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Messages
from Breezewood
USA, 1974
Foreword
If I had known the movie was going to change my life the way it did, I never would have watched it. I considered myself
a happy man. Eight years in the golf course industry yielded my dream job. Superintendent of a tournament championship
course in Palm Beach County. My wife had a successful business and our two daughters were moving into their teen years.
A nice, modest home with a comfortable mortgage. We had no debt to speak of and had all our ducks in a row to enter
the middle-age years. I had become happy by most people's standards. Lulled into complacency by the promises of
the "Protestant ethic" one must embrace to achieve middle class. I believed that I was now fighting the good
fight. Feeling that I had been deceived by my past sub-culture. I was to pay taxes and raise kids now and for
the most part, it has been the best years of my life. Which was why I was so shocked by my reaction to the movie.
Had I become so generic? So dull and boring, or, had I abandoned all the values
I held on to before my marriage, when I was a wild one? In all honesty, a little of both. My values then reflected
that rebellious stage of life. For instance, how can one man tell another that he must go to war, or pay taxes, or where
to live or retire? Who gave them the right? These issues were being actively and passionately addressed
in the universities, in the farm fields and at the dinner tables across America. The momentum was incredible.
The youth of this country had jelled into a singular consciousness where rebellion meant acceptance. We were hippies,
rebels. There wasn't anything we couldn't accomplish because we were right. We had the power, we knew better.
We were marching, we were organized, we were affecting change. Then suddenly, after we ended the war, everybody disappeared.
It seemed in the course of one summer all the hippies packed up, cut their hair and went home.
It was becoming clear to me that society had taken all the events that took place from 1963 to 1973 and
placed them in the closet to forget about. The pain and turbulence of those years gave way to the desire for fun and
live carefree. Unencumbered by conscience, the air was ripe for the new exciting disco beat that exploded from the gay
bars of New York City. We had new clothes, new music, new drugs and certainly new values.
So there I sat in my cozy living room watching "Born on the Forth of July", getting more restless
and angry watching this poor guy's life going down the tubes. Could this story be true? After all it is an Oliver
Stone movie. I heard stories depicted in the movie, but having never been in Vietnam or through the VA system, I had
no idea what it looked like and I was skeptical as I am with all movies. I was having trouble with this. If the
movie wasn't being entirely accurate, then Oliver was doing the soldiers a great disservice. If the film was accurate,
then America did a great disservice to it's own soldiers. In my heart I felt the latter was true. America had
thrown it's young into a meat grinder without adequate training, equipment and protection only to return to an ungrateful
country where we covered up the spit in their eyes and the orange spots on their skin. However you felt about the war,
be it Hawk or Dove, it still remains an ugly chancre on the countries penis that won't heal.
It is no wonder the country wanted to forget those ten years. Although I don't know what was accomplished
by doing this. Certainly not closure. The end result, what I see, was the loss of this wonderful spirit of young
people becoming aware, learning, sharing. Instead we saw the emergence of the Yuppie. Thank you Michael J. Fox.
I understand about putting the pain in the past, but this time I think
we threw out the baby with the bath water. When you consider the contributions made by the hippy generation in art,
music, and social awareness, don't forget about stopping the war or the environmental movement. I consider these to
be the greatest contributions to society since the industrial age although the now ultra liberals have turned these causes
into insanity. So why did hippies get a bad rap? Probably poor marketing. The conservative media was the
only way America saw us. The only method we had for mass communication was music, which worked well, but only reached
our generation. In my latter years I had grown proud to have been a hippy. For the most part we were pretty good
kids. We never did drive-by shootings. We never killed people at school. We did however care about social
injustice. We dared to question policy and put our lives on the line to change things. How deviant.
The movie was nearing it's end. While waxing with empathy it hit me like a ton of bricks. I
knew this guy. I marched for him when he was on trial for weapons possession in 1973. The Gainesville 8.
Ron Kovac was arrested alone with 7 others at the 1972 Republican National Convention in Miami. Founding members of
the Vietnam Veterans Against the War were protesting when they were arrested and for some brilliant reason the courts decided
to have the trial at the Alachua County Courthouse in the heart of the University of Florida. In 1973, the place was
full of hippies. Were they crazy? My god it seemed like an insignificant event for me then a ponytailed seventeen
year old. But now I see it was an historic event I witnessed over 30 years ago. This was blowing my mind.
I was upset to see they ended the movie without a mention of the trial. I began to think about those days I lived in
Gainesville and that next year I spent traveling the country. I was alive then, these were real and important events.
I was there and my presence had value. This was an overwhelming feeling. My palms were sweating, my pulse was
racing and my breath quickened. I felt alive again, so I decided to relive my 1974 journey from South Florida to New
York via Portland Oregon. A trip that would ultimately take me through Breezewood Pa.
Messages From Breezewood
USA, 1974
By Bob Baxter
Dedicated to my wife Lisa,
without whom this book would not be possible
1. Let's get started
I had
arrived at the Tampa Airport from Minnesota about mid-night. Walking up the ramp I got the usual blast of hot humid
South Florida air, which managed to clear my head of the Tony Orlando music from the plane. I was urgently pressing
towards the baggage claim area, terrified that my guitar would not survive the tender care of the airport apes. Waiting
at the carousel, tapping my foot.
"Hey baby brother."
I turned to see my sister. We hugged. My first impression was that she looked smaller. I don't remember
her looking up at me before. Her hair was shorter and much blonder. Slimmer than when she was at home. She
wore bell-bottom jeans that were frayed, with a tight tank top. Who was this girl?
"College looks good on you Dune, how have you been."
"Real cool. I've been hanging out waiting for classes to start. Did you have a good flight?"
"Excellent. This old lady kept getting sick. The whole flight." I said.
"How was mom and dad about you leaving?"
"I think they thought it best. I was just getting in trouble." I picked up my guitar
from the carousel, anxious to inspect it. I ripped off the duct tape I used to help keep the case closed. It was
in good shape with half my wardrobe wrapped around it to safeguard from bumps. I closed it all up and we headed out.
"So what's up with you? You excited about getting out
on
your own?" I got excited.
"Yea no shit. It was
crazy up there. People are up-tight. I loved the country but I need to be here." I stood at the doors
leading out of the terminal again getting slammed by the Florida air. I took in and let out a large sigh of relief.
I looked up at the sky and thought, no moon.
"So what are we driving?"
I asked. We walked to short term parking.
"A bug."
"Cool"
"So how are Danny and Rich doing?" She asked.
"Alright
I guess. I didn't see them much towards the end."
"Your
own brothers?" She questioned.
"I was gone most of
the time." We arrived at her car.
"Here it is.
Aint it cunning?" A 68 VW Bug with no dents or rust. I piled my stuff in the back seat and hopped in.
Fortunately my sister paid the parking. I only had $70 in my pocket and she knew it. She was being awfully good
about letting her broke dick brother come and stay with her, while he learns to get along on his own. Neither of us
knew the magnitude of work that was ahead of me, but at the ripe age of seventeen I was ready. We turned and headed
north onto I-75.
"How far to G-ville?" I was looking
out the window at the country-side of Tampa as the street lights faded like a feathers edge into the darkness of Slash Pines,
cow pastures and Palmettos.
"About two hours." My
sister replied.
"Hey there's the moon." It came out
from behind the clouds and played on the tree tops for as far as the eye could see. How bright it was without the competition
of city lights. I had forgotten how beautiful the Florida sky can be. I thought of a line from a Paul Simon song,
"And the moon rose over an open field".
"So baby brother,
do you want to get stoned?"
"Cool". She pointed
to the ash-tray. I pulled out a nicely rolled joint and lit it up.
"What is this shit?" I managed to say before my lungs burst.
"Colombo Gold" She said as I passed it to her.
"This
is what you get in college hey?" She laughed and handed it back. I hit a little easier this time.
"So how is the guitar working out for you? You still playing?"
"Not as much as I should be. Things have been bad since school was out. I haven't had
a lot of chances. I want to get my drums from home when I get settled and play some rock and roll."
"Yea, you are good on the drums."
"I
would get my old band back together if I could get back to Boca." The radio was playing a Cat Steven's song, "On
the road to find out", and it seemed most fitting. The joint was back to me again and my head was swimming with
the feeling of freedom, joy, fear and oneness with the world. I was to claim it and tame it. Make a life of my
own. Prove it to them and to myself that the whole hippy lifestyle was real and not just a communist plot. But
first I needed a ride and a place to live. Oh well, I'll get there.
"Are you going to bogart that joint much more?"
"Oh
shit, sorry. I guess I'm thinking too much. I can't believe how good this shit is.."
"Just wait 15 more minutes." She said with a smile.
"If I get any more waisted I'm going to call the cops on you. This shit should be outlawed."
2. So this is G-ville
I came from where the
mountains rise. From
where is spawned the
idea of belief in
all things.
We drove into Gainesville and parked
on the street of an old two story Victorian brick house that my sister, and her five college girl friends, called home.
It was located three blocks off of Thirteenth and University. I was very interested in the stories I heard about college
girls, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to check it out. There was one lone lamp lit on the end table which
seemed to warm the whole room. The house felt particularly cozy. There was a door next to a fireplace that led
to a porch I would be sleeping on. Everyone was in bed when we arrived, so I set-up a cot on the porch and lay there
thinking of how I started my day back in Minnesota. When I drove my fifty dollar clunker into a gas station in Rochester.
I walked in and handed the keys to an attendant and told him he could have it. He told me he didn't want it. I
told him it was his anyway. I grabbed my guitar and knapsack out the back and walked away. I recall hitching out
of town, walking backwards when I tripped and fell on my ass. I could hear people laughing as they drove by. Was
it an oman of the trip to come? I drifted off to sleep to the sound of crickets.
I awoke to the sound of Hibiscus leaves rubbing across the screen and crickets. Then I heard the
hustle and bustle of girls. I got up and walked to the door of the porch. One was eating her breakfast as she
was getting dressed. She was beautiful and didn't notice me yet. Standing there in front of the window eating
a bowl of something and staring. The sun shone right through her thin shirt. She turned to me and smiled.
"Good-morning. Are you Bob?" Her smile was like the sunrise. It seemed to fill
the room.
"Yes, how are you?"
"Dune told us about you coming. I'm glad to meet you. I'm Dory."
"Thanks, I'm glad to meet you." She walked over and gave me a cordial hug. I never
felt skin that soft before. She smelled incredible and had the sweetest southern accent. Even Ann wasn't like
this. She had light auburn hair and was like 5 foot nothing. I was enjoying this. She went back to her room.
"See ya later." I stepped back out on the porch and sat
down enraptured.
"Anybody seen my brother?" My sister
was coming down the stairs with her roommate Suzy.
"He's on the
porch." Dory responds.
"Did you meet him?"
Dune asked.
"Oh, let me meet him." Says Suzy.
I walk off the porch.
"Good morning everyone."
"Oh he's a sweetie Dune. Hi I'm Suzy."
"Hi I'm Bob. I'm glad to meet you." She was being flirty.
"Dune has been talking about you coming. She says you play in a band."
"Yea, I play the drums." She gave me a hug. Just as nice as Dory's. Already
I was spoiled. She would have been my choice for a topless hug if I had my drothers but her boyfriend was trotting down
the stairs behind, saying something about a bike lock. Suzy was no more than 4 ft. nine inches with wavy blonde hair.
She was very nice, very voluptuous and drop dead gorgeous.
"Suzy
where's my keys? You had them last." Grumbled Mitch, her boyfriend.
"They are upstairs sweetie. I'll get them." As she ran upstairs I saw a pained, frustrated look on her
face, as if something were troubling her and shouldn't be.
"Mitch
did you meet my brother?" Dune asked. She was putting her books on her bike.
"No hey, how you doing. You gonna be here awhile?" He asked.
"Yea awhile." We shook hands as he looked me up and down.
"Cool, we'll have to do some partying together." He turned and went upstairs.
"I found them." Suzy shouts from the bedroom. Apparently she was the only girl here
that could afford to have her own room.
"Sounds great."
I said as Mitch disappeared up the stairs. Dory emerged from the room she shared with her sister Cathy, when she wasn't
staying at her boyfriends. She was
walking her bike out the door going to economics class.
"See you all later. Nice to meet you Bob." She said with another killer smile.
This time she was wearing a baggy Jesse Winchester Tee-shirt and cut-off shorts. She walked out the door and peddled
away.
"She has a big boyfriend Bob." Dune whispered.
She laughed at my disappointed look.
"I have class in an hour
if you want to hang-out. I'll be back this afternoon and we'll go check out the Mill-hopper."
"Sure but what's the Mill-hopper?" I asked.
"You'll love it when you see it. It's so cool." She pushed her bike out the door, stopped and turned.
"There's some reefer in a box on my table, if you want some.
See ya."
"Bye Dune, thanks." She peddled off and
was gone. Mitch and Suzy came downstairs with their bikes finally ready to head out.
"I consider that a compliment." Said Mitch. He was looking a little defensive.
"Being called a rapper is not a compliment." Suzy said
being careful to hide her anger from me. I had reposed on the couch and was pretending not to listen to them.
She wore a white lacy near see through blouse with sewn-in patterns of flowers with cut-offs.
"Lets go." She snorted. It was clear that they were perturbed at each other.
I thought, how could anyone get angry with someone so beautiful. Another set of foot-falls coming down the stairs.
"Hi, are you Dune's brother?"
"Yes I am, I'm Bob." I stood up smiling. She was also gorgeous, only in a tom-boy
way. Long sandy wind blown brown hair. A soft face with a cute mixture of tan and freckles. The perfect
surfer chick.
"I'm Spacey, Dune and I share a room together.
She's a gas. Did she really jump out of a plane?"
"Oh
yea. The whole family went up and saw it. It was nuts." She laughed.
"Did you?"
"Oh no. Just watched"
I returned.
"Dune says you play the drums. Do you have a
band?"
"Back in Boca."
"Well I hope I get to see you play. I got to go." She picked up her book bag off
the table and slung it over her shoulder. I thought I should ask her something.
"So what are you studying?" I asked.
"Liberal Arts." She sort of frowned.
"I'm not
sure what I want to study yet."
"Well thats cool, you
have the rest of your life ahead of you."
"I suppose you
are right. We're all going to the Mill-hopper tonight, you gonna come?"
"Oh yea. I wouldn't miss it." The screen door slammed as she left. Her cute fanny cocked back
and forth nicely packed into a frayed pair of bell bottom jeans, as she walked out to her car. Another beautiful woman,
I thought. I had strong feelings for Spacey and she wasn't near as scary as Dory. What an amazing house.
I realized for the first time that I had a real chance to score
here. Only that idea scared the hell out of me as much as it excited me. I mean these were real college ladies
that don't fool with little boys. Was I up for the job? This wasn't going to be easy. If I was cornered
and pressed for sex, how could I get out of it without looking like a rookie. Unthinkable. I balled three times
now, but they certainly weren't college girls. These girls were out of my league. Balling them would be far too
risky. These girls wanted someone to get the job done, not fall in love.
I sat on the couch listening for anybody else that might be upstairs. I wanted to go up to my sister's room, but I didn't
want to walk in on anyone that didn't know me. When I felt comfortable about it, I went up. The stairs went up
to the second floor. A bathroom ahead. My sister's room to the right and Suzy's to the left. There was a
gable window at the stairs and one in each room. This was a grand old house.
