by Randy Mixter
Luckily, the car’s driver had the presence of mind to swerve his vehicle just enough to save the brave young man from certain catastrophic injury.
As it was, he was struck by the car’s side view mirror, causing severe bruising on his upper arm.
Miss Karen Miller, the girl’s mother, told this reporter that her daughter would have surely been seriously injured or killed were it not for the fast thinking heroics of Alex Conley.
She personally wanted to thank him for saving her daughter’s life.
“Francine is all I have,” she told this reporter. “I would have died if anything would have happened to her.” She then added, “There are people in San Francisco and throughout the United States who do not understand our culture and beliefs. I hope this serves as an example of who we are and what we stand for. The kindness of man doesn’t end in Haight-Ashbury, it begins here, and the man who saved my child’s life will always be my hero until the day I die.”
Alex Conley asked me to acknowledge his friend Matt Paxton, a Silver Star awarded veteran of Vietnam, for his assistance in the rescue. He also wanted to thank Sarah and Chick, and his other friends of his Ashbury Street residence for their help and encouragement during his stay here.
On a personal note, I found Alex Conley, and all of his friends, to be gracious and charming hosts during my visit with them last evening.
Perhaps we should take this act of self-sacrifice as a lesson in tolerance for people who think and act differently than us. We are all God’s children, different in some ways, but in many ways the same.
Chick lowered the newspaper and cheers and applause broke out simultaneously across the room. Alex was more than a little embarrassed by the reaction. Sarah hugged him tightly.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said before giving him a ‘goodnight’ kiss full on the lips.
“I didn’t do much.” Matt said, gripping Alex’s shoulder. “But thanks for mentioning me. It means a lot.”
“I think that maybe I’m dreaming,” Chick said, as he pushed through the crowd of well-wishers.
When he was close enough to Alex, he handed him the paper.
“You might want to frame that article, champ,” he said. “It’s a winner.”
“And you might want to tighten up your robe belt a bit, Chick”
“I’ve got him,” Belladonna said, as she came to the rescue of all those in the lobby who did not want to see Chick partially naked.
“Come on lover.” She tugged on his robe. “Let’s get you upstairs before you make me look like someone who is more than satisfied with small favors.”
The adoration of the female house members was fine, but when Skip, Benny, Sandman, and Cowboy converged on him, Alex looked for Sarah to bail him out.
He was surprised to see her in a corner, by the kitchen, having a lively discussion with Celeste. He could not hear all of what they were saying thanks in part to Skip and Benny, who were determined to praise him as loudly as possible. He did hear, however, Celeste’s final words before they parted.
“It’s your dream Sarah, and it’s coming true.”
A GATHERING ON A HILL
Later that morning, Chick, Skip, and Benny walked to Haight Street to pick up more copies of the Chronicle. Chick showed the early signs of obsession when referring to the column.
He collected every dime in the house before he left, and had the resolve to purchase as many of the newspapers as possible during the trip, even if it meant venturing out of the friendly confines of the community to do so.
Chick’s goal was to come back with at least thirty papers, which he then planned to distribute to his many friends in the area.
“I might even mail some home,” he said to Skip and Benny as they walked. “My parents thought the only time my name would appear in a newspaper would be in the crime beat section or the obituary column.”
Alex and Sarah strolled to the park. The last day of July was warm and sunny and the sidewalks were busy with residents who knew these bright mornings, in a city of mist and fog, were rare.
Matt and Celeste promised to meet them on the hill in the early afternoon. Celeste had succeeded in convincing Matt he needed more variety in his everyday attire, and a visit to the Haight Street clothing stores was past due.
As for Alex, his experimentation with moderate hippie apparel had run its course. He was back to wearing straight-leg faded jeans, buttoned down short sleeve shirts, and tennis shoes. Sarah had no problem with his choice of dress wear, saying they were more suited to outracing children apt to leaving their mothers in their wake.
Along the way, strangers who knew, or correctly guessed, Alex was the subject of the newspaper article, stopped them several times. It seemed the word of his deed had spread near and far.
By the time they reached the hill, no less than twenty strangers had congratulated him on his accomplishment. Once on the hill, the word spread among the regulars and visitors. The hero of Haight-Ashbury was among them.
Before long, the grass surrounding them filled with well-wishers. Most were the free spirits who called the park their second home, but some were simply curious visitors who had read the morning paper or had seen the report on all three television stations local evening news.
Alex sensed there would be little private time with Sarah this day. He wanted to ask her about her conversation with Celeste, but, more importantly, he wanted to know more about her clothes selection for him the morning of the incident, particularly her choice of his footwear.
Instead, he was again describing his actions of the previous day to wide-eyed men, women, and children. Even Sarah, ever the storyteller, got into the act, placing a moral at the end of the tale. Please watch your children, she would say after each telling. Keep them nearby and never take them for granted.
By the time Matt and Celeste joined them in the early afternoon, a party atmosphere was well established, and they needed to wind their way through the many musicians, dancers, and enthusiastic admirers surrounding their two friends.
