takes me into different room and asks me to "Please take care of my mother". These had become a very strange situation.
I didn’t have much stuff other than the scroll. We moved most of her stuff into storage and then moved into the new house. There were two gay guys cohabiting the place. They were not having a relationship. The renter, Raymond, I think liked young men. He had a lunch truck, and was recently divorced from his wife, who had also been his partner. LA is a very strange place.
I didn’t have much stuff other than the scroll. We moved most of her stuff into storage and then moved into the new house. There were two gay guys cohabiting the place. They were not having a relationship. The renter, Raymond, I think liked young men. He had a lunch truck, and was recently divorced from his wife, who had also been his partner. LA is a very strange place.
The house was a wooden three story house in Venice, probably the 1930’s, closer to the beach. It was a big old house.
I assumed I would look for a job to help pay for our expenses. I never really found out where Suzanne got her money.
There was a worn paperback book lying in the living room that I picked up. It was Dr. Victor Frankel‘s, "Man’s search for Meaning". I never heard of him or the book. I noticed the first half was about his experiences in concentration camp. Because of my upbringing, I feel it is my responsibility to read everything possible I can about the holocaust. And so I sat down and read this book.
We celebrated my 18th birthday at the end of the month. The next day, I went to register for the draft. I was eager to get The Draft Card. I really needed some form of official identification other than my passport. I still didn’t have a drivers license. I used my Mother’s Brooklyn address. It was still my only permanent address. I had no idea on how to confront this challenge. It was always really in the back of your mind. I didn’t want to let it drive me crazy.
And so one of those rare occurrences, that maybe take place once in a lifetime, was about to happen.
It was a weekday afternoon and someone calls asking for the other fellow that is living there. The caller asked to leave message. “We have an opening for an artist, can he please give us a call”. ”Wait a minute, I’m an artist also”. I hastily replied. “Well, Bring some samples of your work and come down to our plant”. He gives me a Culver City address.
I take the scroll, Suzanne gives me a ride to the Sass-Widders Company, a defense industry subcontractor.
I get there, the interview is in a large aircraft hangar sized room. They all look at me funny. Like what kind of technical artist are you?
I proceed to unroll the scroll. Maybe about 60 feet. The guy gets on the phone.”Mr. Widders, you’ve got to come down and see this”.
Shortly, Mr. Widders comes down. Looks at me, look at the scroll. Asks me a few questions. And finally turns to me, “Are you Jewish?” I answered yes. “Could you come upstairs to my office for a few minutes.“ he asks. I roll up the scroll, and follow him to his office.
Once there, he pulls out this paper back book, "Man’s Search for Meaning". ”Have you ever read it?” he asks. "I just read it, and it has made a tremendous impression with me" he says.
Well, you know when you’ve just read something, you’re totally fluent in it. That was me. I must’ve seemed like a genius.
Of course I got the job, even though I had no knowledge of what technical illustration even was. He hired me as a trainee for a dollar twenty five an hour.
On my first day, I find out that this job will provide me with a confidential security clearance and an occupational draft deferment. And, maybe even a path to make a steady living for the rest of my life. Not bad for accidentally reading a worn paperback book.
I assumed I would look for a job to help pay for our expenses. I never really found out where Suzanne got her money.
There was a worn paperback book lying in the living room that I picked up. It was Dr. Victor Frankel‘s, "Man’s search for Meaning". I never heard of him or the book. I noticed the first half was about his experiences in concentration camp. Because of my upbringing, I feel it is my responsibility to read everything possible I can about the holocaust. And so I sat down and read this book.
We celebrated my 18th birthday at the end of the month. The next day, I went to register for the draft. I was eager to get The Draft Card. I really needed some form of official identification other than my passport. I still didn’t have a drivers license. I used my Mother’s Brooklyn address. It was still my only permanent address. I had no idea on how to confront this challenge. It was always really in the back of your mind. I didn’t want to let it drive me crazy.
And so one of those rare occurrences, that maybe take place once in a lifetime, was about to happen.
It was a weekday afternoon and someone calls asking for the other fellow that is living there. The caller asked to leave message. “We have an opening for an artist, can he please give us a call”. ”Wait a minute, I’m an artist also”. I hastily replied. “Well, Bring some samples of your work and come down to our plant”. He gives me a Culver City address.
I take the scroll, Suzanne gives me a ride to the Sass-Widders Company, a defense industry subcontractor.
I get there, the interview is in a large aircraft hangar sized room. They all look at me funny. Like what kind of technical artist are you?
I proceed to unroll the scroll. Maybe about 60 feet. The guy gets on the phone.”Mr. Widders, you’ve got to come down and see this”.