The room was huge and accommodated Dune and Spacey. Both half's of the room were big enough to house two more ladies
easy. There was a slide up window, on Dune's side, that over looked a small back yard, that needed a lot of attention,
and an easement ally. The gable window on Spacey's side had a sill full of plants and Macramé hangings cluttering
the view of the front of the house. The walls were papered with an assortment of Anti-war, and flower power posters.
My sister had a hope chest at the front of her bed and a quilt covering it. There were end tables scattered about the
room with dressing accessories piled on them. The kind of items you could only find at a boutique or head shop.
School books and papers scattered around looking messy and unorganized. Girls are slobs.
Anyway that's not what I came up for. Where was the box? On the dresser at the head of the bed sat a wooden box
that looked like someone made by hand. This would be the perfect place. The top opened like the top to a pumpkin.
Inside there was a hand-full of almost empty baggies, and one that was half full. I grabbed it and a Zig-Zag.
I went back down stairs to blow some smoke. As I sat down and lit it up I was thinking that this day was going real
good and just got better.
From the other room I could hear two people talking.
Debating really. Someone must have slept late. A tall pale looking man came out of the bedroom in his underwear
and was walking down the hall.
"There's no way I'll ever believe
that until the republicans.." He stopped when he saw me.
"Who are you?" He asked. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head making it an almost sarcastic
question. I must have looked like I just swallowed a canary sitting there with a joint in my hand. I cuffed the
joint.
"So why are you sitting on my couch?" A small
figure poked her head out of the door and looked at me.
"That's
Dune's brother Steve. Don't be so primitive." She laughed. She came out to shake my hand. Steve
looked puzzled.
"Hi guys, my name is Bob."
"I'm Gertrude, this is Steve. Don't worry about him, he doesn't bite." Steve shook
my hand.
"How are you doing. Glad to meet you."
"Glad to meet you to." Handing them the joint.
"No thanks." She said.
"We
have class today." Steve reported.
"So what's up with
you, you just visiting?" He asked.
"No, I'm just starting
out to see where it will take me."
"Do your parents know
your here?"
"Oh yea. I said good-bye to them yesterday
morning and hopped on a plane."
"That sounds so exciting.
I remember when my brother did that." Gertrude added.
"So
far it's pretty cool." I said. I placed the joint in the ash-tray because it went out.
"How many more people live here?" I inquired.
"There are three girls upstairs, three girls downstairs and you and me." Steve replied.
"It's rare that everybody is home at the same time. We all come and go. Wish you luck,
we got to go." They were busy getting themselves together and out the door.
I returned to Mayberry RFD, and my joint. They said good-bye and walked out the door. He was lanky and nerdy.
She was short and lanky and as white as a sheet. Her hair was frizzy and red. She wore a full length summer dress
with a paisley pattern and a blue factory work shirt. He wore bermuda shorts which featured his white geeky legs.
So that was it, I met all my roomies. They all seemed pretty cool. I thought to myself, I finally found a home.
Time to go check out Gainesville. As I said before, we lived just 3 blocks
from Thirteenth and University, so out the door and around the corner and I was in the middle of college life. There
were bars, pizza places, juice bars, head shops and boutiques. People were everywhere up and down the street.
They were all freaks adorned with flowers and roach clips.
Some guy was sitting on the side of the walkway playing a Dulcimer. It looked like he lived there. There
was a few people standing around listening, looking very interested. My first impression was that he wanted attention,
but people accepted him and gladly enjoyed the gift he was giving us. It puzzled me that a guy that looked so destitute
could have so much value.
Anywhere else in America this guy would be given
the bums rush. But in a college town he flourished as a hippie. Playing his music and speaking his mind made him
almost a preacher to the people. The crowd was really listening to his vague and confusing lyrics as if to be listening
for a secret message in the words. Was there any real message? Where had he been, what did he see? These
questions intrigued me. When he finished his song some people threw money in his case. Somebody threw a joint.
He just smiled and started another song. This guy was for real. He had a gig. How did he get there?
The side walk was wide and a bunch of people had gathered around. Two other
dudes walked up and sat with him. One guy had a guitar and the other lit a joint and passed it into the crowd.
Then he played a strange looking hand drum thing. That was a cue for others in the crowd to light up. They pick
up the tempo a bit and broke into a slide guitar blues jam.
The crowd was really
into it. Most of them had sat down and began to groove. The joint came to me so I took a big hit and passed it
to this sweet little brunette honey sitting
right next to me. Incredible tasting stuff. She grabbed it politely,
with pinky out, and took a pull.
"Thanks, I needed that."
She said. She was giggling flirtatious with me, playing on her wasted condition as a means of introduction, as she played
with her hair. I didn't know this yet. I just thought she was bitchin. This was the sort of behavior I was
used to, as it was the key element in my being able to get my ashes hauled 3 times so far in my life. She was real cute,
about 18. She wore only a plaid flannel hunting shirt buttoned only twice on the bottom revealing her breasts.
Confused and self-destructive, my kind of girl. She leaned closer and handed me back the joint.
"This is the best day I had in my life." She said, letting out a huge hit. The smoke
got caught up and loitered in her hair. With the sunshine it almost looked mystical. I leaned down on my elbow
to create a space just for us and hit the joint again.
"I'm Star.
What's your name?"
"I'm Bob." That name sounded
awkwardly deficient.
"I like that name." She rolled
her hair in her fingers and tossed it back. Very sexy.
"I
had a boyfriend once called Comet. That's a cool name."
"Where do you live Star?" I asked.
"Wherever the
wind takes me. Don't you love it?" Her eyes were lit-up with excitement.
"I mean, this day, the sun shining, all these people out on the street. I mean, the street is
where it happens, the people man." She was sitting up now, leaning over to me. Her
breasts were almost
in my face.
"Yea, there's definitely something going on here.
Does this happen a lot?"
"Shit yea. This place is always
happening. The people come out just to get together"
"This
is so cool." I said. The crowd had grown to about fifty freaks. Some were dancing, some were hugging,
others were smoking pot. Everybody was simply enjoying each others company. This was a "Happening".
I read about this in Time magazine from an article about Hippies in Haight-Ashbury. They sometimes lasted for days.
But my attention was changing from the happening to Star "I'm heading out to the Mill-hopper later on today.
You want to come with?"
"The Mill-hopper?" Her
eyes lit up.
"I have to stop by my room, Okay?"
"Sure no problem. How far away do you live?" I didn't
feel like a long walk.
"About ten minutes over to Yulee Hall."
"Maybe we better go." I said.
"Okay!" She got up and grabbed my hand to pull me up. I got to my feet and realized
just how stoned I was. These happenings were serious business. She held my hand as we walked through the crowd
and down the sidewalk. I was checking us out in the windows of the stores when I noticed a concert poster for Tom Petty
taped to the window. On the tape it was continuously inscribed, SAVE ALL URINE. I didn't get it. Was it
a joke or did someone have a genuine concern about something. Maybe a terrible vision. It was way out of my league.
"What do you think of that?" I pointed out the tape.
"Shit," She laughed.
"Someone was tripping. I don't know what to think of it. Maybe he was thinking,"
She stopped and looked away.
"Will we be there till sunset?
It might get cold." She asked. So much for that conversation. I get it. Talk about tape bad.
Talk about her good.
"Probably. Does it get cold where you
come from?" I asked. She let go of my hand and spun around with her arms flying out like a Whirling Durbish.
"Where do you come from." I asked.
"I come from where the mountains rise. From where is spawned the idea of belief in all things."
She stopped spinning. Her eyes were on fire and her smile shone more light than I had ever seen.
"Just like you are." She panted.
"You are truly beautiful." I said. But I was thinking, was this chick for real?
We walked down about three blocks and turned the corner down Thirteenth Ave. The campus began at
the intersection. The property was lined with huge Oaks along the road for as far as you could see down University.
Past the trees it was all fine trimmed grass right up to the collection of brick buildings.
These buildings were familiar to me as I remember moving my sister into one of them when she moved away to school. I
remember her tears as we all hugged in the parking lot outside her dorm as we were saying good-bye That ride home to
Boca was quiet. My mother was upset. My Dad kept putting his hand on her shoulder. My little brothers were
quietly beginning to realize that Dune was gone and I felt lost. She was my rock. The only one that could reach
me. I was now on my own.
"There's my dorm over there."
She was pointing. We walked onto the campus, down the walkway, through a strong current of cyclist and walkers to her
door.
"You have to wait in the lobby because of my RA. I'll
be down soon. Don't leave me." She ran up the stairs and I sat down in an arm chair looking out the window
wondering about all the people that passed through that lobby. How many made it to the top and who didn't. Where
did life take them? The board room or Vietnam? A Rolls Royce or a Plymouth? One thing for sure, despite
their education, most of them went right back to where they started.
"You Ready? Let's go." Star was back. She hop-scotched down the last four stairs and landed on
the floor after a full twist in the air. Then she went limp and fell onto my lap laughing.
"You alright?" I asked smiling. She threw her arms around my neck and gave me the sweetest
kiss. Boy what a pleasant surprise. She hopped up.
"I'm
great, let's go." She grabbed my hand again and we were off.
A small crowd had gathered at the house when Star and I walked up. Some were sitting on the lawn, others in the house.
Dune was there with most of her roommates and a couple of guys I didn't know.
"Hey guys this is Star." I presented.
"Hey Baxter,
hi Star." My sister was looking over Star with a fine-tooth comb. It just dawned on me that she might be
a little protective of her baby brother.
"Star come sit."
She patted the stoop next to her.
"You can call me Dune.
I'm Bob's sister. Where did you find him?" The girls were giggling.
"Lex, this is Dune's brother Bob. Bob, this is my boyfriend Lex." Said Dory. She introduced me
to this six foot five inch jock type with a mug like John Wayne.
"Hey
Lex glad to meet you." I considered him a very lucky man. After all introductions were finished, we passed
around a joint while deciding who rides with who to the Mill-hopper. Some real freaky dude with a revolutionary war
hat on, stuck his head out the door.
"We're all headed out.
Some of us are getting off. See you there."
"Alright,
we'll be along soon." Lex replied. He turned to me.
"That's my buddy Blotter. They're all eating mushrooms." I had tried mushrooms the summer before but
wasn't all that impressed.
"Where's Mitch?" Spacey
asked Suzy.
"He's not coming. Jimmy is coming into town
tonight and Mitch is going out to the farm to see him."
"Where's
he been?" Dune asked.
"Out in Denver checking things
out. He missed two weeks of class though. His parents are going to shit."
"How did he get there?" Asked Dory.
"He got a ride on a freak bus going out to California. He knew some friends on a ranch."
"Shit that sounds so cool." Dune said.
"Everyone I know went out west." Star added. The idea sounded thrilling to me. Maybe I would get
my chance one day. I had no idea how soon that day would come. We all get up and head out the door.
"He took all that tuition money and kissed it away." Lex looked at me shaking his head.
"I don't get it." He was having trouble with this.
His Hawaiian shirt and moderately long hair only masked the upper-middle class up bringing he had.
"I hope he withdrew." Spacey added. We walk across the street to Lex's van.
"Jimmy would never just take off, would he? Just F's." Lex asked Suzy.
"I don't think so." She looked tired of the subject. We piled into this faded blue
Flat-head ford panel truck. I jumped in the back on a mattress covered with a tie-dye sheet comfortably close to Star,
Spacey and Suzy. Dune sat up talking to Lex and Dory. She didn't want to see Star and I getting giggly.
Spacey and Suzy were laying down talking about the farm. We drove past the campus, onto State Road whatever and into
the beautiful countryside of Alachua County.
"So Dune. Tell
me about the Mill-hopper." I asked.
"It's a sink-hole."
Lex said.
"A sinkhole huh?" Star and I laughed.
We had traveled some time. We arrived with about one and a half
hours of day light left. We turned off the highway and onto a dirt road that wandered through the tall slash pine for
almost a quarter mile. Lex pulled up along some other cars parked here and there. Everyone was stretching and
fixing their underwear. Star was spinning again. Lex located Blotter's van.
"I guess they made it." He looked relieved. We were deep in the forest now and you
could smell it. The suffocating heat was starting to diminish with the daylight. You could hear a breeze in the
tree tops, but felt nothing on the ground. All around there was nothing but pine needles and shrubbery. Mostly
Chaucus and Wild Coffee growing out of the base of trees. Lex, Dory and Dune had started down a well worn path that
wandered around trees and disappearing behind a pile of logs that were being used as a road block.
Star and I followed with Suzy and Spacey ahead of us still deep in conversation. Star was chanting something by Jim
Morrison. She had stopped to pick some Periwinkles and was putting them in her hair. She looked so beautiful with
the sun setting through the trees.
The soft warm light found it's way through the small
holes in the canopy and danced on the ground like a flickering candle. I stood in awe, wondering at the vastness of
the forest. For as far as I could see the sunbeams cut through the tree tops like millions of spot lights illuminating
an other wise dark world. The streaks of light would appear and disappear again and again at the winds fancy, ensuring
that the patterns would never be the same through-out the forest. An overwhelming visual sensation. I could see
why Blotter and his friends ate mushrooms.
I took Star by the hand and walked
just taking it all in, when I noticed a great deal of light falling through the trees up ahead. There was a break in
the forest and a big one at that. The vegetation had grown thicker and taller. There were more broad-leafs and
ferns, also moss was at the base of the trees. The trail was definitely going down hill now. As we turned the
corner you could see a massive hole through the last row of trees.
The Mill-hopper
sat in the middle of this huge forest with towering pines growing right up to the edge all the way around. Our trail
ran into another trail that followed the rim of the entire hole. You could go left or right. Through the trees
you could see how wide the sinkhole was, but not how deep. We cautiously walked up to the edge and looked over.
"Unbelievable." I gasped. Star had the look of a child that just discovered a new
playground.
"This is so cool." She proclaimed.
The sides were dangerously steep in some areas but most of the slope had easy paths that meandered down to the sandy bottom.
The sounds of a Sitar filled the air with an eery, mystical melody.
"Someone's jamming on a Sitar Bob, lets go check it out."
"No go ahead,
I'll be down after a bit, I need to talk to my sister, she's over on the other side with Dory, Where's the
music coming from, can you tell?" I asked.
"No, but
I'm going to find out. Hurry down" She jumped down to a rock that led to a very difficult path.
"You gonna be okay? I asked. She just laughed and swung on a root, growing out of the
ground, over to another rock and disappeared behind it as she slid down the back.
"You okay?" I shouted to her somewhere.
"Yup"
I heard coming from somewhere down below me. She appeared again in her decent to the floor finishing up on a path that
led past a small waterfall. The water splashed into a pool and journeyed across the floor of the hole and vanished
into the ground just where the slope meets the floor. There was a guy filling up his canteen in the stream when Star
made it down. They were talking. There was several places on the slope where erosion had uncovered large limestone
rocks leaving balcony style perches sticking out into the hole. A few looked nearly impossible to get to, but all had
people on them. Some were sitting Lotus style, meditating to the music, while others were quietly partying. On
the bottom was a small group of students collecting soil samples.
I started
along the rim path that led to my sister. You could hear people all around, but you couldn't use your ears to locate
them because of the echo. On the far side was another waterfall spilling into the hole about halfway up the slope.