“What the hell?” Matt said when he and Celeste finally sat down.
“Don’t ask,” Alex replied, while listening to a novice troubadour singing a Mamas and Papas song and strumming and off-key guitar.
“I never thought I’d miss the peace and quiet of Haight Street,” Matt added, before backing up from a dancing girl determined to step on his feet.
“Speaking of Haight Street,” Celeste shouted over the clatter. “I have a message for you.”
She handed Alex a folded piece of paper.
“He said it was important.”
Alex took it from her and opened it. The handwritten note read: Please see me at your earliest possible convenience. It is time to take flight and you are the pilot. Nathan, The Oracle, The Pysch Shop.
“He said you could find him at one of those two places,” Celeste said loudly.
The note made absolutely no sense to Alex. “Who is this guy, and what does he want with me?” he asked Celeste, but Sarah answered.
“Nathan Barlow is the spiritual leader of the organization known as The Eternal Light. They believe peace can be accomplished through prayer and meditation.”
“Tried that in Vietnam,” Matt announced. “It didn’t work.”
“They are one of several factions attempting to organize the masses in the community while they’re still here. They all realize the exodus has begun,” Sarah said.
A few of the young people, near enough to hear her, chimed in.
“Our house just lost eight people,” a young girl sitting close to Sarah said. “A couple went home. The others wanted to get a head start on a commune before the cooler weather hits.”
“Have you noticed the Diggers are taking food back with them when they leave the Panhandle?” a man with long blonde hair, and an old shirt patched with peace signs, added. “A month ago they would run out of food with many still in line.”
The guitar player stopped his playing. “Yeah, the free store h
as more stuff than they know what to do with. People are dropping off everything, and then sticking out their thumbs”
Matt leaned over to Alex. “Think we could persuade him to take that guitar over there now.”
Alex smiled, but he felt queasiness in the pit of his stomach. He intended to squeeze as many weeks as he could from his newspaper. If the word of a mass exodus from the area reached Bestwick’s desk, his boss could easily decide to pull up stakes and call his employee home. He knew the summer of love was in the early stages of disintegration. Eventually the Haight-Ashbury would collapse in on itself and become a black hole, swallowing up hopes, dreams, and wishes in the blink of an eye.
He looked at Sarah. She was listening to all who spoke, nodding in agreement, or challenging their logic. For a fleeting moment, he saw the Sarah of two years ago, fiery and possessed of vision. The young people surrounding her saw it too. They gathered closer, absorbing her words like gospel. She was in her element again, telling stories of goals reachable with the proper patience and commitment, and the tightness in his stomach grew.
GENESIS
On Friday morning, the 4th of August, Alex and Sarah went to see Nathan Barlow. Sarah had decided to take the day off. Business at the Free Clinic was down, not a bad thing, but for Sarah it meant reading in an empty office while tasks of more importance went undone.
Her mornings in the park were gradually working their way to event status. Each day, more people joined her and Alex, as they sat on the hill.
Initially, they swarmed around Alex, but soon she received the crowd’s attention. Maybe it was her commitment to her convictions. Maybe her smile and stories drew the masses. Whatever the case, she mesmerized all around her into believing nothing was impossible.
Alex could see how she had swayed so many in the past. Her words surged with the promise of hope. When Sarah spoke, one could conceive of a world free of conflict, a world where the power of love could silence any weapon or conquer the mightiest of armies.
Yet, this Sarah knew of impossible dreams. This Sarah was not the young wild girl possessed of fearless passion and the bold certainty of her beliefs.
This Sarah knew heartbreak too well. She had lost too much to be deceived by even the slightest of victories.
“It’s too late to save the world, isn’t it, Alex?” she asked him as they walked to Haight Street.
“Probably” he said, and then regretted his honest answer. He loved her enough to lie to make her happy.
“But if anyone can do it, it will be you,” he added, and the brief smile on her face gave him a moment of comfort.
They stopped at Haight Street’s only functional phone booth. While Alex called work and his parents, Sarah took off for the nearest clothing store to look for ‘something breezy’ in white.
When she returned a short while later, Alex was outside the booth, leaning against it.
“Something breezy?” he asked as he pointed toward the bag she was carrying.
“And in white,” she answered back.
“They’re syndicating my stories,” Alex said in a matter of fact manner. “They’ll be in twelve other major markets starting this Sunday.”
Sarah dropped her bag and stared at him.
“They are running the back articles as one large story this time around, then back to the weekly articles the following Sunday.”
She ran up to him, jumping on to his chest. Her arms and legs straddled him. The phone booth swayed with the impact.
“Be careful,” he told her, after she kissed him hard on the lips. “This is the only working phone booth in town.”
She laughed and hugged him tight before dropping to the ground.
“And my parents say I’m a local hero in Northeast Baltimore. It seems my paper carried the Chronicle’s story on Tuesday.”
