I found myself reminiscing about being a Nipper in San Francisco in the 50's and during certain Summers, in the 60's. The Important Summers. '65, '66 and '67. Saw my first Grateful Dead Show with Gramma', although, at the time I had no idea what I was watching/listening to. One of those Free Concert affairs in Golden Gate Park, where you were pretty much guaranteed to be taking a ride on Albert Hoffman's Train if you ate or drank anything offered to you. Grams said not to. It was strictly verboten. I just nodded my compliance. That could wait for later. And, Boy-o, did it ever. Sugar cubes never tasted so good by the time I was about 16 or 17. I mean, come on...We had our own Professional Grade Light Show to play with and a really LOUD STEREO in the pole barn. Not to mention, very little Adult Supervision. Acid Test, my ass. It wasn't a "test," it was an entire Curriculum for a couple years.
I digress. One or three of my very early musical turn-ons were The Doors, Jefferson Airplane and The Rolling Stones, James Brown and a bunch of shit I no longer remember. The usual suspects. I have a very firm memory of laying on the floor in my Uncle's house, with the cheesy stereo speakers pressed against my ears like headphones, listening to "Chrystal Ship," "Love Street," "Take It As It Comes," "Spanish Caravan" and "Break On Through" over and over. I convinced my Grandma to take me to Haight Ashbury in my home-made Hippie Costume. (Probably part of our usual romp through Golden Gate Park on Any Given Sunday. I loved the Japanese Tea Gardens, The Steinhart Aquarium [gone now] and watching the Old Italian Guys playing Bocce. Still do.) A pair of vertically striped bellbottoms, a French cut T-Shirt, an old pair of Cowboy boots and a horsehide high altitude flight jacket with the sleeves cut off to form a "vest." I must have looked truly ridiculous in my short hair and bright eyes aglow at all of the cool shit that was going on down there. I was a Beach Kid, 46th Ave. @ Vicente. Down by the S.F. Zoo. "Kid Heaven" as I remember it now. Playland Of The Pacific, The Zoo, Ocean Beach... Too many fond memories to mention.
Enter The Reality Of Haight/Ashbury 1966 or '67:
As Grams and I were walking down Haight St. somewhere, a Big Scary Biker Dude stepped off of a Victorian House's porch and asked me: "Was I was 'flying colors' on my vest?" I had No Idea what the Hell he was taking about. He said: "If you're not 'patched' you're gonna' have ta' gimme' that vest, Kid." Gramma's City Radar activated and she came rushing up, socked the Slovenly Beast in the guts with her purse and yelled: "STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY GRANDSON, YOU HAIRY APE!" The Guy's Buddies fell all over themselves at the top of the stairs and Grams and I continued on our Hippie Tourist Excursion. I'm sure I got some kind of "lecture" but, I don't remember it. This is one of my all-time favorite memories of my Grandmother. I'm sure The Guy's Buddies all called him "You, Hairy Ape" for a couple of weeks. Poor fucker. NEVER mess with a City School Teacher.
She (and my Mother, too, of course) was the light of my young life and I am allot like her, in various ways. I kind of look like her Brothers and Cousins. She's pretty much single-handedly responsible for my love of second hand stores, for instance. My appreciation of nature comes from her as well. She (her name is/was Juanita, which is weird since we're Bavarian) was a San Francisco City Schools, Elementary School Teacher, after my Grandfather died. Gramps wouldn't hear of his Wife working. He worked for Dow Chemical, as a Salesman in the fruit and vegetable/fish cannery end of things. Gramps was a Chemist, Pharmacist and Parfumier, among various other "hats" he wore, including being a Stateside Army Medic/Apprentice Pharmacist during WW1. A regular Renaissance Man kind of Guy. He passed away when I was very young.
Somewhere along the way, I got sidetracked into Avant Garde Rock and Roll and Experimental Music. All the Really Weird stuff that none of my "friends" at High School would listen to. Enter Frank Zappa, Iggy and The Stooges, The Velvet Underground, Kim Fowley, Arthur Brown, The MC-5, Alice Cooper, etc., etc..
More digression...I Loved The Monkees' "Last Train To Clarksville." Was it a Michael Nesmith tune? "Joanne" certainly was. "LSTC" was probably just another Boyce and Hart Bubble Gum sing-along. B&H wrote most of the crap that Davy Jones was allowed to sing and that Nesmith actually got to play guitar on. Make no mistake about it, Mike Nesmith can PLAY GUITAR (and, write songs very well). I would meet him, many years after The Monkees, in Park City, Utah, during the Sundance Film Festival, at the restaurant where I waited tables for a couple of years in the mid-80's. Mike's a real nice guy. I met a few of my teenage music idols working there. Don't even get me started on all of the actors, directors, etc.. Bob Redford picked me up hitchhiking once. He's allot shorter, in person.
This morning, I thought I'd take a stroll down memory Lane and listen to The Doors for breakfast. It's "comforting, somehow." The first two albums, especially. I'll do Jefferson Hairpie and whatnot some other day.
My Dear Departed Friend, Michael Hanley, worked for "The Jeffersons" as he liked to call them. Mostly Starship, I think. Mike worked for more bands than most people I have known. He got fired about every two or three weeks for some social infraction of Standard Hippie Rules and Regulations. Punching somebody in the balls or whatever...He was a U.S. Marine, before his music career, after all.
Anyway, The Doors:
I have to say that L.A. Woman has become my favorite Doors' recording in "Adult Life." (Watch the volume. This is on YouTube LOUD!)
And now, a word from somebody/some product that I couldn't care less about:
Peace, Love and Monkey Wrenches,
-Doc
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