The cascading water formed several small pools on it's journey to the bottom, all splashing over and spilling into each other.
Moss and ferns grew along the terraced waterfall with groups of people enjoying the coolness of the shower. There was
Blotter and his crew on a ledge about 20 feet from the bottom sitting in the last pool of the falls. As I got around
the edge of the hole more, I could see where the Sitar music was coming from. On the opposite side was a dude that looked
like Ravi Shankar sitting on an easy part of the slope picking away. There were freaks sitting around, some were dancing.
Others were preparing a bon fire just below on the bottom.
"Who
is this Star chick Baxter?" Dune inquired as I walked up.
"I don't know, I met her today up on University. There was this happening with all these people hanging out
and partying. You know she stays over at Yulee Hall."
"She
said she went to school. What is she taking?"
"I don't
know. We haven't gotten that far yet." Just then Dory walked out of the brush.
"Boy your in town one day and you bring home a girl. Dune I didn't know your baby brother was
such a ladies man." She smiled and winked at me as she walked by.
"I'm going down, you coming?" She disappeared down the slope. I turned and looked at the bush where
she came from half expecting to see Lex.
"She took a piss."
Dune said.
"I can't believe how beautiful this place is."
"I know"
"It's just so fitting that it's close to a lot of freaks that can appreciate it. It would be wasted on anyone else.
They'd probably want to build a condo on it or a state park or something."
"Right?" She pulled out a joint.
"No, lets wait
till we get down. Come on." I walked to the edge and started down the path behind Dory. Dune followed.
"Hold on Baxter, wait for me."
"I'm right here Dune. Which way did Dory go? The path splits."
"It doesn't matter. They both end up on the bottom." The trail I chose got to the
bottom quickly and didn't involve much walking. I enjoyed jumping from rock to rock, but my sister was complaining.
When we got to the bottom she punched me in the arm twice. Lex and Dory walked up.
"You okay Dune?" Lex asked smiling.
"Look at the sick path he took me down." Dory was laughing with me.
"Lets go up with Blotter, that looks cool." I said.
"They're tripping they're asses off by now, yea, we'll get high off of them lets go." Lex spoke louder. "We're
coming up Blotter, you ready?"
"Bring the sun with you."
Blotter replied. The direct sunlight had now completely left the sinkhole, so I suppose he was talking about that.
We walked across the sand to another path that led away from the waterfall first, then turned and came back to the ledge that
Blotter was on. He was sitting with three friends on the stone taking in the view. The four of us climbed just
above the ledge, where it was drier, and had a seat.
"Now Bob?"
Dune brandished the joint again and lit it up.
"Now Dune, definitely
now".
"Oh yea," Concurred Dory. We sat there
and enjoyed two joints as the last of the sunlight filtered through the trees above the Mill-hopper. The cumulus clouds
towered golden yellow against the turquoise evening sky and seemed to move in slow motion. Very pastoral. The
Sitar music had picked up the pace and many in the crowd were dancing like Dead Heads around the bon fire on the sand.
It looked like everyone was tripping. Totally uninhibited freedom mixed with enough youthful radicalism to really enjoy
it. What a blast. It was dark within a half an hour as the fire became the only source of light. The stars
were very bright, and the sky so clear that you could see the Milky Way. The Sitar music swirled through my head as
it swept up my spirit, spinning it around the hole, turning faster and faster, closer to the fire, riding the melody, until
the heat wave throws me into the heavens drifting through the night. Riding the wind like I was body-surfing a wave.
Rolling over and over and over, wrapped in a blanket of silk night.
"Here brother, try this." Someone said. I opened my eyes.
"May it serve you well." It was Blotter. He had handed me a wooden stick about the size of a cigarette
with a wire coming out the end wrapped around this chunk of something several times to keep it in place. He positioned
a flame under it and cooked it for almost a minute.
"What is it?" I asked.
"A snort ball." said Blotter. I figured it was a
bunch of roaches rolled up in a paper.
"You do nose hits man."
He blew out the chunk, which now looked like a meteor entering the atmosphere, and thick white smoke bellowed up. I
cupped my hands over the top and took a nose hit until I couldn't anymore. It tasted funny. Not like roaches.
But I liked it. Others scuttled over, and it was passed around. Everyone gave this thing a lot of
attention.
I was anxious for it to return my way. When I got another hit I was sure that it wasn't pot.
"What is this shit." I asked letting out
another big hit.
"Hash." replied Blotter. Hash
I thought. That was hard shit. How did that get here? Probably from Vietnam I figured. This was serious
stuff. Boy if only my old friend Tom were here. He would enjoy this. Everyone in the group that was talking
and laughing now was sitting quietly, staring, burning up from a serious buzz. I felt like glue. The high was
intense, yet at the same time very subtle, leaving one ripped, complete with body rushes. Spacey and Suzy started giggling
uncontrollably. I don't know where they came from, but they couldn't get up. I was concentrating on the shadows
pulsating on the walls of the hole. They had formed a very unique pattern that seemed to be affected by the moving shadows
like water ripples when a stone breaks it's surface. The pattern was changing shapes and colors frequently, without
cue, breathing, as if it had a mind of it's own.
"What happened
to Star?" asked Dune. She crouched down beside me. I snapped out of my dementia.
"She was with the Sitar crowd the last time I saw." My sisters face looked like a clown
face. I decided not to mention it because I knew it was me.
"I
don't see her." Dune said. She looked a little concerned. I searched the crowd and did not see her.
"Maybe she found someone she knew." I concluded.
Dune looked sympathetic.
"Ah Baxter, I'm sorry."
"No sweat Dune, I'll see her again. Right now I'm
enjoying this buzz."
"No shit."
"Does he always come up
with shit like that?, for crying out loud?" I turned and looked at Blotter. He was sitting, staring across
the huge pit with his jaw hanging to the ground. Hanging in his hand was the last of the snort-ball. The embers
glowed one last time and then died. His eyes were getting heavy and he was slumping over more and more.
"No, this is the first time I saw him with some."
"You don't usually see it around." Dune laughed.
"Dune,
this place is such a trip. I could live here forever."
"Some people do. They live up in the woods. Off the land." She said.
"Really?" I wondered about the Sitar dude. Did he live here? Did Star move
in with him? Where did she go. I hope she's alright.
My
imagination began to get the better of me. The smoke had really taken effect. I began to feel paranoid.
Who were these people dancing around the fire? I was way too high. I felt the world closing in around me,
the terrifying realization of vulnerability. When you can see clearly, for the first time, the chaos of nature,
the unpredictability of fate, the clarity that comes from fear. I had experienced Oneness for the first time.
The point where you see yourself walking through the great mega-plex of life, which is the Tao. When all preconceived
notions of self, and others, are erased and replaced with the sobering reality of the human condition. I could see people
for who they really were. A reflection of a spirit that yearns for contact with others. It is the essence of the
hippie movement. To connect with others in a singular idealism. You could see it in their dance. Their auras
had united. It was primal, raw, beautiful, scary. Don't get me wrong, I didn't understand this
at the time, it just felt wonderfully creepy.
"What are we going
to do about Star?" Dune asked.
"I don't know, why,
what time is it?"
"It's not late. I just don't know
how long Lex and Dory want to stay. They have class in the morning."
"I guess I should go find her, but I'm not sure I can get up that hill." Dune giggled, but I was concerned.
"We'll get up over there, it's much easier." Dune pointed
across the hole.
"Lets go check it out, maybe we'll see Star."
"Cool." She replied. We got to our feet and stretched.
"Where are ya going?" Inquired Dory.
"Check out the other side, wanna come?" The three of us walked down the path leaving the
others talking quietly. We passed the fire where Dory and Dune joined the dance for a short time. I wandered around
taking in the magnificent light show occurring within the hole as it gave me the sensation of the stadium effect. Completely
mesmerizing. I looked and looked, but I couldn't find her. The place was too big for me to search at night, so
I decided that I would break the tranquility of the night by shouting out her name when we got to the top of the hole.
She would surely hear me, but she did not.
The ride home was a quiet one.
I think everyone was a little concerned about Star. I figured she found someone she knew or simply took up with somebody
else. I laid back on
the mattress, looking out the window through the blurred trees, watching the moon racing
us home, and drifted off to sleep. I began to dream.
I am located
at the bottom of a small hill sometime late at night. It is winter but there is no snow. I stand behind a row
of houses that follow a road up the hill. That road intersects another that leads behind me and continues somewhere.
There is about eight houses altogether on the corner of the intersection, and little else for miles. I have no idea
where I am, but it looks like the Minnesota countryside. The houses are all lit but empty. It is clear that all
the residents are at one house at the top of the hill, right on the corner. It is an annual Christmas party and everyone
was having a blast. My parents were there with all their friends. I was probably twelve years old. There
are several kids my age and we've been up to our usual monkeyshines. It's a great night.
Looking through the window I see everyone enjoying a good time, all dressed up in their Christmas get ups. I
recognize everyone, but don't really know who they are. The laughs and voices are familiar. Then I know them,
only I can't recognize them.
Suddenly I am back at the bottom of the
hill again, collecting firewood from a cord, when I notice a small fire at the base of the last house. At first I realize
that the house is empty, and the fire is small, so I am not filled with urgency, yet. I finish loading as many logs
in my arms as possible and notice how close together the houses are located, as they follow up the road to the intersection,
right to the party. Looking up the hill at the party going on, they have no idea of the impending danger. I turn
and look at the fire again. I has now burned down half of the house. I'm struck with terror. My heart is
pounding and I can't breath. I must get back to the house and warn the party. I drop the logs and begin to run
up a fairly steep hill, only to slip and fall on the slick ground. Panic begins to pulse through me with every heartbeat.
I struggle to get to my feet but continue to slip with every few steps up the hill. The fire has consumed the house
and has ignited the next one. My mission is crucial now. I must get up this hill. I dig my fingers into
the cold ground and inch upwards. Slipping, grappling, gaining ground, losing. All the time the fire advances.
The second house is gone. Just as I think I'll never get there, I reach the top where the ground levels off nicely.
I get to my feet and begin to run only to be trapped in a time warp that makes me run in slow motion. I can't get anywhere.
My frustration builds. Another house is gone. The night is dark, windy and cold. I can see them in the house,
laughing it up. Why can't they see the flames? Don't they know they're going to die? I'm exhausted from
running, but I haven't gotten anywhere. Let me go so I can warn them. I am desperate now. I'm close to the
house and I can't shout. When I finally get to the door, I open it and walk in like normal. It feels like being
released into the right time. I am greeted by people I don't know, or recognize, and begin to warn them about
the impending fire. For the most part they shrug me off and laugh. I go from person to person to no avail, getting
more and more disillusioned and confused by their seemingly arrogant lack of concern. I can see the fire burning through
the window, and still know-one notices. It is only one house away. I see my parents and gasp with relief.
They will listen to me. They did not, and ask me not to spoil the party for everyone. Screaming for my life I
run out the door and across the street to a corn field that had been harvested a month or so earlier.
Suddenly it is mid-morning on a beautiful sunny day. I am about two hundred feet above the ground, and have an ariel
view of the crossroads just below me. A thick blanket of snow has fallen over the course of the night and makes the
day even brighter. Looking out from all directions I can see the vast countryside stretching endless pure white.
A lone car is carefully slowly plowing down the road, headed in my direction towards the crossroads. I recognize
the corner of the intersection and the remains of the homes that were there only last night. I don't see anybody.
There is beautiful melodramatic violin music around me lending to my somber sadness. There was so much happiness last
night. Now it's all gone, wiped clean from the surface. If only they listened to me. I began to cry.
The remaining foundations are still smoldering in a few spots, but mostly look like dimples embossed on the masking snow.
The car approaches. I notice in front of what was the corner house, that hosted the party, a single figure kneeling
in the snow. It is me, and I'm praying alone. The car pulls up and stops. Two men get out and walk up through
the snow. They kneel on either side and comfort me. The scene begins to fall away as if I were drifting higher.
The two men collect me up and walk me down to the car, we get in and I watch it drive through the intersection and disappear
off to the east. I drifted in the wind, looking down, feeling stunned. I awoke sweating and gasping for breath.
"You okay Baxter?" It was my sister. Thank God.
"Just had a weird dream," I chuckled.
"I'll be alright." We were home. I went right to my cot and hit the sack. I fell asleep thinking
about Star, the dream and the Mill-hopper. What a day.
I awoke
the next morning, again, to the sound of Hibiscus scraping against the screen of my porch. It's late, I thought.
I hope I didn't miss Dory. Maybe I would be lucky and have another morning like yesterday. Maybe, maybe.
I jumped up and dressed myself. No gym shorts today. Except for the shower running, the house was silent.
Who is home?
I walked out to the kitchen to find something to munch on.
What's there to eat, I wondered, opening the door to the frig. It was near empty except for a few large tupperware containers
with names on them. Nothing marked Dune. I'll have her take me shopping when I see her tonight. She was
at work. I closed the door and headed out the back alley into town to find some breakfast.
When I got to University Ave. I saw the spot where I met Star. Know-body is there now, I thought.
Must be too early. Everyone is in class. This bothered me a little. I felt out of place not being a student.
The idea of me going to school however, was ridicules. I'll just be a casual observer for now.
I walked down the avenue until I found The Waffle Shop. Perfect,
I thought. I sat down and had a delicious waffle that hit the spot. Back home, I thought. On the way I stopped
in to a head shop to check out some bowls. I noticed this shop was much bigger than the one in downtown Rochester Minn.
This place was serious paraphernalia. Glass pipes, bongs, small hucas, hundreds of black-light posters, a whole leather
section, papers, snuff, everything. It was incredible. I bought Esmerelda papers and a rolling machine made for
that size paper. Esmerelda's were about six inches long, but normal width. You could role a joint as big as a
small cigar with only one paper.
"Very cool." said the check-out
girl. She smiled nicely and rang me up on an antique cash register. She was wearing cut-off shorts and an artist
smock, thats all. She was very pretty. I grabbed my bag and walked out the door. On the street I found myself
looking for Star. I wondered if I would ever see her again. What did happen? I stopped at a newspaper machine
and got a local paper to find a job. I just hoped she made it home safe. I could go over to Yulee Hall and ask
around, but I didn't know her last name. When I walked in Steve and Gert were in the kitchen.
"Hey Bob."
"Hi guys, how you doing
today?" The screen door slammed behind me.
"Good."
"Anybody know where I could get a job?" I sat down at
the table, and opened the paper. Steve and Gert looked at each other and laughed. Gert pointed at Steve.
"What, him work." She laughed harder. He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"I have a trust fund, what can I say." He began to wash
his dishes.
"I have to wait tables until someone marries me."
Gert said smiling. Steve got busier.
"Or, if I ever graduate."
She finished.
"What are you studying?" I asked.
"Political Science"
"Cool" I didn't know what that entailed.
"What
about you Steve?"
"International Business, I'm going to be
a lawyer." He said proudly.
"Another lawyer, just what
we need." Gert started.
"Oh, and we need more politicians
I suppose." Argued Steve.
"Where is the state employment
office?" I asked.
"Go out to University and go east
about fifteen blocks. Turn right and it's in about four blocks. There's a Post Office there, you can't miss it."
"Thanks Steve, I'm going to check it out." I saw about
a half a dozen jobs in the paper that I could get. They were all listed at the employment office, so down I would go.