Shortly, Mr. Widders comes down. Looks at me, look at the scroll. Asks me a few questions. And finally turns to me, “Are you Jewish?” I answered yes. “Could you come upstairs to my office for a few minutes.“ he asks. I roll up the scroll, and follow him to his office.
Once there, he pulls out this paper back book, "Man’s Search for Meaning". ”Have you ever read it?” he asks. "I just read it, and it has made a tremendous impression with me" he says.
Well, you know when you’ve just read something, you’re totally fluent in it. That was me. I must’ve seemed like a genius.
Of course I got the job, even though I had no knowledge of what technical illustration even was. He hired me as a trainee for a dollar twenty five an hour.
On my first day, I find out that this job will provide me with a confidential security clearance and an occupational draft deferment. And, maybe even a path to make a steady living for the rest of my life. Not bad for accidentally reading a worn paperback book.
The Scroll lands Stephen a job, a Military Deferment and possible career path. Feb. 1966
After a month, I managed to save about $170 towards our expenses, Suzanne tells me I have to move out.
I could see she had been struggling with our relationship for a while. I think our age difference made her feel perverse. Society found it unacceptable. We both discussed, if the genders have been reversed, in LA, nothing would’ve been out of the ordinary. She felt, for my own good, I needed to experience being truly, completely, on my own
She found me a little place in the Venice Canals Area. A studio apartment on Carroll Canal for $50 a month. They were two studios in this little cabin. In the other one lived an alcoholic retired studio movie set painter named Mr. William Reese.
Suzanne gave me two photos of herself, and bid me farewell. And so, I was alone in LA in my own little apartment, with the scroll and a small amount of Benzedrine. I bought a couple things at a thrift shop, and I guess I’m all set. So, I'm now living, in 1966 Venice Beach, California, a very wild place on its own, a blighted area, in the midst of a major cultural transition.
I still look back in fondness living among the Venice Canals. A relatively small area nestled between two major thoroughfares. First developed in the 1920’s, they built four interconnected, gondola filled canals among the sand dunes. The whole area suffered when they discovered oil beneath. They dung wells everywhere that wasn’t developed yet. The result, by 1966, was a patchwork of crude oil pumps next to aging beach houses. There was petroleum splattered all over the place, on the streets and on the sidewalks.
I'd walk a lot on the beach, all the way to the Santa Monica pier and back. Just to have something to do. Even the people who frequented the beach, looked well worn at the edges. It seemed all the “Beautiful” people went to Santa Monica or Manhattan Beach. Venice became the skid row of the LA beaches.
Because it was a dead-end at the Marina Del Ray Marina, it felt even more isolated. It was a strange juxtaposition of sunny skies, the smell of sea salt and the beautiful Pacific Ocean, right next to New York City's Lower East Side.
I was now totally on my own. no family, no childhood friends, no new friends, and in a strange city. I did however have a job and a military deferment. This had been my biggest concern at the moment. Just as Suzanne had predicted, this relatively short episode in my life was quickly becoming a major maturing and sobering experience. It was a crash course into the realities of adulthood.
I was now totally on my own. no family, no childhood friends, no new friends, and in a strange city. I did however have a job and a military deferment. This had been my biggest concern at the moment. Just as Suzanne had predicted, this relatively short episode in my life was quickly becoming a major maturing and sobering experience. It was a crash course into the realities of adulthood.
I didn’t even have a TV. It made evenings pretty lonely. I read and painted a lot. I couldn’t go very far on foot. I made some friends in the neighborhood. I knew all the locals, they hung out under the covered portico of the unofficial downtown of Venice Beach. The place looked so run down and ominous, that it was actually used, at the suggestion of Aldous Huxley no less, as the location of an Orson Welles Film Noir a decade earlier.
I attended these little weird light shows that people were giving in their living rooms with colored oils and overhead projectors. I even met one of my only Jewish workmates there. That was exciting, maybe a friend at work? Funny, on Monday morning she acted like it never happened. We hadn't even consumed drugs, I guess she felt that my persona was toxic.
I made friends with my neighbor. He was also avid painter. He loved painting breasts as mountains. His studio apartment was filled with canvases. He had lost his wife, also an alcoholic, tragically in a fire started in bed with a cigarette while he was at work.
He had an old, authentic “Woody” station wagon. Occasionally we would drive around just to get out. My life had certainly become a lot simpler.
At work, I wasn’t doing very well. I didn’t even have an understanding of the level of military perfection they were looking for. However, Mr. Widders believed in me, and that trumped my immediate supervisor.
I was slowly beginning to understand the nature of the Southern California military and defense industries. Our company, was just a cog in the machinery of many subcontractors, working for main contractors, working for the military or some unnamed defense entity. The Vietnam War was just ramping up. This was real money, and it was from Cold War spending. In the short time I was there, I could sense that it had been flowing for a while.