She looked at him in the way of an entranced child who had just received the perfect gift. A gift so special she only dared to wish for it in her dreams.
This time, he pulled her to him, and moved his lips to hers. She threw her arms around his neck, and the phone booth swayed once more.
They entered the Psychedelic Shop and asked for Nathan Barlow. A store employee suggested they try the meditation room in the rear of the store. Barlow grooves on meditation, the employee said, before trying to sell them an album by a group called Moby Grape.
The meditation room was a rather large area that might have been a storage area in pre-psychedelic days. Today it was candlelit and strewn with burning incense. An oriental carpet graced the floor along with an abundance of pillows of varying colors and sizes.
Sitting cross-legged in the room’s center was an older man with long gray hair and a grayish beard. He wore a Nehru jacket, pants that looked made of white silk, and sandals. Around his neck were several chains, each ending in a strange looking symbol.
Surrounding him were ten younger men and women, all with legs crossed, eyes shut, and palms open on their knees. The candlelight illuminated a man and woman at the far end of the room atop a small mountain of pillows. These two had a very different and significantly more erotic approach to meditation and were performing it as vigorously as possible. The others ignored them.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the gray haired man said without opening his eyes or moving from his position.
“I am Nathan Barlow of The Eternal Light. These are but a few of my disciples.”
No one moved or otherwise acknowledged their presence, particularly the two in the rear of the room, whose self-examination was nearing a crescendo.
Barlow opened his eyes and studied the room as if seeing it for the first time. His gaze fell on his two visitors and his eyes grew wide.
“Isn’t this something,” he said. “I send for one hero and two show up. How are you Sarah?”
At the name Sarah, several eyes opened and heads turned. The couple on the pillows even stopped and looked.
“Fine,” Sarah replied.
“Sebastian, round up a couple of pillows for our guests.”
A man stood up and made for the stack of pillows near the couple at the rear of the room.
“We’re good,” Alex and Sarah said almost simultaneously as they made their way through the circle of bodies.
“Very well.” Barlow motioned for them to sit in front of him.
“It is an honor to have such distinguished guests. You must forgive the accommodations. Alas, we were asked to vacate our previous residence. The proprietors of this fine establishment were kind enough to lend us their back room for meditation, meetings, and other endeavors.” He waved his hand in the direction of the back wall.
“In any case,” Barlow said, “let’s get right to the point, shall we.”
Two women stood and gathered up four large pillows, which they placed at his back.
“Ah yes, much better,” he declared as he leaned back against the cushions.
“Are these pillows all yours?” Alex asked.
“They are indeed,” Barlow replied.
Alex looked around the room. “Nice collection,” he said in a serious manner, but felt Sarah’s elbow anyway.
“Thank you my friend.” Barlow seemed pleased by the comment. “You may take one with you if you please.”
“Why are we here, Nathan?” Sarah said in a somewhat brusque manner.
“Oh yes, that. No sense beating around the bush. Our recruitment has been down in the last month or so. I sense we are losing followers to more radical groups, peace through protest, that type of thing. I feel our members are no longer convinced that peaceful change is possible. The attitude is shifting toward change through confrontation.”
“I am aware that attrition is also a factor,” he continued. “The thinning of the tribe is a fact from which we cannot hide. But the brave souls who remain want results, and they want results now.”
“And Alex fits into this in what way?” Sarah asked.
“Our people see him as a born leader, a man of courage and princip
le. They know he risked his life to save another, and they know he writes fair unbiased stories about our way of life.”
Nathan Barlow looked directly at Alex and continued. “You could unite the tribes. As one, we would have the power to spread the word of peace throughout the United States, throughout the world. A man of forceful persuasion could bring the college campuses into the fold. Once we have the students, we have the world.”
Sarah shook her head. “We tried this before Nathan. The college students can be too radical, too confrontational. They mean well, but the end result has been, and will continue to be, alienation. We cannot give the politicians any more reason to plot against us. Whatever we do must be through peaceful means.”
“Times have changed, Sarah, but obviously you have not.” Barlow sat up straight. A girl walked behind him, pillow in hand. He waved her off. “We need to adapt to the new world mindset before it is too late. We need to target all involved with the war machine, the weapons makers and the ones who use them, and the politicians who equate war with economic prosperity. We need to become more aggressive. If that means rebellion, then so be it. We tried the old way. It did not work. If we want results, we need to show those of influence that we can be forceful”
Sarah stood up and began to pace. “If we would have given peace a chance, we would have won by now. We were on the same side once, you and I, but you let others influence your decisions then, and it seems you still are.”
Alex saw Sarah glare at Barlow in a way that even the room’s dim lighting could not mask. “I can’t let you draw Alex into this madness. Alex needs to be on the outside looking in. He needs to tell our story from his unique point of view. Whether we like what he says, or disagree with it, makes no difference. He will tell people what he sees and hears, and we are obligated to be grateful or humbled by his words.”
“What do you have to say about this, Alex?” Barlow moved forward just enough to see the other man’s eyes.