"Is anyone else home?"
"I don't think so, I haven't heard any footsteps up there." said Gert. They had finished up and were
collecting their things together to get out the door.
"How was
the Mill-hopper?" asked Steve.
"What a fantastic place,"
I gazed out the window.
"I love it there." added Gert.
"It's so beautiful, I couldn't believe it. There was
a bon fire and people dancing around. Everyone was getting high. This guy had"
"We don't get high." interrupted Steve.
"Steve!" Gert scolded.
"It's alright, that's cool,
not everybody likes it. I'm gonna run upstairs and use the phone. See ya later." I trotted up the stairs.
I was hoping to roll another joint. Dune's door was open so I walked right on in. To my delightful surprise there
was Spacey, fast asleep on her back, stark naked. Laid out like a cadaver. I was love struck. Her tan lines
showed that she wore a very sexy bikini. She was very attractive. I was frozen unable to break my stare, my breath
and heart rate were racing. I became worried that I would not be able to get my sisters dope container without waking
her up. That might be disastrous. I tiptoed over to the table and quietly picked up the wooden bowl. As
I turned my foot knocked over an empty soda can with a clang. Spacey took in a deep breath and rolled over, facing the
wall, giving me an even better view. I couldn't believe my eyes. She wasn't going to wake up. I was in heaven.
She was the most beautiful, totally naked girl I had ever seen. I felt a little guilty about standing there gawking
at her. If she knew I were there, she would probably be very angry. How thrilling. I decided to quit while
I was ahead, and left the room.
I tiptoed down the stairs and out to the porch
where I rolled up a joint. She was stuck on my mind. I wanted to hurry with the joint so I could go back up and
return the bowl where it belonged. I was finished up and heading to the stairs when Spacey appeared in a robe. She looked
at the container in my hands and smiled. I went flush.
"I
see you enjoyed the show." She walked by me towards the bathroom.
"I'm sorry, I didn't look, I didn't know you were there. Really, I'm sorry."
"Don't sweat it. Your not a virgin.....are you?"
"No, no I'm not." I was blushing. She walked by me again with a bottle of shampoo.
"You don't look like one." She commented. She hurried up the stairs and disappeared
in the bathroom. I felt pretty good about myself. I wanted to go up and join her in the shower, but I didn't have
the nerve. I went up the stairs to replace the bowl, and found the bathroom door had swung open revealing Spacey's lovely
silhouette against the shower curtain. I walked in the bedroom and replaced the bowl.
"Did you like the Mill-hopper Bob?" She asked as I was walking by the door. I stopped
and peaked in.
"I sure did, it was wild." She poked
her head around the curtain.
"How did you like that Hash?"
she had a naughty smile. She knew that the wet shower curtain was sticking to her body, and driving me crazy.
"That was great wasn't it, I never saw that shit before."
"Yea, Blotter gets some good shit." She popped her head back in and resumed washing.
I stood there hoping she was going to talk some more. She bent over and I heard the faucets squeak. I headed down
stairs so I didn't look too juvenile, standing around loitering. The phone, I thought.
"Let me know when your dressed, so I can use the phone, will ya?" I called up stairs.
"Come on up." She replied. I went and got my classified
section, and hustled back upstairs with high hopes of more female exposure. When I returned to the room she had finished
drying off and had on a pair of baby blue panties. Her breasts were magnificent, still a little wet and covered with
goose-bumps. Her nipples were very hard from the morning chill, and she made no attempt to hide the condition.
"I can wait if you want." Hoping that she would take me down and rock my world.
"No, that's okay. I don't bother you, do I?" There was that naughty smile again.
"Oh no, not at all." I sat down on Dune's bed, grinning
from ear to ear, and reached to the table for the phone.
"Who
you calling?"
"Employment service." I was paging
through the paper. She had finished brushing out her hair, and was selecting jeans. Nice tight jeans.
"You getting a job?"
"Well, I thought
I should, if I'm gonna get back to Boca. I can't hang around forever." I dialed the number and laid back
on the bed, waiting for an answer. Spacey knew I was watching her and she liked the attention. She was trying
on several different pairs of jeans, and modeling them for me.
"What
do you think?" she said turning around. She grabbed the belt-loops and shifted her pants one last time, looked
up and smiled.
"Too tight?" she was glowing.
She was enjoying this as much as I was.
"I think they look great
on you." I confessed. She giggled.
"Lets try
these. These are my favorites." She stripped out of her jeans and picked up another pair, as a lady answered
my call.
"Hello, job services."
"Hi, I need directions to your location, can you help me?" I made mental notes of her directions
as I watched Spacey continuing in her decision making process. She still had no top on. I wasn't listening.
This was difficult. I probably wasn't going to get the directions correct. I laughed. Who cares, I thought,
I can call back anytime.
"Okay, thanks a lot. When do you
close? Ok, thanks, bye." I hung up and remained laid back on the bed.
"How are these, I think they fit me the best, huh?" She was almost towering over me, happy
that she had my undivided attention.
"I think your right, turn
around." I gestured with my finger and she responded. She spun around slowly, and ran her fingers through
her hair seductively. I was captured in her eyes. We both laughed, and I had to sit up on the edge of the bed
before my excitement became obvious.
"Yup, that's it."
I nodded.
"Then it's decided." she said. She
pulled out a tank top from her dresser and threw it on.
"Do you
like?" It was slinky, and hugged every curve of her body. I decided it was time to lay on a big compliment
so that she would want to do this again.
"You look fantastic,
top to bottom." She smiled from the approval. I figured that sex was out of the question now that she had
put on her shirt. But that little show was better than any sex I ever had. Maybe I should have made a move.
No, she was just teasing. I got up and started out the door.
"See ya later beautiful, I have to head to town. Are you gonna see Dune?"
"No, she'll be home around four." She was brushing out her hair again.
"Bye." I went down stairs and grabbed a shirt and went on my way.
My trip to the employment office yielded four job leads. Landscape Laborer, House
mover, Demolition clean-up and Prefab yardman, what ever that was. The house mover job was in town so I decided to check
it out that day. It was close to were I stayed, so walking would not be a problem. It was a hot day. I could
see that my over the shoulder hair was going to have to be managed. I didn't mean cut. I tied it back with a rubber
band. I was dripping wet after a thirty minute hike to the job. It was across town above the student ghetto.
I walked up to the address that was on the paper. It was an old two story Florida style wood house. The entire
foundation had been hand dug out, in two locations, and replaced with huge steel " I " beams measuring twelve inches
tall by sixty feet long. Immense. By the spacing of the beams, it looked like they needed about four more.
After they placed those four beams, they will slide about four more beams, perpendicular to the originals, making it possible
to jack up the house and back a Semi truck under it, and haul it away. It's a huge job. I know this from the spring
before when I worked on a farm in Minnesota. Typically I hauled hay with this farmer all through the Dakota's, Wisconsin,
Iowa and as far north as Duluth, but that summer our job was to jack up this huge dairy barn, dig out, form up and pour a
concrete cesspool twenty by sixty feet, by ten feet tall. You see, my boss Jim could store his pigs in the barn over
the brutal winter, and have a place for all the manure to collect. He then would use the Methane to power the heaters
warming the pigs and other livestock. Highly economical. The steel beams used here, on this job, reminded me a
little of the beams we used on the farm, only the beams on the farm were wooden and Twenty-four by thirty-six inches, by seventy
five feet long, and we had four of them. I walked up to a guy leaning on a shovel. His hair was matted, and his
teeth were stained green from chewing dip.
"The boss man around?"
I asked. He spit his tobacco and pointed to an older guy leaning into a pick-up truck window. A black guy was
in the driver seat and it looked like he was getting a good ass chewing. The boss looked irate. Suddenly, he drags
the guy out of the truck and punches him in the face. He fell down in the dirt.
"I hope he kicks the fuck out of that nigger." said green teeth.
"What did he do?" I asked. The boss now kicked him in the stomach as the poor guy
tried to get up. The rest of the crew was starting to whistle and cheer.
"Does it matter? he's fucking useless." Green teeth was getting excited.
"You looking for work?" he laughed. The black guy got to his feet and ran off.
Everyone was shouting at him as he left. I felt embarrassed to be white. The boss man was walking up to me, combing
out his hair with his fingers. He stopped and looked me up and down. He looked to be about forty-five years old.
His face and neck looked like he had been working in the sun all his life. He didn't appear to have any sense of humor.
"Your looking for work." He looked down and shook his
head in disappointment.
"Look at you," he spit to his side,
"hair down the middle of your back, you don't weigh a hundred fifty pounds, you look like you never worked a day in your
life." The crew began to chuckle.
"Now son, look around
you at these men." I looked around and noticed that all the men on the crew weighed close to two-hundred and fifty
pounds. Big ugly burly guys with bad attitudes. Apes. I swear, one guy looked like he had one eye in the
middle of his forehead. This was the kind of job you had to take if you were an x-con.
"Do they look like the kind of men you would work with? This is heavy, heavy work. You
couldn't possibly handle it. I'm sorry." He turned and started away. Green teeth had a smart-ass grin.
"Last summer I jacked up a dairy barn and poured a cesspool under
it. Me and another man. But your right, I don't belong here." He stopped and stared at me not
knowing what to say. I looked him up and down, shook my head, turned and walked away. As I was leaving I was hoping
he wouldn't want trouble with me. I decided not to turn around if I heard something that sounded like a challenge.
I got back on the road and started hitchhiking home. I could see the black guy up ahead. He was not hitchhiking
only walking quickly and looking behind once and a while, to see if the rednecks wanted to have some more down home fun.
If I caught up with him I would tell him what I thought of the rednecks. I couldn't believe what I just saw. I
had heard terrible stories about racial hatred, but I never saw it in the faces of others. It was ugly,
juvenile and destructive. Just plain mean. I was shocked by the southern ignorance that was so proudly displayed.
I thought it strange that there could be such a difference in thinking between the college world and the working world.
Idealistic to fatalistic. I heard two short bursts of a car horn. A blue Ford pick-up pulled off the road up ahead
of me. A friendly looking country boy poked his head out the window.
"You going into town?" He shouted. I ran up to the passenger window. There was a shotgun and a
.22 rifle mounted to a gun rack on the rear window.
"Not to far.
Just up to thirteenth." I got in.
"You talking about
441? Runs clear through to Apopka, yup. That's just up here."
He pulled out onto the road. I figured
he was a mechanic by his clothes. He wore dirty coveralls, and work boots stained with grease. A dirty baseball
hat with a picture of an angry old civil war rebel, holding a confederate flag, with the caption "Forget Hell".
He had two days beard growth and half of a nasty chewed-up unlit cigar in his mouth.
"I'm Billy." He smiled.
"Hey,
I'm Bob. How you doing?"
"Pretty fair."
I looked around the cab. The dash was covered with cracker wrappers and empty shotgun shell boxes. Beer cans and
a tool box on the floor at my feet. There was a big spool of 1/4 inch rope and a gaff hook on the seat next to an expensively
groomed white miniature poodle. The dog looked scared, and very much out of place.
"You go to school?" asked Billy. He petted the dog, as it cringed on the seat.
"No, maybe someday. Right now I'm just kicking around.
This little guy looks scared of me."
"No it ain't you.
It's me. I just stole him out of a car in a parking lot. I got the hook and the rope, and I'm gonna catch me a
gator." He spit out the window and didn't blink an eye. I looked at the dog, the hook, the rope and thought,
poor little feller. We were slowing down, I looked up. He was pulling over to the black guy that was ahead of
me.
"He might need a ride." Billy said to himself.
He looked genuinely concerned. I was puzzled. He didn't look like he would be friendly to blacks.
"Where you heading?" Billy shouted through my window. The black guy looked very nervous.
"Hawthorne." He said. He looked at
me and seemed to relax a bit.
"Go ahead, hop in back, school boy
here will get out soon."
"Thanks." He jumped in
the back, unable to hide his smile, and got comfortable. Billy pulled out again. I was impressed with him.
Given what I had just seen, this poor guy in the back go through with the rednecks at the job site. I guess you can't
judge a book by it's cover. I looked through the back window at him. I was glad I wasn't in his shoes. I
knew what it felt like to get beat up in front of people laughing, having been the only protestant kid growing up in a catholic
neighborhood in Poughkeepsie, NY. It sucked. But it didn't look as ugly as what happened to him. He was
lucky to get away, and he knew it. I didn't feel the dog was going to be as lucky though. We were driving by the
campus now headed into town. I could see the big oaks.
"Where
do you want to get out partner?" asked Billy.
"Anywhere
around thirteenth will be great. Tell me something, how do I get to Macintosh."
"Shit that's just down 441, yup. Head south about seventeen miles across Paine's Prairie.
Its a nothing place, so don't blink. You going to BJS Builders?"
"How did you guess that?" I asked.
"That's the only
work in that town." We were approaching my stop.
"What
do they do there?"
"They build prefab homes."
Billy replied.
"What's that?"
"Just go down and see. You gett'n out here?"
"Yah thanks, take care of that dog." Billy just laughed. He pulled up to the light and I jumped out.
"Don't shut the door. Come on up front." He said
to the black guy. We nodded and smiled to each other as he jumped
out of the back, and climbed in the truck.
"Thanks Billy."
"Yup" He drove off as the light turned green. I started walking back to the house. It was about
three o'clock and Dune would be home soon. Hopefully she will take me shopping. I noticed a large crowd of people
gathered over by the dorms. There was a small stage and several people on it with microphones. The crowd was chanting
and raising fists. It was a demonstration. Cool. I wondered what was up. By the time I got there a
dude on stage was sitting in a wheelchair playing a guitar. It was laying on his lap and he was using a bottle neck
slide just like a Dobro. He wasn't singing a song really just playing and talking. He was a Vietnam Vet protesting
the war. This puzzled me a lot. I looked around. Everywhere there were people with long hair and tie-dye
clothes, but on the outside of the crowd were small groups of soldiers dressed in fatigues with walky-talkies. They
were positioned all around the crowd as if to be keeping an eye things. There were many campus police cars parked in
the nearby dorm parking lot.
This was a demonstration, what were the
soldiers doing here? Was this going to be Kent State again? No, they had no guns. It quickly became clear
that the soldiers were behind the demonstration and were watching out for the Man. I felt better. I sat down and
joined the crowd. People were passing around joints openly and cheering when the speaker made a point.
"When you go" said the guitar player. "Your gone for good. Don't think the government
will take care of you if you make it back. They turned their backs on us." The crowd was responding. "I
walked through the airport when I came home, and some church group called me a baby killer, and spat on me. When I got
home I found that I couldn't keep a job or get help for my heroin habit. When I showed the Army doctors my orange spots,
they say its nothing to do with the war. Don't make trouble boy. I became gay because of the war. Being
so closely tied to my brothers, I learned to make love where I was forced to make war."
"Right on man!" shouted a dude sitting down from me. Everyone stood and cheered in
sympathy. I was a little skeptical about the gay thing. After he finished, another dude stepped up. He was
in a fatigues, and had a red bandana holding back his long black hair.
"Listen people. We are the Vietnam Veterans Against the War. The VVAW, winter soldiers division. Come
down and sign up. We need your help in this case. Signing this petition will tell the establishment that we are
not going to take this shit anymore. We need you brothers and sisters. These eight veterans have fought for this
country without complaining. Now when they want to be heard, the establishment puts them in jail." The crowd
was now angry and chanting.