Everybody was always answering to somebody else. Even though no one that I spoke with, knew what exactly we were working on. It reminded me of the Kafka book I was reading at the time “The Castle“.
Meeting constantly moving deadlines was the overriding metric of success. It was like a constant hum in the background. This was probably my first time I encountered it professionally, and for sure, it would not be my last.
I was learning to do “Leroy Lettering.” Before the computers, it was how text was added to drawings and technical documents that couldn’t fit in a typewriter. It was considered an "Essential Occupation" and qualified for a military deferment. I would eventually master it, and it provided a steady stream of income through the end of the Vietnam War and my college years.
One Saturday morning, I’m walking down Pacific Coast Highway and I run into a recent friend with his dog. We spend a few minutes talking together, when these two girls drive up in a car. He knew them, and after talking to them for a few minutes, he turns to me and says "let’s take a ride". I jump in, and off we go. One of the girls then asks, “ Where should we go?” My friend answered “Mexico”. We pool our money to see if we have enough for gas, and off we go to Mexicali.
I was incredulous. It never occurred to me that we were so close to Mexico.
Driving through the avocado farms of Southern California was a real treat for me. I had been geographically grounded for a couple months.
We drove and drove and finally, about 2 o’clock in the morning, arrive in Calexico, a tiny, sleepy, rural town, just across the border from a much larger, sprawling Mexicali.
Ironically, because I had no drivers license, I carried my passport with me everywhere. I was the only one in the car that had sufficient identification to cross the border and then get back again.
So, At 3 o’clock in the morning, all by myself, I crossed into Mexico and into the dusty slum neighborhoods of Mexicali just as the sun was rising.
I spent about two hours walking around totally mesmerized.
At this point I knew relatively little about Mexico. What I did know, was fascinating though. My Uncle Max, a successful commercial artist had studied art in Guadalajara on the G.I. Bill after World War II. He admired the Mexican muralists, and took me as a child to Rockefeller Center to see Diego Rivera’s work. Max would return often on vacation.
Allen also has spent considerable time in Mexico in the early 50s. I wasn’t sure where, I knew it was in the south near the Mayan pyramids. I knew in Mexico, several friends had taken many different psychedelic plants, including Psilocybin mushrooms and Peyote cactus. I also knew about how William Burroughs had shot his wife Joan there. And, I knew they had areas with native Indian tribes that still spoke no Spanish at all. Allen, spoke Spanish and I knew that would be of tremendous help.
One Saturday morning, I’m walking down Pacific Coast Highway and I run into a recent friend with his dog. We spend a few minutes talking together, when these two girls drive up in a car. He knew them, and after talking to them for a few minutes, he turns to me and says "let’s take a ride". I jump in, and off we go. One of the girls then asks, “ Where should we go?” My friend answered “Mexico”. We pool our money to see if we have enough for gas, and off we go to Mexicali.
I was incredulous. It never occurred to me that we were so close to Mexico.
Driving through the avocado farms of Southern California was a real treat for me. I had been geographically grounded for a couple months.
We drove and drove and finally, about 2 o’clock in the morning, arrive in Calexico, a tiny, sleepy, rural town, just across the border from a much larger, sprawling Mexicali.
Ironically, because I had no drivers license, I carried my passport with me everywhere. I was the only one in the car that had sufficient identification to cross the border and then get back again.
So, At 3 o’clock in the morning, all by myself, I crossed into Mexico and into the dusty slum neighborhoods of Mexicali just as the sun was rising.
I spent about two hours walking around totally mesmerized.
At this point I knew relatively little about Mexico. What I did know, was fascinating though. My Uncle Max, a successful commercial artist had studied art in Guadalajara on the G.I. Bill after World War II. He admired the Mexican muralists, and took me as a child to Rockefeller Center to see Diego Rivera’s work. Max would return often on vacation.
Allen also has spent considerable time in Mexico in the early 50s. I wasn’t sure where, I knew it was in the south near the Mayan pyramids. I knew in Mexico, several friends had taken many different psychedelic plants, including Psilocybin mushrooms and Peyote cactus. I also knew about how William Burroughs had shot his wife Joan there. And, I knew they had areas with native Indian tribes that still spoke no Spanish at all. Allen, spoke Spanish and I knew that would be of tremendous help.
Spanish would be my first major hurdle to overcome. I decided to throw myself into studying it completely. I vowed not to seek out fellow Americans. I would completely immerse myself in Mexican culture.
I had visions of climbing ancient pyramids and living on a palm fringed beach facing a tropical sea.
