by Randy Mixter
He studied her picture as the plane crossed the Midwest.
“I miss that smile.”
It was the last thing that Private Parsons said to him. After he carefully put the photo back in his wallet, the soldier off to war closed his eyes and did not open them until they landed.
A STRANGE LAND
San Francisco International Airport was a bustling stew of agitated people pushing, shoving, and running to get to their destination, though it seemed to Alex that many of them were not certain where that was. Since exiting the plane, he was following a group of soldiers who seemed to know their way around. After a harrowing several minutes of dodging irate executives and other travelers with bad dispositions, he arrived at the baggage claim area. Around him, his fellow passengers stared anxiously at the empty slowly turning luggage carousel. It was a noisy thing that sputtered, jerked, and even screeched as if begging for lubrication. Those gathered around him paid it no mind. The older travelers stared at the contraption as if willing their suitcases to appear magically, while the young soldiers talked and laughed among themselves, ignoring everyone around them.
When the luggage eventually arrived, there was much pushing and shoving as people grabbed at anything resembling their belongings. Amidst all this chaos, the soldiers calmly took their duffel bags as they appeared, each one knowing instinctively which bag was his. Alex saw Jim Parsons one last time as he found his duffel bag on the other side of the carousel. The army private was walking away when he turned and glanced back at him in the dwindling crowd. Private Parsons hoisted the bag across his shoulder then, with a smile, raised his hand and extended him the peace sign. Before he could respond, Parsons disappeared into the crowd. Alex noticed that all the soldiers on the plane were gone now, soon to Oakland, then to war.
“Good luck and Godspeed” he said loud enough to draw the stares of some older men in suits and ties who were still irritated over their tardy luggage.
With suitcase in hand, and away from the noisy carousel, he began to relax. He took his time walking through the airport madhouse in search of a pay phone. He was almost to what looked like the main entrance of the facility when he spotted a bank of phones near the slowly revolving glass door.
The only phone not in use had a large peace sign sticker covering the coin slot. Using a dime, he managed to punch out enough space to insert the coin. He pulled the folded paper containing a phone number out of his wallet and dialed the seven digits. The phone on the other end rang several times before someone answered.
“Yeah” a male voice said.
“Hello, I’d like to talk to Chick,” Alex responded. He heard the phone drop then faintly “Hey Chick, Paco’s on the line.”
Who is Paco? He wondered as he listened to what seemed to be many people talking and rather loud music playing. For some time, he waited on the phone thinking he had been forgotten and wondering how many minutes ten cents gave him. He stuck another dime through the peace sign just in case. The sound of the phone picking up was a great relief.
“Paco, hey man, sorry ’bout the Airplane tickets mix up. I could have sworn they were playing Winterland. Man, I heard you waited in the parking lot for over three hours. Again, sorry brother.”
Alex took a deep breath. “I’m not Paco. My name is Alex Conley. Your uncle Maxwell Bestwick told me to call you when I got to San Francisco.”
There was a long pause, then “You’re the guy who works for Uncle Max’s newspaper?”
“That’s me. Your uncle said that you might be able to help me out on some stories I’m doing on the summer of love.”
“The summer of love. You missed that by a year champ. Not to worry, I’ll help you out as best I can. Know the sites, know the people.” After a moment of silence, Chick said, “you’re not going to write anything bad about us, are you?”
“Oh no,” Alex quickly replied. “I just want to give an outsider’s point of view to what’s going on here.”
“That works for me. See you soon.”
“Wait!” Alex said loud enough to turn a few heads. “I need to know where to meet you.” Silence. “Chick?” More silence. “Chick?”
“I guess that would help, wouldn’t it?” Chick replied, and Alex jotted down the address.
The cab ride to the Haight Ashbury section of the city was interesting if uneventful. Though the buildings looked similar to his hometown, he could not help but notice the differences in the residential properties. In Baltimore, rows of brick homes lined the streets, many with marble steps to access the front door. It was a common sight to see those steps lined with their owners, on pleasant evenings, sitting and socializing with their neighbors.
Here, many of the homes were of the Victorian style with large front porches and comfortable chairs substituting for cold marble. Their differences in appearance maintained his interest for a time, but soon he became restless. They had been driving through the city for some time now and he had yet to spot a single flower child.
Things changed quickly, not long after that, as they passed by the Golden Gate Park. Hippies covered the grassy expanse. Most walked about mingling with others of their kind. Some lay out on blankets. Others played guitars to themselves or to groups of admirers. In just a few short minutes, the attire had changed from suits and ties to tie-dyed shirts, jeans, and sandals.
The middle-aged cab driver noted the development and began an obscenity laced rant about the deterioration of morals in today’s young people. Alex barely heard a word he said. A good portion of the older people in San Francisco obviously had no tolerance for hippies or soldiers. An irate cab driver would not dampen his excitement. His world had changed in a heartbeat from a drab gray to color.