"The responsibility is with you. You
make the change. You make the difference. If we don't do it, who will? There are people in the crowd with
petition forms for you to sign. Sign them, please. If the Man knows we're out here, it will make a difference.
Brothers and sisters, these people will go to jail unjustly. This is no democracy if this happens. Preserve your
freedom. They may be coming for you next." He walked off the stage. The crowd was fully charged up.
I found myself throwing my arms in the air. This was very exciting. The next guy to take the stage was Pete Seager.
He was singing "The Farmer Feeds Us All." It didn't turn me on too much, so I got up and walked over to a
group of soldiers. They all had long hair and peace signs. They looked concerned about a helicopter going overhead.
"What's all this about?" I asked one guy.
"Its about telling the Man that he can't walk all over us. You want to sign?" He
handed me a petition.
"What case was the dude talking about?"
I asked. Three more people came over to us and began listening.
"The FBI busted eight of our members for weapons possession during the 1972 Republican National Convention. The
trial is taking place here in the courthouse, and we need your help in getting them set free. We have another demonstration
planned for tomorrow at the courthouse, and then a march through town on Saturday. You up for it?" I took
the pen and signed the paper. Oddly, it felt good. The other people were signing, as others walked up to do the
same. This was very cool, but I was hungry. I started home again. I arrived at the house just as my sister
came home. She pulled up in her bug and got out.
"Hey Baxter.
What's up?"
"You" I said. She grabbed some
bags from the back seat and we walked up to the door together.
"What
did you do today?" She inquired. I began to tell her as we walked in the door. Everyone was coming
home and the house was alive with people putting away the day and getting ready to enjoy the night.
"Dune, I need to go to the store. Will you take me, please?"
"Ya Baxter, we'll go in a bit. I need some stuff too." She walked upstairs and rolled
a joint. When she returned, all the girls met out on the front stoop to get high. I got the impression that meeting
on the stoop was a daily event. We all sat around the steps laughing and joking, passing the joint around. I was
telling them all about the demonstration I saw. Dory and Suzy knew about the case, they called the people on trial the
"Gainesville Eight."
"I signed up as a member of the
VVAW."
"What!" Dune screamed.
"Ya, Those people are going to jail for no reason. You should sign up." I stated.
Dory agreed.
"That's right. They were set-up in Miami by
the FBI." Dory said as she passed the joint to me.
"What
does VVAW stand for?" Dune asked.
"The Vietnam Veterans
Against the War." I replied. I handed the dooby to Suzy. She was getting giggly.
"How did they get set-up?" asked Dune.
"The FBI planted guns and weapons in their Hotel room during the convention last year. Then they were busted really
bad." Dory said.
"Know-one saw the FBI do it?"
Suzy asked.
"No, it happened when they were all at the demonstration
outside the convention. Things got nasty when the police moved in to break it up. The vets couldn't move away
fast enough because they were all in wheelchairs and the police attacked. When they were all in jail, the pigs planted
the weapons." Dory reported. The joint came back to me.
"Thats unbelievable. They were in wheelchairs, and the police attacked them?" Suzy looked stunned.
"They were just demonstrating." I said.
"I don't know Baxter." Dune looked skeptical.
"They have another demonstration tomorrow at the courthouse, and a march on Saturday. You should come."
I said.
"We'll see. We going shopping?"
"Yeah, I need to."
"Bob,
how many people were at the demonstration?" Suzy asked. She was passing the joint to me. Dune intercepted
it.
"I bet there was about two hundred." I answered.
"A lot of long hair soldiers." Everyone laughed. The joint was out and Dune moved inside. I stayed
and rapped with my new roommates.
"Lets go Baxter."
Dune announced as she came back out. I got up and walked with her to the bug. We went to a local grocery store
and picked up some food. As we shopped we talked about last night at the Mill-hopper. On the way home Dune
mentioned going out for pizza and beer with the girls. I thought it was a great idea. I counted the money in my
pocket.
"How you holding out for money?" Dune asked.
"Not good. Down to thirty bucks. I'll find work tomorrow.
At Job Services there's a bunch of stuff."
"Yea?"
"You won't believe what happened at this job site I went to today."
I told her about the black guy, and Billy stealing the dog in order to catch a gator. I didn't tell her about my great
morning with Spacey. Those were waters I did not want to disturb. We got home and put away the groceries.
Dune asked the girls about going out, and it was almost a unanimous decision. Steve and Gert decided to stay home as
they didn't eat pizza or drink beer. I think they only ate Granola. Lex and Mitch weren't around, so I was the
only guy. I couldn't get it out of my head that this place only gets better and better. We all piled out the back
door and down the alley. Dory was very interested in my story about Billy. I had now realized that we were walking
to the pizza place.
"Where are we headed Dune?" I asked.
"Just around the corner." Suzy said. She had been
listening to my story also.
"So he is gonna take the dog, tie
him to the hook and throw him in the water?" she asked.
"I guess, he didn't explain and I didn't ask." Spacey was stunned.
We walked
in the front door of Munches Pizza to be greeted to the music of Jefferson Airplane's "Plastic Fantastic
Lover". There was a small dance floor, off in a poorly lit corner, where six girls were dancing together under
a mirrored disco ball. There was a large bar in the middle. A few pool tables were in the other corner sectioned
off by knee walls. There were a couple of games going on. The place was pretty full. A lot of girls.
We all grabbed a booth and ordered up some pitchers of Bud, and two pies. Dory and Suzy began playing pin-ball.
Spacey took her beer to the bar and was talking to the bartender.
"I
like this place. Is the pizza any good?" I asked. It was me and Dune at the booth now.
"The best." Dune replied.
"Looks
like Spacey knows that guy." She was leaning over the bar so her breasts stood out.
"Spacey knows a a lot of guys." Dune said.
"Yea, she seems to be friendly." I tried not to laugh.
"Oh, I'll say." Dune laughed. The waitress came over with our dinner.
"I think another pitcher is in order." Dune said. The waitress smiled and nodded.
Dory and Suzy finished up their game and came over. Spacey returned and sat down. We all started pigging out.
"Dune," Spacey spoke. "I know that dude from Winter-haven.
He was one of the jocks I told you about we used to fuck all the time." The other girls giggled.
"We used to take those boys out and have a blast." She seemed to be proud of that.
Dune, Suzy and Dory didn't blink an eye. There are no virgins in this town, I thought.
"Does he want to see you again?" Suzy asked.
"Yea, he sure does. But, no way. I don't want him to fall in love." We all laughed.
"Do men fall in love so easy Bob?" Dory asked me. I looked shy.
"Yes it does happen." They laughed again. They were teasing me now and I liked it.
"Well, you all are so beautiful, how could a guy help it?"
They liked that a lot.
"Your good." Spacey said.
"You leave my baby brother alone." Dune said jokingly.
I poured another beer and grabbed another piece of pizza.
"I
am dying to dance." hinted Suzy.
"Ooo, that sounds
fun." Added Spacey. By now the effects of the alcohol were starting to show.
"Who's got jukebox money?" asked Suzy. Everyone dumped out their pockets on the table
to find quarters. Dory grabbed up a bunch and walked with Suzy over to the jukebox. I finished another beer.
Spacey and Dune got up and started over to the dance floor. I decided to stay behind and have more pizza. The
jukebox lit up with Crosstown Traffic by Hendrix as the girls began to dance. The beer tasted good. It dawned
on me that I had not drank since I had arrived. I used to drink quite a lot back in Minnesota.
Although I was having what seemed to be, the time of my life, I knew that it would soon come to a bitter end and I would be
headed for some serious trouble. I would later on find out how right I was. The trouble that I was having there,
not only with drugs, the law and with my parents, stemmed directly from my desire to return to Florida and my friends.
To be the guy I had worked so hard to become once again. A drummer.
In Boca I was known for my drumming. I had achieved a status that made me feel truly unique. Only I could play
the way that I did. Everyone that heard me enjoyed it. But, in Minnesota I was just a crazy long-hair. How
could I have so much value in one area and be so worthless in another? I remembered how it tortured me to love Minnesota
so much only to hate my life. I hadn't figured this all out at that time. I just knew how glad I was to be back
in Florida. My next move would be back to Boca. But first, a job.
"You coming out?" shouted Spacey. They were all dancing and having fun. Spacey and Dory were waving
me out to the floor. I thought hot dog, I love to dance. So out I went and we finished the night spinning and
laughing. I went right to bed when we got home, exhausted.
3. Macintosh
I awoke the next day bound and determined to hitchhike to Macintosh to check
out the prefab yardman job. Billy said it was seventeen miles south on 441. That shouldn't be too hard to do,
I thought. Most everybody was gone by now. I think Mitch and Suzy were upstairs, but I wasn't sure. My sister
was at work.
I got myself dressed enough to interview for a job as
a yardman, ate a bowl of granola and headed out the door. It was another hot day. There was no constant breeze
like you find in Boca. I got on 441 and stuck out my thumb. I also began to walk when there was no cars coming.
I had found that a walking hitchhiker gets picked-up faster than someone just standing. I guess people are more willing
to help you if they see you making an effort towards your goal. Oddly enough, attitude has a great deal to do with getting
a ride. I walked about five minutes before I got my first ride. She was an older woman in a 68' Dodge Dart.
"Come on get in." She pulled up. She looked safe
enough so I climbed in.
"Where you going?" She asked.
"To a place in Macintosh. It's supposed to be seventeen miles
down this road if I wasn't lied to."
"You weren't.
Looking for work?"
"Yea." She drove by Shans hospital
and past a number of apartment complexes built for the college students. We were beginning to get to the countryside.
"I don't usually pick-up hitchhikers, but you looked okay.
My son always thumbs around. I never know where he's at. I'm just going a little ways up here."
"Thats fine." I said. She dropped me off in front of a car lot, on the edge of town,
where she worked as a cashier.
"Bye, thanks for the ride."
I started walking again. The Oak trees were huge and very old. The sound of Cicadas dominated my ears. There
were rolling hills and farms on this side of town. I didn't notice that a truck had pulled up behind me. He honked
and I jumped. He was an old black man in a ratty looking Chevy truck. I ran up to the truck and stuck my head
in the passenger window.
"Any chance your going to Macintosh?"
I asked.
"Get in." He said softly. His voice
sounded friendly enough, so I hopped in. The door didn't shut well. I was fighting with it.
"Don't worry about it. What you doing in Macintosh?"
"Looking for work at a prefab yard."
"I
know where it is." He nodded. He didn't say another thing the whole trip. I stayed quiet thinking he
wanted it that way. We passed out of the woods and farm lands and onto this huge flat wetland. There were Hammocks
here and there, but mostly it looked just like the everglades. This must be the prairie Billy was talking about.
It looked beautiful. I noticed a couple of shacks a mile or so off the road almost completely hidden by sawgrass.
I wondered what it must be like to live in such seclusion. I bet they were some redneck folks.
The prairie ended and the huge Oaks began again. The sign said Macintosh was five miles ahead. I wondered where
this old timer was going. He was too old to work. What was his life like? Did he do the things he wanted
to? Was he alone? What has he seen. Had he ever been treated like that poor guy I saw yesterday? He
wasn't talking for some reason, but why? If he didn't like white folks, he wouldn't have picked me up. Oh well,
somethings I'll never know.
"The BJS yard is right down this road."
He was pointing down a dirt road to his left. He stopped and I got out.
"Thanks." He waved and smiled. No teeth. Off he went down 441. I was left standing
in the middle of a town that occupied only one street. I counted maybe ten homes. There was an intersection with
a flashing yellow light. One corner had a small country store with a gas pump out front. It looked like a nice
place with very little activity. I walked down the dirt road for about a quarter mile when I saw the yard. It
was about five acres with a big truck loading area and a large offload area. The offload area had a forklift unloading
a train car of lumber. It was stacking the bunks of wood, according to size, in piles through-out their storage area.
There was a good size building where you could hear table saws and arm saws. In the yard there was about a dozen broad
tables where you could lay out two by fours and assemble prefab walls of all shapes and sizes. The workers were busy
at all the stations. All the air nail-guns made it sound like a pellet gun range. A flat-bed truck was pulling
out fully loaded with walls and pieces of house. He honked twice as he drove passed me. It looked like a cool
place to work. I passed through the open chain link gate and walked up a short staircase to an office door at the end
of a rusted tin roof saw house. The yard went silent. No shouting, no nail-guns. I stopped and looked at
everyone. They were all looking at me. I was getting nervous, why were they doing this. The men working
on the tables were young white guys, with short hair. They were sun scorched and red-necked, and I was pale and long-haired.
I was now very nervous. The door burst opened. It was the boss man coming out to scream at the crew.
"Get your asses back to work." flailing his arms. The crew started laughing and slowly
returned to work.
"Don't worry about them, they don't mean no
harm. Come on in." He opened the door and we went inside.
"I'm Henry." He stuck out his hand.
"I'm Bob,
how you doing?" We shook hands.
"You traveled far?"
He pointed to the water cooler.
"Thanks, not too far. Gainesville."
I grabbed a drink.
"Gainesville!" I followed him back
into his office.
"Sit down son." He took his chair.
"I assume your here for work."
"Thats right, I got your address at the Job Services office back in town." I sat down.
"Good," He put an application on a clipboard and handed
it to me.
"Fill out what you can on the bottom, everything on
top." I grabbed a pen off his desk and began to apply.
"So
tell me a little bit about yourself Bob." He leaned back in his swivel chair, behind his desk, and stared out the
window.
"Well," I paused and thought. What message
should I give? Headed out of town, in a few weeks, to Boca or longevity. I looked up to check him out, pretending
to be trying to remember something. I probably couldn't bullshit him. No sense in trying.
"I just got into town a few days ago from Minnesota. I'm down here taking a shot at my own life.
Right now I'm staying with my sister, so I can save some money for a car."
"How you gonna get to work?" He interrupted.
"I'll
hitchhike. I just did. It's not too bad."
"We
start at 7:30 son."
"Well, well I'll leave by 6:00 am.
That'll give me plenty of time."
"I don't know, I need
to be able to count on you. I'd be training you for a special job." He was rubbing his chin.
"I can do it. Just give me a chance." I was getting excited because I felt like I
was getting somewhere with him although he had me, I just didn't know it yet.
"We work forty hours here. No Saturdays or Sundays."
"Thats great!" I finished up the application and handed it to him.
"The job pays two dollars eighty five cents an hour with a raise in ninety days if you work out."
"That'll be fine." I said. He looked at the application briefly and set it down on
the desk and stared at me.
"Well Bob, lets give it a try.
You show up here tomorrow, seven-thirty. Ready to work. I'll have the paperwork ready then." He stood
up and offered his hand again. I was elated. I stood and returned the gesture.
"Thanks a lot." I said.
"I'll
see you in the morning."
"Alright Bob, see you then." I got up and left the office after another drink and headed down the road.
The Cicadas were screaming and it felt like it was 110 degrees. As I walked along under the old Oaks and Spanish Moss
I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. Could I cut it with these rednecks? I remember thinking, how am
I going to get to work? This was the worst of all possible situations. No way this was going to work. I
sat down on a bus-stop bench and lit-up a cigarette not knowing which direction I should go on 441. South to Boca?