I saw all this in a Mexicali sunrise and that the Third World actually started at our southern border.
I realized, this was India, except only a short hitchhike away.
We drove all day and arrived back in LA on a late Sunday afternoon.
I had visions of climbing ancient pyramids and living on a palm fringed beach facing a tropical sea.
I saw all this in a Mexicali sunrise and that the Third World actually started at our southern border.
I realized, this was India, except only a short hitchhike away.
We drove all day and arrived back in LA on a late Sunday afternoon.
On the way back, I decided to leave LA to travel in Mexico.
I would need to work a little longer to save some more money. I could use the security deposit for the last month rent. That’s $50, every penny counts. I planned on living in Mexico on $14 to $25 a week. I’m told it’s totally doable. I bought a used book “Mexico on $5 a day” to help.
I already had spent two months traveling around Europe on my own when I was 16. I felt I was ready.
Then, I noticed I hadn’t seen Mr. Reese for a day. I managed to push the door open and found him on the floor. He had a stroke. I called the ambulance. They picked him up. He died later that day in the hospital. His niece came to clean out the apartment a couple days later. We spoke of his tragic life.
I took that as a sign that it was now time to leave.
I got a large cardboard box and put in it the scroll along with many of the paintings that I had been working on since I arrived in California. I sent them to my mother in Brooklyn for safekeeping.
On occasion, I would walk by Suzanne‘s house, just to catch a glimpse of her through the second floor bedroom window. I did it one last time. And then with a heavy heart, I sighed and left for Mexico.
I got a large cardboard box and put in it the scroll along with many of the paintings that I had been working on since I arrived in California. I sent them to my mother in Brooklyn for safekeeping.
On occasion, I would walk by Suzanne‘s house, just to catch a glimpse of her through the second floor bedroom window. I did it one last time. And then with a heavy heart, I sighed and left for Mexico.
Mexico trip, July 1966
My intention was to return back to New York City, look for work as a trainee technical illustrator, go to college for it and get a military deferment.
As it turns out.... The Scroll served as The Vehicle to the path that would become the rest of my life.
I packed a small knapsack, two sketchbooks and some anti-dysentery medicines that someone told me to take.
I hitched hiked down to Mexicali. I had heard from others, you couldn’t really hitch hike in Mexico. My intention was to take second class buses. I had no idea where I was going. I knew I was just heading south to the tropics. I had actually drawn visions of palm fringed beaches that were in my head.
I knew one thing for sure....that real adventure and the rest of my life, lay just ahead.
And now, the benefits of hindsight.
Written from the vantage point of 2021, more then half a century later.
Ironically, almost comically now, Allen told me years later of a meeting he had with Dr. Albert Hoffman, the Discoverer of LSD. Dr.
Hoffman personally told Allen, that in early 1950’s, shortly after he
publicly published information on LSD, he received an order from the US Military
for 100 doses. The Soviets, who were monitoring US military medication
purchases, miss-translated it as 100,000. Two weeks later, he gets an
order from the Soviets for 500,000. A month later, the US military, who
also had been monitoring Soviet purchases, sends in an order for one
million doses. Each side suspected that the other side was weaponizing
it. Neither side, nor Dr. Hoffman himself, had any idea of the sheer magnitude of that mistake.
It would be years before Hoffman found out that the whole thing was due to a miss-translation. Each side went on to subsequently experiment with LSD on field and prison trials with thousands of unsuspecting and occasionally suicidal subjects.
A young Ken Kesey (before he became a successful author), was one of the few, paid test subjects. He has said that those early Government "LSD Tests" shaped his entire life. Kesey went on to become one of its major advocates.
Could the entire LSD subculture have been the result of a ridiculously bad Soviet translation during the cold war?
The Real Secret,
The Lesson We All should've learned.
Our Entire Experience was an Altered State of Consciousness, not a Higher one. Our Straight and Our Psychedelic Realities are two of many.
Reality is a lot more complex than our Polarized Minds can imagine.
Om Shanti
Videos of Events
The Greatful Dead, January 1966 Fillmore acid test.
https://youtu.be/zfFyDAig_eM
A Kesey, Prankster documentary
https://youtu.be/Uh2kK5IfS-8
Lenny Bruce's rare video, entire comedy set.1965
https://youtu.be/9wuNKs1_gC8
https://youtu.be/zfFyDAig_eM
A Kesey, Prankster documentary
https://youtu.be/Uh2kK5IfS-8
Lenny Bruce's rare video, entire comedy set.1965
https://youtu.be/9wuNKs1_gC8
Big Brother and the Holding Company, Avalon Ballroom, December 1966
https://youtu.be/0oGe0zoZ8Oo
https://youtu.be/0oGe0zoZ8Oo