CHICK
They were heading east on Haight Street now. The street was alive with pedestrian traffic, almost entirely men and women under the age of thirty. The youthful free spirits that filled the sidewalks simply ignored the vehicles and the symphony of car horns as they crossed from one side of the busy road to the other. The driver of his cab had rarely moved his hand off the horn since the Golden Gate Park. Alex sincerely hoped this cranky old man would not run down a flower child for spite before they reached their destination, so pronounced was his agitation. Alex did his best to ignore him, and took in the dazzling spectacle outside the cab’s windows.
Traditional stores lined both sides of the street, but scattered about them were establishments with colorful names such as Xanadu, The I/Thou Coffee shop, The Psychedelic Shop, and The Blue Unicorn. Bright splashy colors decorated all the storefronts. Peace symbols, posters, and short philosophical statements adorned the brick and glass storefronts. There were many signs beginning with the word ‘free’. Free clothes, free food, and free readings and counseling were a few of the announcements seizing Alex’s attention.
“We’re here,” the cabdriver said, with obvious disgust, as he pulled up against the curb. They had arrived at the 1300 block of Haight Street and the location of his rendezvous with Chick, The San Francisco Oracle.
Alex retrieved his suitcase from the cab’s trunk and hurriedly paid the driver, who had exited the cab and seemed to be itching for a fight. Standing in front of the Oracle’s glass window, he abruptly realized two things; his dress code of a white button down short sleeve shirt, khaki pants and Weejun loafers looked significantly out of place in these surroundings, and he had neglected to ask what Chick looked like when he had him on the phone.
The several hippies lounging on the sidewalk looked pretty much the same; Chick could have been any one of them. He had resigned himself to approaching each of the men congregating around the store, when one of them walked up to him.
“I’m not a psychic, nor do I judge myself to be a prophet of any kind. However, I firmly believe I am now standing in front of my Uncle Max’s most adventurous employee.”
Alex found himself staring at an honest to goodness hippie, close-up and personal. His hair was dark and long, parted down the middle and waving a littl
e at his shoulders. A beard and moustache covered a good deal of his face. He wore an off-white loose fitting shirt adorned with a necklace of multi-colored beads. His pants, which flared out at the knees, appeared to be denim but were so blanketed with patches that it was hard to tell. Worn sandals encased his bare feet.
“It appears,” Chick continued, “that Uncle Max’s employee is either a mute or a practicing mime.”
“Sorry,” he said, as he broke loose of his culture shock daze. He held out his hand. “My name is Alex Conley.”
Chick shook his hand and smiled “Chick. Pleased to know you have a voice. My hand signing skills are rather limited.”
“I’m just amazed at what’s going on here.” Alex said by way of explanation. “I just never thought it would be like this.”
“Take it in while you can champ. I fear our culture is on the ropes and soon to be down for the count. For now, let us agree to live for today. I’ll take you to our pad where you can relieve yourself of your burdensome friend.” Chick pointed to the suitcase. “Then we must get you into some proper clothing. Hopefully, once you look the part, your mind will adapt to your new home.” Chick looked at his newfound protégée, seemingly shell-shocked by his surroundings, with detached amusement. “And your eyes will retreat into their sockets, and your mouth will occasionally close.”
THE HOUSE ON ASHBURY STREET
They walked down Haight Street. From time to time Chick pointed out landmarks he deemed significant to Alex’s education of the neighborhood. During this impromptu travelogue, his many friends constantly interrupted him.
“My man, Chick!” “Peace, Chick.” “Looking good, Chick!” were just a few of the many salutations thrown his way. There were also many hugs and peace sign gestures. In just two short blocks, Alex had seen more affection then he had experienced at home in the past year.
Chick noticed his stares. “It’s cool champ. I’m an elder statesman of sorts. I’ve been around here forever.”
They turned left onto Ashbury Street, Alex following Chick’s lead. Victorian style homes lined the street. Unlike Haight Street, Most of these houses seemed to be personal residences. This street had less foot traffic; the exception being the front yard of a home where many young people congregated.
Chick appeared unfazed by the commotion on the dwelling’s steps and lawn. “Hey, Jerry!” Chick yelled out to one of the group standing about. A young man with long curly hair, and a pleasant smile, acknowledged Chick with a nod.
“You ever heard of The Grateful Dead?” Chick asked.
“No,” Alex said truthfully.
“You will, champ. You will,” Chick said as they walked past the crowd.
“And here we are,” Chick announced as he turned to his left, facing a house not far from where the crowd had gathered.
“It ain’t much, but its home.”
Chick was right about it not being much, Alex thought to himself. The grass surrounding the Victorian property was long and weedy. The concrete steps leading to the front porch were cracked and at odd and dangerous looking angles to the approaching sidewalk. The porch itself looked old and in serious need of paint. The roof above it buckled in the middle as if giving notice to its impending collapse. The entire front exterior of the Victorian home was a riot of cracked and peeling paint. Alex noticed that the glass on two of the four front windows had been broken and not repaired.
“Our maintenance man has the summer off,” Chick said as he led the way up the rickety steps to the open front door.
“It’s quiet here now. Most of the house is up at the park or walking Haight Street. A few help out at the stores or kitchens.”