Or north back to Gainesville. I wanted to go south but I was stuck and I was just going to have to accept it.
I must stay here, work, get some bread together. Then I can go back to Boca and get established instead of crashing here and
there on couches. That was the only way it could work, and with this job, I had a chance to try. Well that was
the plan.
I stuck-out my thumb and got a ride all the way back to town and for
the next two weeks I managed to catch a ride with a milk truck that would take me all the way to Macintosh every morning.
I worked there with the blacks as the whites didn't like me due to my hair. We would eat lunch together and they would
enjoy my stories of traveling around. Most of them had never been 5 miles north or south on 441 and probably never would.
In the evenings I would enjoy the freedom of college life with my roommates as the trial of the Gainesville
8 continued on giving an air of urgency and turmoil to an otherwise laid-back life. Finally, when they were acquitted,
the Marijuana Dealers Association of America donated $20,000 dollars for a weekend long party to celebrate the victory.
It was all over WGVL.
The time I spent in Gainesville was the most freedom I ever had.
I had just turned eighteen. I loved it but it did scare me a little. It felt like learning how to drive in a 383
Dodge Challenger; very cool but very dangerous. I needed to get to Boca and build my own life. I would feel safer
there with my friends, building my own world. I said good-bye to my sister Dune and the gang and was off again to Boca.
I would not see her for another year.
4. Boca
Raton
G-ville to Boca was a nice hike down 441
to Orlando till you hit the Turnpike south. I had hitched that route several times by now, north and south and was familiar
with the danger zones and such. I always seemed to meet someone cool on that road. Orlando was usually tough with
a lot of fast moving traffic. It also seemed to look different each time I went through. Once you got north of
there, into Ocala or Apopca it got slow and pretty. It always felt good when I got off the Highway in Boca though, and
that's what I was doing this time.
When I would come into town I would
stay at my friend Rick's house. He lived close to the turnpike and his mother liked me. He lived in a typical
Levitown style South Florida middle class development called University Park. I would show up at his door. Rick
would open it and the first thing I would hear was his mother.
"Get
in the shower with him!" Rick would just smile.
"Baxter's
back." He'd look at me with amused distain. He stepped aside and welcomed me in.
Rick was the best guitar player I ever worked with and when I had drums we would make music. My
drums were back in Minnesota with my family. We had played together since tenth grade but as we were two very different
people, we didn't get along very well. We were prone to arguments.
All through high school we would jam out crammed into his bedroom until his mother closed in the car port to make a rehearsal
room for him. It was a great place for all our music friends to hang-out and play. Rick's house gave me a place
to stay while I got a job and a room. I think this was the third time I showed up at his door this year. I was
wearing out my welcome with Rick but he liked me and tolerated my flakiness. Within a week, I had a job and an apartment
and Rick was helping me move into a small efficiency. We went from seeing each other daily to rarely.
It wasn't long before I ran into another school buddy Tom. He was an IBM kid like me, which is how
I got to Boca to begin with in 1968. My family then moved to Minnesota in 1971, which didn't sit too well with me.
So in the summer of 1972 I left Minnesota for Boca thinking I was setting out on my own. I ended up sleeping on his
floor some nights and golf courses on others. I overlooked the hard things about my existence in order to exist.
Tom and I were having fun for the most part and that was good enough for awhile. I was sixteen and nearly unemployable.
Soon I was sick of being the one who never had money and bummed cigarettes. After a disappointing summer I decided to
go home and finish high school.
But this summer was 1973, and he was a Jesus
freak if ever there was one. Everything, and I mean everything he did, everything he said, everything that happened
was tied to spirituality and growth. A completely new philosophy for me. It wasn't long before he had me involved
in a local out-reach center, Koinania, which managed to fill in some gaps. The Christian thing was interesting
to me though I felt a great deal of pressure to become this together confident and happy Christian man. It seemed to
me that the things they were hounding me about, i.e.. responsibility, commitment, were the things one learns in normal growing-up.
All things in their time please.
I found some guys at the center that
needed a roommate and soon was living in an old house right on the corner of Palmetto Park Road and Second Ave., where I could
walk to work at a dry cleaning shop. It was an old CBS house built in the twenties. No A/C or heat except a fireplace
in the living room. There was ten of us when I moved in, but a few guys were leaving for college soon. Two more
were returning to India to do more missionary work and the rest were moving to other situations because of the way things
were going at Koinania. It was getting weird even for me. So suddenly I needed roommates.
It was then that I met Clutch. He was from Portland Oregon. Clutch was 24. When he
moved in there were still a couple of guys from the center there and when they moved out it was Clutch and I. By then
we had learned to get along and enjoyed that time immensely. He had a way with the ladies and would bring home a lot
of woman. Because I worked at a dry cleaners shop, we were always able to dress appropriate for the clubs in Ft. Lauderdale.
Disco was emerging which meant that you had to look good.
One day I
got a call from Randy from Minnesota. He and Matt were on the road from Minnesota and were stopping by. This was
cool. I gave him directions and they were there in an hour. It was a surprise visit. I never expected Randy
to leave Rochester for a hot place like Florida. But there he was. They pulled up in a beat-up Hornet.
"Lip!" He said as he stepped in the open door. That was my nick name back in Rochester.
"No shit. Randy's in Boca." I looked him over.
He was tired and road burnt.
"Got any food?" He asked.
"Come on in." I said. We sat and talked about his
trip while he munched on something.
"Lip lets check out the beach."
Mat said. I spun one up and we headed for the Pavilion. They stood looking out at the turquoise water quietly.
"Beautiful isn't it?" I said.
"You high on life Lip?" Randy asked.
"No, but look at it."
"I can see why you live here."
Matt said.
"Yea it's pretty nice. Look at the chicks."
I'm sure they felt out of place in their long sleeve shirts and corduroy pants. They were definitely out of their element.
We returned to the house after an uneventful trip and hung out. They were on their way to the Keys so they didn't stay
long and just like that they were gone. I thought about how glad I was to get out of Minnesota.
"Stop by on your way back and we'll party."
"Nah, I don't think so, hey. Things look pretty laid back here."
"What do you expect. It's Florida." He took off and I honestly didn't think I would ever see him again.
I had no idea.
During this time I mingled with a variety of social
circles. Tom and the Christian thing was all but over. Rick was working with a drummer that had drums and only
stopped by from time to time. I was friends with most people down at the beach. I had been in town long enough
to be considered a local, but without a doubt the most interesting circle of people I knew were the road people.
I awoke Saturday morning to the sound of the stereo in the living room that had been left on all night.
The smell of sleep lingered in the stale, dank air. Waking in South Florida, in the summer, with no A/C can be a nasty
thing. My two roommates had turned to four as Clutch's brothers, Moe and Jerry and friend, Dime-less Dave showed up
by surprise one morning. I wasn't sure if they had to work or not. I walked to the front door and looked out onto
the porch. There were eight bodies sleeping on the floor wrapped up in whatever they could find.
"Only eight today." I thought. In the Kitchen I pour myself a bowl of granola and milk
and take it in my bedroom. I did this so that the road people didn't see me eat. I was living on about $12 a week
for groceries and had no room for others. After I finished I went out to the porch again. I hear the honk of the
Van that has arrived to pick-up the brothers. In the room I hear scrambling.
"Get up! The Van's here" shouts Clutch. They were dressed and out the door in seconds, amazing.
As I mentioned it was Saturday, so I had the day off. That meant I could hang-out with the road people
and then go to the beach. Boca Raton had a Pavilion on the beach at the end of Palmetto. It is where everyone
hung-out. I would go there all day and see old high school friends and meet new ones. The times were different
then. I would take my guitar with me and end up jamming with other musicians. People would gather around and enjoy
the music, passing joints and sharing the love. The energy was always there just like in Gainesville. I went back
to my room and rolled a joint. The road people would like that.
Sitting on my porch in the morning getting high, was probably the best thing ever. By now the sun was 1/4 in the sky.
I had a favorite bean bag chair to park my ass. I liked it because I could sit comfortably while playing my Guitar which
I was beginning to get good at. The house I rented had a front porch that extended all the way to the sidewalk along
Palmetto, which meant any car making a right turn would pull-up and stop just ten feet from my chair which made smoking more
risky and fun. People would pull-up, look left, right and never know they are providing so much entertainment for the
stoners on the porch.
I unlock the door and stepped out on the porch.
Two bodies were moving and one sat up. He was a shaggy looking dude, well worn from the road. He looked nervous
and stood up. I decided to look puzzled as if I needed an explanation. I always enjoyed the politics of an awkward
situation. He was trying to look submissive with dignity holding onto the ideal that fellow freaks help out fellow freaks.
The other bodies seemed to stay under blankets in case the meeting with me didn't go well.
"Hey brother. I'm Mr. Natural. The people at the beach said this was a cool place to crash."
He reaches out to shake hands. We do.
"It's not a problem
if you don't stay too long." I said.
"There's a lot
of people looking to crash somewhere."
"Right-on brother."
He replied. He looked relieved and familiar to me. I thought for a minute.
"Didn't you walk past here yesterday with some chic singing "Jet"? He nods.
Just then a second body rises up. It's the chic.
"I'm not
some chic." She snorts. A woman I thought. This was the first time we had a chic crash on the porch.
This was a good thing. This meant the possibility of sex.
"Do
you have any food?" She asked.
"Sorry" I
said. Mr. Natural gets up and puts on his pants, as the traffic is waiting at the light.
"I'm going to 7-11, be right back." He steps out of the screen porch and on to the sidewalk.
"I need cigarettes!" cries the chic and begins going through
her pack. I sit in my bean bag chair and light the joint. Her interest peaks. Soon she was sitting with
me sharing the joint and my thoughts. I don't remember her name, but I think she was from Baltimore. She mostly
talked about being on the road with Mr. Natural. She talked like the suffering and struggles they faced earned them
rank of sorts. She carried herself in a primitive way. I don't know how else to describe it. On the road,
needs become ever more basic. An ideal that primitive meant natural, easier, better. A lack of attention due to
a lack of resources. It intrigued me. We could hear Mr. Natural singing on the way back from the store.
She looks in his direction.
"I'm starved." she said.
The others started to stir, prompted by the smell of the reefer. One by one they peeked out to see the day. I
noticed a look that showed real appreciation for getting a good nights sleep. I guess that means safe, clean and dry.
There was a honk from the far side of the intersection.
It was a car full of my local friends headed to the beach.
"I'll
be down later." I shouted. They acknowledge and drive off. These friends weren't concerned about matters
of the road, freedom or spiritual enlightenment from sacrifice and suffering for the cause. No conviction of duty.
I was very envious of them for that and truly enjoyed their company. They just wanted to party and have fun. I
often wondered why there was such a difference in my existence to theirs. I would later find that answer, but there
were many miles yet ahead.
Mr. Natural stepped up onto the porch carrying
a brown bag. The chic, I'll call her Joan, huddles up to the bag as he sets it down.
"What did you get?" Mr. Natural looked at me hitting the joint indicating that he wanted
some. He pulls out a bunch of Bananas, rips one off and hands it to me.
"No thanks." I said. "I just ate." they looked at me as if I had sinned. I didn't
care. He split the bunch with Joan and they just squatted there like a baseball catcher eating off the floor.
"Would you like to eat at the table?" I offered.
"No." said Mr. Natural.
"It's more natural to
eat like this. Better for digestion. Thats why the monkeys do it." The both chomped away like starved
monkeys. Monkeys eat that way, I thought, because they don't have tables. But, maybe he had a point. Maybe
he's on to something. I wasn't sure, I didn't know and there-in lay the rub. This hippy mentality of "Open
to anything as long as it differed from the norm", was acceptable to me because it classified a lifestyle that I believed
was right. Finally the people were on the correct path of human development. A world of no hang-ups, nobody uptight.
Although there was a conflict deep in my gut that made me wonder if it was really true. I sat there watching Mr. Natural
and Joan finish their banana breakfast when Mr. Natural reaches into the bag and pulls out a 12 pack of Beer.
"Beer Time." He bellows. The others rise up and cheer, making introductions as the
beer is handed out. We all sat around drinking and trading road stories. I drank it up like it was gospel although
my gut was asking beer in the morning? I wondered if these people were searching for something or running from something.
Was everyone on the road like this? Were the ideals I believed in true or false? Were the people out west as cool
as I heard? The thirst for this knowledge was driving me crazy. I knew it was out there. I knew it would
hurt a little getting it. I just needed a way to get to it. After the beer was gone everyone packed up and went
somewhere towards the beach. Maybe I would see them later.
Now the sun was shining and it was time to hit the beach. I would walk the three miles to get there so a shower first
would reduce my stink. I would also smear on the Ban de Sole. It would melt during the walk in the blazing sun
and mix with my sweat giving me the deepest tan on the planet. By the time I got to the beach the lotion had soaked
into my skin. After a quick shower to cool off, I was clean. Looking around the Pavilion I notice that nobody
was here. Up and down the beach, only families. Everyone must be down at the Inlet. It was a fifteen minute
walk. The south side had a long peninsula with a Coast Guard station at the mouth. The beach on the ocean side
was completely undeveloped for a mile which made it ideal for nude sunbathing. There was a jetty that provided surfing
for those who wanted to. The Inter-coastal side of the inlet was a forest of Australian Pines that hung out over the
water. There were ropes for swinging but it was dangerous getting back up. Also many guys thought it brave to
jump off the Draw Bridge. People would pull off of A1A to a dirt road that led through the pines to the jetty and a
small parking area. The perfect summer hang-out. When I arrived, I recognized enough cars to know I hit the jack-pot.
Everyone was here. I located a group of some 20 people I knew and the day was on. The guys all had guitars, coolers
full of beer and food. The girls were all beautiful. There was no place better for young people to hang.
The cops never came down to bother us. The Coast Guard guys loved the bikinis and the parties, so what the hell.
It was a beautiful place. Especially early in the morning before the crowds got there. There was usually some
morning freaks there that would just enjoy the moment. Very cool.
My time in Boca went fairly normal through the end of the summer. Tom was out of my life now, off doing something else.
The time spent at the reach-out center had split us up. He had broken it off with his long time heart throb and was
spending a lot of time with his family thinking it was what God wanted him to do. I was spending more time with Rick
playing music due to the fact that there was a set of drums in his practice room all the time, but I was still unable to commit.
Clutch, Dave, Jerry, Moe and I spent the fall and winter hanging out and partying. I could tell the brothers were
not happy though. By spring they seemed itchy and didn't get along well on a day to day basis, which is why I wasn't
surprised that in June, after looking ahead at another very hot summer, that Clutch and the Jerry announced they were returning
to Oregon and Moe and Dave would stay behind in Boca. What did surprise me was that they asked me to come.
"What do you say?" Asked Clutch. I was stunned. I looked in my wallet and counted
a hundred dollars.
"Hell yes!" They all cheered.
This was it. My chance to go out west. I was fired up, only I had a few loose strings to tie up. Telling
my boss and letting people know where I went.
We started packing the
van with Clutches chopper and dune buggy body. It was a tight fit. Just then Rick pulled up in his van with John.
John replaced me as his drummer because I didn't have my drums. He stayed in the van and Rick got out.
"What's up here Baxter?" He looked concerned.