Alex was in a spacious lobby area. A large ornate chandelier hung from the tall ceiling. In front of him was a room containing a long table and chairs. He assumed this was the dining area. On his right was a kitchen. Another room, from which rows of different colored beads dangled from the entranceway, was to the right of the dining room, across the lobby. On his left, a wooden stairway curved upward to the right before ending on the second floor.
Chick had already started up the wide expanse. “Stay to the right by the railing. You do not want to trust these old steps. Cowboy found that out the hard way.”
Alex held his suitcase in his left hand while gripping the railing. About halfway up, he noticed a rather large hole in the center of a step. “Cowboy?” he asked.
In front of him, Chick nodded in agreement. “Cowboy,” he said as he cautiously peered into the dark hole. “You okay down there Cowboy?”
Alex gripped the railing tightly as he listened for a reply.
“Only kidding, man.” Chick turned to face him. “He just broke a toe.”
Chick’s moustache and beard were almost thick enough to disguise his smile. “Try not to abuse the railing too much, it’s the only one we’ve got.”
At the top of the stairs was a long corridor, along its length were six entranceways, all, except for two, had beads for doors.
“This is the bathroom.” Chick pointed to the closest door. “And here we have the three bedrooms. This one,” Chick said, pointing to his immediate left, “belongs to the girls. The middle one is for couples, and the last one is for the guys,” he added, pointing down the hallway. “Sometimes you’ll find a girl or two in the guys room, but our three children sleep in the girls room. No men are allowed in there.”
Alex looked towards the door at the far end of the hall, unique in the sense that, unlike the bathroom door, a painted peace sign covered most of it.
“That would be my room,” Chick said as if reading his thoughts. “It is my compensation for my father paying the rent on this place.”
“Good deal,” Alex said.
“He doesn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart,” Chick replied. “He likes me out of what little hair he has left. This is my extended summer camp.”
He followed Chick to the last door on the left. “This is your room,” Chick said as he opened the beads.
There were six mattresses on the floor along with numerous piles of dirty clothing. Blankets and pillows covered five of the beds .The one nearest the door was sheet and blanket free.
Chick looked down at the stripped mattress. “They look pretty miserable uncovered,” he commented after a moment or two of reflection. “Anyhow, that one is yours, champ. You can put your suitcase on top of it for now. Don’t worry about theft, nobody steals anything around here.”
No wonder, Alex was about to say but decided against it. He was glad to be finally free of the suitcase however, and promptly dropped it on his new bed.
“Bella will bring you a clean pillow, sheets, and a blanket when she gets back from the Diggers this evening. Before you ask, it is a free store where you can pick up clothing and the occasional bedding supplies. She knew you were coming here today. In our community, we look out for each other. Tomorrow we will visit the store and pick you up some appropriate apparel. Meanwhile, what do you say we visit the park before supper?”
HIPPIE HILL
It was late afternoon when they arrived at the Golden Gate Park. It was not a long trek, but Alex wished he had worn his tennis shoes on the trip. He had not expected such a thorough foot tour of the area. He began to practice various walking techniques to relieve his sore feet. From the corner of his eye, Chick observed his awkward gait.
“You okay? You’re starting to remind me of Cowboy.”
“These shoes aren’t made for walking,” Alex replied, while trying a heel to toe technique.
“I guess we should have gone to the Diggers today after all. I’m not sure if they will have sandals though. They go fast. Anyhow, after we go under that bridge up ahead we’ll be on grass. Feel free to take off your shoes then. Everybody else does.”
The tunnel under the bridge, as it turned out, was the entrance to an enchanted land. As they walked into the sunlight at the tunnel’s end, a large sloping meadow of grass and trees greeted them. The noise of the city disappeared, r
eplaced by the sounds of laughter and song.
“The locals call it Hippie Hill,” Chick said. “We just call it a great place to mellow out.”
Hundreds of young people sprawled about on the grass. The place had a festive air about it.
“Days are celebrated in this place.” Chick motioned to the gathering. “Here, the most ordinary of occurrences are met with joy.”
Alex looked around him and knew that Chick had brought him to the heart of this new cultural movement. He quickly took off his shoes and socks. The grass beneath his bare feet felt so heavenly that he sighed loud enough for Chick to hear.
“Shoes are the burden of the working man. The freeness of bare feet in grass cannot be overestimated.” With that, Chick removed his sandals. “Let’s walk a bit.”
They began their ascent up the hill. Chick, once again, was repeatedly stopped by friends offering him hits off the joints they were smoking. Chick gladly accepted their gifts, inhaling the marijuana deeply.
“First time?” Chick asked, while passing a well used reefer Alex’s way. It was his first time, though he was ashamed to admit it. He took it nonetheless, and breathed in enough smoke to make Chick beam like a proud father.
He coughed out most of it, which embarrassed him to no end, but amused the few scattered about him.
“Everyone coughs the first time.” Chick patted Alex’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
He did get used to it. After the third time, he was inhaling like a professional, and beginning to feel the drug’s affects. Everything around him became sharper and clearer. The air smelled fresher, the grass felt softer. Colors jumped out at him, all bright and new.
They were nearing the hill’s crest when Chick suggested they sit for a while. That was fine with him. He wanted to stay in this garden of wonders for as long as possible.