"I'm headed out to Oregon with these guys." I could see he was upset. He was fumbling with his fingers.
"What about the music, your music?" He asked.
"You got John, and I'll be back." I smiled. So did he.
"Yea. Back on my couch." He looked at the brothers very skeptically and turns to
me.
"Don't forget us."
"Never. John keep practicing." I replied.
"You got it man." John smiled and nodded.
"Good luck Macduff."
Rick shook my hand and after an awkward pause climbed back in his van and left. I wouldn't see him again for a year.
I threw my pack and guitar in the van and almost climbed in before I remembered that I had forgotten someone. I walked
down to the 7-11 and called my folks in Minnesota. My Mom was surprised but supportive.
"Your what?" She said.
"I'm
going to Oregon with my roommates."
"Well," She
paused.
"We're moving to New York again."
"Your what?" I was stunned. This was different. Where would they be?
"Where in New York?" I asked.
"Wappingers
Falls. Close to Poughkeepsie."
"Well that's cool.
Are you happy?"
"Oh Yes. Very happy. Many old
friends to find."
"Yea, well how will I contact you?"
"You will have to get to where you are going and call this number
and it will give you the new on."
"Yes it will. Very
good." I paused.
"We're all on the move again."
She laughed.
"Yes we are, we're Baxters." She replied.
She continued.
"Bob how are you going to get back from Oregon?"
"I don't know yet, but it will happen." She sighed but
I didn't think it was one of relief.
" Mom, I'll be alright.
I'm going to go see the country."
"I know Bob and I'm happy
for you. Just be careful."
"I will. I'll call
you from Oregon. Bye bye."
"Good bye Bob."
She hung up. I walked on. I was a bit stunned from the news of them moving. This gave my trip a whole new
meaning. I was going out into the wild and I didn't have a parental home to return to. This made it a little more
scary.
I then went into the dry cleaners and told my boss I was leaving
in an hour and I wanted him to understand. I was going to put him in a spot by leaving, but I still needed his blessings.
I remember how cool he was about it. He could see that I needed to make this trip and was obviously excited for me.
He remembered when he was young and graciously encouraged me to follow my dreams. That validated my trip and ultimately
supplied me with the courage to finish the journey. Thank you Jim.
Walking back to the house, I could see the guys finishing packing. I was getting excited. The three of us piled
into the van, filled up at the gas station and hit the road. When we got to the turnpike northbound, I knew I was on
my way. On the road to find out, as Cat Steven's wrote. As we hit I-10 west, I was jumping out of my skin unsure
of what I was going to see. No job, no schedules, no bills to pay, no more identity. This was real freedom.
The wind through my long hair as the late afternoon turned into evening. We hit the pan-handle as the sun set on the
Gulf Coast. It was much more rustic than South Florida beaches, but every bit as beautiful. The three of us drove
through Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, trying not to smoke all the pot, although we were a bit concerned about driving through
Texas with it.
5. Southern Hospitality
We had turned off I-10 and headed northwest above New Orleans to Shreveport.
When morning came we pulled over to a greasy spoon to get some breakfast. We walked into an empty restaurant, with the
exception of a trucker sitting in the corner waiting for his food. There were three waitresses standing at the counter
talking to each other. They ignored us as we walk in and sit down at a clean table.
"I don't like it." said Clutch.
"What's
wrong?" I asked nervously. I was under the impression that long hair in Louisiana was a bad thing, so I wasn't
looking for trouble.
"Me either." said Jerry. He looked
perturbed.
"What's wrong?" I ask again. They didn't
answer.
"People here are ignorant." Clutch said quietly.
He was signaling to one the waitresses. They all looked at us indifferent and kept on talking. Clutch looked at
Jerry, then me.
"Some people don't know how to act."
He grumbled. Jerry just sneered.
"Excuse me, excuse me."
Clutch got one of the girls to walk over. She stood at the table without saying a word.
"We'd like to order." He said.
"Okay."
She sighed. She takes out a pad ready to take orders. Clutch is feeling confrontational at this point.
"I think I'll have coffee." She looks at us, we nod with agreement and she walks away.
"She doesn't think we have money." Jerry quietly says to
Clutch. He nods. I was looking at the pancakes on the menu. I did have money so I was going to eat.
This was a good feeling. She returned with the coffee and we started to relax a bit. She flipped open her pad
and we all ordered pancakes and eggs. She returned to the discussion going on at the waitress station.
"I'm not to sure, but I don't think she turned our ticket into the cook." Clutch looked
startled. Another waitress walked out of the back with a plate of food for the lone trucker in the back.
"What do we do about the waitress?" I asked.
"I don't know." Jerry replied.
"If my food is no good
I'm sending it back." Said Clutch. We waited and waited, patiently. No food.
"If we send it back, they will call the cops." I said. They agreed. The girls could
hear us clearly. I couldn't believe they were not concerned about us at all. I guess they must have felt secure
in there jobs to the point of rudeness. Either the job sucked so bad that know one would take it, or there wasn't any
help in the area. This was different to me because I always thought of a job as something you try to keep. They
just didn't give a shit. The trucker slammed his fist on the table, shoved the food away and walked out the door.
The girls just sat there talking as he left grumbling. The girl who took our order walked over to his table and cleaned
up the mess. Clutch asks her as she walked by.
"Excuse me,
did you turn in our order?" A bell rings in the back.
"That's
it now." She walks back to the girl talk.
The bell goes off again.
"I'll be right there!" she shouts at the cook. After a third bell she begins to move.
Collecting up place-mats and silverware, she sets our table. She arrived at the table with our food just at the end
of our patience. She places down the food and walks back to the discussion. We had no syrup for our cold pancakes
and the eggs weren't cooked right.
"What do we do now?"
I asked. Jerry was eating his bacon. Clutch kept looking to the girls, waiting for her to wait on us. They
noticed we needed something and kept talking. Clutch was starting to get mad. He was a demanding person anyway,
so now he was getting insistent.
"Could you come here please?"
He asked our waitress. She ignored him. Clutch looks at us in amazement.
"Excuse me," she looks at him, "could you come here please?" She walks over.
"Yes?"
"You gave us pancakes with
no syrup." Clutch explains. She walks away and disappears in the back.
"I don't like it." Jerry says. It took about 5 minutes for her to return. She had
a Styrofoam cup and sets it on the table. Jerry picks it up and pours it on his pancakes. We all notice a strange
smell. Clutch picks up the cup and smells it. He is repulsed.
"Molasses." He says. Jerry looked at his meal and smelled it.
"Your right!, This smells like shit."
"Shhh."
I said. "Not too loud."
"This is crap." said
Clutch.
"Yeah, this is bullshit." Jerry replied. I
was eating as fast as I could.
"I'm not paying for this."
Clutch said out loud hoping to get the waitress involved. They didn't move or care. He pushed his meal back from
him and gets up.
"What's up?" I ask.
"We're outa here." Jerry said. We all go to the cash register and wait for the waitress
to attend to us. When she finally arrived she asked.
"Everything
okay?"
"The pancakes were cold and the syrup was molasses."
Clutch complained.
"That's too bad, that'll be $9.57."
She smiled.
"I'll pay you for the bacon, but everything was ruined.
I started to get nervous again.
"Just add up what the bacon costs
and we'll pay for it." Clutch was getting snappy.
"You
should have said something sooner if you weren't happy."
"We
tried but you wouldn't come over to see what was wrong. I called you three times."
"I'm sure I would have noticed you." she smiled again. This wasn't going well.
Clutch was irate at this point.
"You gave us cold pancakes and
Molasses!"
"Sir, you should have said something."
She was getting angry.
"Lets just pay and get out."
I said softly.
"Shut up." Said Jerry.
"I could get the manager if he were here."
"How much for the bacon?" insisted Clutch.
"Four bucks."
She finally said. We threw the money on the counter and walked out the door.
"Lets get the hell out of here before they call the Man." We pile into the van and rip out of the driveway.
That was my first experience with the depression of poverty. I couldn't imagine what kind of world could make
people so arrogant, so low class. It felt good to be moving on. Almost like being saved from that kind of ignorance.
I thought about the girls and how trapped they must feel. No hope of getting to a better place, if they even wanted
to. They probably had useless husbands at home screaming at their eight kids when they are supposed to be working.
Compared to them, I felt like I had a bright future. Perhaps the girls could sense that, and felt resentment.
I doubt they treated the locals that way. Maybe it was just the folks passing through that got the bad treatment.
Resented for having somewhere to go, a life worth traveling for. I began to look for comparison to old "Green Teeth"
back in Gainesville. He treated the black guy real bad, but this was different. We were white. How could
she feel the way she did. It occurred to me that it wasn't white or black, but rather ignorant or educated. She
resented us due to the way she felt about herself. Just like "Green Teeth." You can't do anything about
that. We continued through Shreveport, picking up some food at a McDonalds. That went well. People were polite
and we got what we asked for.
6. In Search Of Coors
We were switching driving every 12 hours so we didn't waste any time. It was my turn to drive.
I drove all day till we were in Texas. I had heard bad things about Texas and was a little nervous about being there.
When Jerry took over driving I was relieved.
"How about some beer?"
I asked. Clutch and Jerry looked at each other and agreed.
"We
can get Coors." Said Jerry.
"Coors is the best."
He said.
"I had it at a party down in Lauderdale once. It
was great. The guy had five cases. He got back from Colorado the night before. It was so cool."
I added.
"I've had it plenty." Clutch snorted.
I was being treated like a rookie because this was my first trip cross-country. They had made many journeys across the
country from Oregon to Florida and back. To them I was just a tag-along with gas money. I felt sure that I would
be forgotten after we get to Oregon, but I was okay with that. I would do my own thing anyway when I got there.
At least I was getting there. We pull into a 7-11 only to get bad news.
"We haven't served alcohol here in twenty years." said the cashier. One more disappointment. We drove
out of the county and found a 7-11 that was not dry. Loaded up with Coors we set out again only this time we headed
north to Kansas.
"Jerry, your driving too fast." said
Clutch.
"We'll be fine." He said. Just then I
noticed the lights coming up on us. It was a cop and he wanted us. Jerry cussed and pulled over.
"I'll take care of this." Clutch says. He got out of the passenger side and walked
up to the police car. The cop hopped out, staying at the car door.
"That's far enough young man." He commanded. Clutch stopped. He said something to the cop I couldn't
make out and then got into the cruiser with him.
"What's he doing?"
asked Jerry.
"I can't see." I said. The tension
was killing me. I had the pot ready to eat in case of trouble. After awhile Clutch got out of the car and walked
back to the driver door.
"Here, let me drive." Jerry
scooted over to the passenger seat as Clutch climbed in. After we got going Clutch started talking about what happened.
"That was close." I noticed he was licking his lips a
lot.
"What?" I asked.
"What happened?" asked Jerry.
"He
gave me a ticket for speeding, so I asked him if there was anything I could do to help this go away. He asked me if
I was trying to bribe him. I said no and he dropped it." There was a pause.
"He said that if he thought that I was trying to bribe him that he would arrest me in a minute.
I ensured him that I wasn't."
"That was it?" I
asked.
"Pretty much, we got lucky." Another pause.
"I need a joint." That was good news and I lit one
up.
"Only two left." They knew what I meant.
We drove that night through Oklahoma and into Kansas. That next morning we stopped outside of Kansas City and found
another greasy spoon for some breakfast. This time the place was clean and friendly. We were out of the South
and it showed. After a great breakfast we hit the road again headed for Colorado.
7. Peace At 14,000 Feet
Just outside of Kansas City we see the first hitchhiker. This guy looked like he had been on the road awhile so Clutch
pulled over and picked him up.
"Far out, where are you going?"
He asked.
"Portland." Clutch replied.
"Dude, I got some reefer, but no money for gas."
"Cool." We all got out and stretched as he pulled his stuff together. He pulls out a bag of reefer and
hands it to Clutch.
"Far out dude." Clutch smiles and
hands the bag to me. I hop in the front seat and roll a joint.
"I've been here for two hours. They call me Trip." He shakes hands. Clutch opens the side door to the
van only to see that there isn't much room for Trip to ride. He just laughed.
"We brought all of our shit." Clutch says. Trip started looking through the crap.
"I see a place." He threw his shit in the van and climbed under the dune buggy body Clutch
had to bring home, and quickly disappeared somewhere in the back.
"You
okay back there?" Clutch asked.
"Cool dude."
Trip responded.
"I'm gonna crash back here as long as I can. You guys can smoke
the dope. It was given to me by a Guru."
"Alright then
lets get going." Jerry said. Trip settled in the back and fell asleep. We didn't hear from him until
that evening when suddenly he stuck his head out and scared the
shit out of us.
"This looks cool, I'll get out here." Trip said. We had no idea where we were, and
I don't think Trip did either. When we got to an exit and pulled over I asked him if this was home.
"Nope, it just feels right." He was looking out the window.
"Somethings going on around here, you just got to find it. You guys keep the dope."
That was a good thing because most of it was gone. He grabbed his shit and smiled as we drove off. It struck
me funny that he would get out like that. Totally at ease with whatever comes his way. How could I become comfortable
enough with myself to feel this way? I was high maintenance compared to him. I was intrigued. As we sat
at an overlook above Denver, he was still on my mind.
"Where do
you think Trip is now?" I asked.
"He was a dirt bag."
Replied Jerry. Clutch remained silent.
"Why?"
I asked.
"He doesn't have a job, he hitches around."
"So what he doesn't have a job, either do we."
"Shut up!" Ended Jerry. When Jerry said shut up, it meant that he had no argument
and was wrong. I didn't think less of Trip. I thought it was cool that he was able to handle the road and the
people you meet there. Maybe that was it. Jerry was basically afraid of the world and criticized it to feel better
about himself. That wasn't so hard to see.
Going over the Rockies was an
experience I would recommend to anyone. Lightning coming out of the blue sky. You could sense the harshness of
the mountains and the
different lifestyle that I knew in South Florida. A sobering reminder of the altitude and
slope was the emergency bail-out ramps for truckers who lost their brakes. This was hard country. Over and over
the mountains. Sometimes the van would drop down into 1st gear just to make it up the hill at all. There were
times I thought the van wouldn't make it. I could tell we were getting out of the Rockies when I started to see trees.
Lots of trees, as far as the eye could see. It was hard to listen to the people telling us to preserve trees when you
get an eyeful of this.
8. On To The River
Once through the mountains we hit the "High Plains."
Probably the most boring place on earth. Billions of miles of grain, again, as far as you can see. This was also
a harsh place as only wheat, rye and switch grass would grow. I was over it very soon.
Looking at my wallet I notice I'm down to thirty dollars and Clutch and Jerry were getting tired of each other and me as I
was them. We had one more day of travel left so I felt comfortable.
We
were on Interstate 84 and had just turned the corner at Pendleton when up ahead I could see it looming and getting closer.
The Cascade Mountain Range. It looked like an impenetrable wall. Steep rock cliffs coming straight out of the
ground and into the sky. The change in landscape was very rapid from rye-grass to forest. Brown to green.
You could see water-falls from time to time coming out of shear rock face cliffs. It was the most remarkable sight I've
ever gazed upon.
The road went to it and then followed
along the face as we headed to Portland along the Columbia River. We were all excited and we began to talk again as
we entered The Dalles. A beautiful Gorge that took the Columbia River to the ocean.
"How much longer?" I asked. Clutch looked at his watch.
"Three hours." Jerry went off.
"It's
at least 4 hours Clutch." Clutch didn't want to argue.
"Bullshit,
that would be the scenic route."
"Are we taking the scenic route?"
I ask. I didn't like the
sound of the scenic route. It sounded like it took a longer time. Besides, The
Dalles were as scenic as it gets. Forests mixed with shear cliffs and waterfalls for 80 miles. It's a natural
wonder to the eye. My grandmother would love this, I thought. She had a wondering spirit too. Probably where
I got it from.
"Yes, we will go the scenic route. We can
stop in Sandy and show Bob No place." Clutch proclaimed.
"We'll miss the Dalles." Jerry returned.
"Bob
will see them when he leaves." Clutch said.
After awhile
we could see it rise up ahead above everything else. Mt. Hood. This as the tallest Mountain I ever saw.
The summit was covered in snow. A strange sight for me in July. Clutch started telling stories about going up
to Timberline Lodge where you could hike to the top in the summer.
"When we get home I'll take you up there." Clutch told me.
"Cool." I replied. We turned off of I-84 and said good bye to the river and south on Route 35 at the foot
of Mt. Hood. The road led through a forest of Douglas Fir and mountain peaks. The forest was very old and the
trees huge. The base of an adult fir can be more than 20 ft. thick. The terrain changed quickly as we got closer
to Mt. Hood. We left the smooth terrain behind at the river. It felt like I was traveling through history.
Once we cleared the east side of the mountain we then turned west on Route 26 up through Government Camp.
These places were very secluded. I could see that this was rough country and that it would be very unforgiving if one
were to venture into it without proper preparations and skills. I felt called to the trees and the mountains.
I wanted to journey into them and discover their secrets. Listen to the music they made using the wind. Feel the
loneliness and seclusion of being in a place that cares not nor has a need for your presence. Free of duty. The
air was crisp and cool and smelled of summer. It was invigorating and scary. I was excited.
We didn't venture to Timberline Lodge, but Government camp was very high up. We stopped at a place
called No Place in Sandy and had some lunch. It was a typical blue collar after work bar. Clutch grabbed a cue
and racked up the pool table. I watch him as he played. I could see in his eyes that he was back in his element.
He was studying the table as if he had $1,000 dollars riding on it. I think Florida was intimidating to him and here
he was King.
As we got closer to Portland the terrain changed again,
sloping down, becoming more like the coast. A great metropolis sprawled out before us. It was Portland.
Clutch and Jerry's home. The sense of adventure changed to one of insecurity as I realized that this leg of my trip
was over and I was going to have to fend for myself from now on.
9. Portland
We drove through town and pulled into a modest home on the outskirts of town. Introductions were awkward as no-one at
the house knew I was coming. I was allowed to stay though because I had taken Clutch and Jerry in, back in Boca.
I did not however feel welcome or comfortable.
We spent the first
week in town partying it up. One of the first things we did was to white water raft down the Sandy river. It was
a popular pass-time up there. We, however, drove farther up-river, passed the place where you were allowed to go and
continued up to a place where it was too dangerous to raft. We had copped a ride with a friend of Clutch. His
name was Duck. I don't know how he got his name. He claimed he was going with us but had no intention of doing
so. He didn't know how to swim. It turned out to be a good decision.
"Come on Duck!" Clutch said.
"No way."
Duck was looking at the rapids with fear in his eyes.
"I'll meet
you down at the park in four hours." He was glad Clutch didn't pressure him more.
"Alright we'll see you then." Clutch replied. Clutch and I launched into the river.
It was peaceful, pretty and quiet. I was wondering what Duck was so worried about. We paddled down stream a little
until we didn't need to any more. The river had picked up speed and moved us along quite well. There were two
men fishing on the bank when we passed. They looked at us in amazement and shouted to us.
"It's illegal to go down the river here. It's too dangerous." This excited us even
more. We paddled faster. Up ahead the river seemed to narrow and the speed began to increase. This
was getting fun now. In the distance I noticed a roar of water getting louder.
"Clutch what is that?" He looked at me and laughed.
"Just keep to the center of the river." I looked down stream and the river began to rise and flow more swiftly.
The noise grew louder. There was a sign that read UNLAWFUL TO SWIM OR RAFT BEYOND THIS POINT. Clutch responded.
"Yes, lets go." He kept paddling faster.
"What's happening?" I shouted in fear.
"Just keep moving, we need more speed." He paddled faster. I matched his effort. Dodging the rocks,
the river took a turn around a large boulder. Then I saw it. Two huge boulders protruded from the river forcing
the entire body of water in between them. The water rose about 5 feet as it passed through the two boulders.
"Go go go." Clutch shouted. I was in a panic. What was on the other side of the rocks?
At this point there was no turning back. A scary feeling.
"Keep
it straight, we're going in." The water picked us up and channeled us through the stones and over a cliff that
dropped 20 feet onto a white water rapid. The raft immediately flipped over tossing us both out. I lost Clutch
and was trapped by the waterfall pinning me to a rock under water. I don't know how I did it but I kept my cool and
inched myself to one side out from under the tons of water pounding down on me.
It seemed like forever but when I surfaced I saw Clutch was clinging to a rock about 50 ft lower on the rapid. He was
smiling.
"Hey Bob, you alright." I just screamed with
exhilaration.
"What do I do?" I screamed.
"Just let go and come down here." He still had the raft and it was our only hope of surviving
the rest of the rapid. I let go and was tossed like a toy over and around the rocks. Fortunately they were well rounded
by the millions of years of water erosion and I wasn't ripped to pieces on them. By the time Clutch reached out and
grabbed me I was banged up pretty good. Clutch looked at the cut on my head and said it would be fine. We looked
at each other and smiled.
"Lets keep going." I said.
"Yes." Clutch held fast to the rocks as I climbed into
the raft. Then he. We let go and it was on again. We paddled our asses off bouncing off of and over huge
boulders and made the last 200 ft. without incident. Close to the bottom of the rapid I looked up at a bridge that crossed
the river. There was Duck. He was standing there watching the whole thing. As we cleared the rapid he was
jumping up and down with excitement and probably joyful that he didn't have to make a water rescue. We waved and continued
down the river as the water calmed and slowed.
I was aching with bruises and
adrenaline. For the rest of the trip, it was peaceful and calm with moments of excitement. There were hippies
all along the river hanging out. Most were naked which was cool. I never saw girls that had no hang-ups about
being naked. The land was beautiful and the day was gorgeous.
Portland
has about 3 weeks that you can call summer. The rest of the time it rains. I caught the summertime.
A few days later Clutch, Duck and I headed up to Mt. Hood. What a sight. We drove for hours
sight seeing by the moon light. It was full and beautiful. To my delight we happened on to a bar in the middle
of nowhere. Clutch and Duck knew the place and explained that if you were here on the right night you could show up
and see Santana performing. It looked like a hunters bar.
We walked in and I was greeted by a stuffed Grizzly bear in an attack stance. I was pretty waisted at the time so it
scared the shit out of me. I jumped back, the bar just laughed. It was incredible. The paws were 14 inches
wide and his neck was as wide as my body which had shuddering implications to it. Right next to that sturdy fella was
a Polar Bear in the same stance. He dwarfed the grizzly by 3 feet and the paws were even wider. His arm was as
wide as my body. It was the most amazing creature I've ever seen to this day.
I introduced myself and we went in for some some beer and food, and looked at the hundred or so animal heads mounted on the
walls. There was quite a crowd of lumberjacks, but they kept to themselves thank god. When we left, the sun was
coming out. We drove off the mountain quiet as mice as the sky changed from dawn to day. Sunrise on the lakes
of Mt. Hood is a pastoral and surreal experience that I will never forget.
Finding work in Portland was a difficult task for an 18 year old with no skills and long hair. I would hitch out of
town looking God knows where.
One day I was passing through Gresham and
found a construction site that was active. I saw two guys pulling the forms off of what would be the basement of a new
house.
Bob Downing was a man that I would dearly love to see again
but will probably never have the chance. He was my first protagonist disguised as an antagonist.
"I'm looking for work, if you have any." I said. He looked me up and down at my hushpuppies
and smiled. He could tell I had walked for miles.
"Where
you from?"
"Florida." I said, feeling a little
insecure. He just laughed. I could tell he was a working man and didn't take any shit. He was probably about
30.
"Ben come here." A young man got out his pick-up
truck. He was about 28 years old. Young and strong.
"I
gotta Florida cracker here. He looking for work." He started laughing.
"Should we keep him?" Ben walked up to me, looking me up and down.
"Lift up your pant legs." He commanded looking down at my shoes. I did.
"See I told you Bob. They don't where socks in Florida," He turned to my face.
"Do you." I just shrugged
and smiled hoping he wasn't going to punch me. I could tell by now these were redneck boys. I was getting nervous.
"I don't know Bob, have you seen his shoes?"
"Yes I have." He paused.
"We'll
give you a chance. The job pays $3.50 an hour, Okay?" I was ecstatic. A job meant eventual freedom.
"When do I start?" I asked.
"We start at 7:30. Do you have a ride?"
"No, I'll hitch."
"Ben drives through Portland. He'll
pick you up. Make sure you get here." Bob said.
"Thats
great, thank you. See you in the morning." I gave Ben my address and headed down the road back to Portland
feeling that I had a chance to get off the west coast. I had no idea what they had in mind when he gave me the job.
Working for Bob was an exercise in pain. The work was
very heavy. Bob and Ben enjoyed playing Drill Sergeant with me. I was young and weak so they let me have it.
One would have to have had a chance to pick up and carry a piece of one and an eighth inch ply-wood decking to imagine what
I went through. They had me running to get the work done. It was the most miserable time I had in my life.
Waking up at 5:30 am to soak my hands in Epson salts so they
would open. My palms were split and bleeding and it was very painful for me when I first got going. Much harder
than working on Jim's farm back in Minnesota.
Bob must have known I was out
of my element. It's the only reason I could come up with as to why he was so hard on me. Still I felt he liked
that I had struck out on my own, and gave me a modicum of respect for it. I think he was trying to get me to go home,
so that I wasn't out there too long and getting too jaded. He never let me talk about my experiences in the past, commenting
that what I had done wasn't important.
"The only thing that's
important is family, and you know what I mean." He sneered.
"If your life doesn't involve your family, then it's a waisted life." I would just shut-up. As much
as I hated the way I was treated, I felt in some way that I had deserved it, so I stayed.
Clutch and Jerry, as I expected, resumed their old freeloading ways living off their grandmother as I struggled at a job that
nearly killed me and after a few weeks of partying at THE INFERNO and eating white crosses I decided to head back home to
Florida.
The people of the west coast had a completely different
idea about life and it didn't sit right with me. There was no sense of urgency, no drive to go anywhere or accomplish
anything. The Fuck it attitude was fun for awhile but I needed more. I needed a mission to validate my time on
earth. Sitting around waiting for something to come my way was a waist of time and life. I didn't travel all this
way to sit in Portland and get wrapped up in crosses and listening to Clutch tell his friends about the cool time he had in
Florida. He was miserable there and apparently he was miserable here. If he would just get a job and stand on
his own two feet, he would feel stronger and wouldn't have to hide at his grandmothers. Be that as it may, I had had
enough of it. Of all the kids living at the house, I was the only one that worked and I was resented for it. I
felt more and more alienated. Once they started asking to borrow money I knew it was time to go. I was not going
to pay to live there, work my ass off, and watch them sit around and smoke up my money.
Leaving however presented a new problem. How would I get out of Portland and back to Florida?
I was stuck. I didn't think I could afford a plane ticket. I wouldn't take another cross-country Greyhound Bus
ride like the summer of 1972. I went from Rochester, Minnesota to Boca. Three days of misery. Then it hit
me. It was my time. Time to see the country the way I should see it. The way the others who's stories I
had heard did it. They hitchhiked. Yes that was it. That was the way.
One morning I explained to Gram, the matriarch of the clan.
"Things are getting uncomfortable here for me," I said. I handed her $100.
"This is for the food and rent. It's all I have. I'll get paid again tomorrow so I'll
have something for the trip back east."
"How will you get
east?" She asked.
"Hitch," She seemed shocked.
"You must be kidding." She snorted. She looked excited
and concerned. She wanted me gone also. I made her boys look like the freeloaders they were and nobody liked that
except for George, Grams boyfriend. An old dude that was a working class stiff. He liked me and I could feel it.
I imagine he was not happy with the boys living off of Gram, but Gram was a hard woman and did not take anyones advice when
it came to the boys. You see Clutch, Moe and Jerry's parents were killed in a car crash when they were very young and
Gram took them in. They learned to manipulate her and she never learned how to counter it. This drove George crazy
but that's how it goes. They were going to have to deal with that sick situation not me.
My ride to work pulled up and I spent another day in hell as if nothing was going to happen.
When I got home that night Clutch and Jerry had already gone out, so I made sure all my laundry was done and mostly packed.
Gram looked suspicious. I could barely sleep thinking about my impending trip. I was more than a little scared,
but also thrilled about what I would see. How would I do out there on my own? Will I be okay? No way to
tell the future but it was without a doubt time for me to break loose from everyday life and write my own story. This
would definitely validate my trip. I would find the people and the life style I was looking for and show the folks back
home I was right. My heart was racing but fortunately I had an exhausting day so I was tired enough to fall asleep.
The next morning I slept in till 6 am. Bob pulled up at the house
and honked. I knew what I had to do. He had my pay-check or else I would not have even gone out to the truck to
face him. But he gave me a job so I owed him that much. I threw on some shorts and walked to the truck obviously
not ready for work. It took all my courage, but I climbed in the cab. He looked at me with distain.
"There's some trouble I got into in the past that just caught up with me. I have to leave town."
I couldn't look him in the eye and my voice fell faint I was so ashamed. He knew I was lying. He took a deep breath
and made it easy for me. He reached into his lunch-box and pulled out my check and threw it on the seat. I picked
it up.
"I'm sorry." I said quietly. I looked
at him, he was looking down so that I didn't see his disappointment in me. I walked back into the house feeling like
dirt as he drove off. Gram was up playing solitaire at the dining room table.
"No work today?" She asked as I walked in.
"I
just quit."
"Quit!" She looked shocked.
"Yup!" I sat down at the table. She looked uncomfortable.
"I decided to leave today."
"You
are? Why?"
"We talked about this yesterday. I
haven't seen Clutch in a week and I'm sick of having my hands look like this." I could tell she wasn't used to
somebody standing up to her.
"You can't take it." She
was being confrontational. I wanted to jump in but backed off. I paused, then held out my hands.
"Look at my hands, I didn't come out here to become a carpenter. " She looked and grimaced.
She settled down at the sight.
"Then why did you come?"
She asked.
"I wanted to see the west and check-out the people."
Just then George got up. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down with us. He gave Gram a kiss good morning.
"Sounds like your leaving." He smiled at me.
"Yes George, it's time."
"Well if
your leaving because of work, I can get you a job at the plant with me. It's not warm but it's dry."
"I appreciate that, but I want to get back to Florida." I replied.
"Well I wish you could have stuck around a little longer. Maybe you would rub off on those boys."
That made me feel good. Gram didn't like it. Know one ever thought of me as an example before. Gram got
up and made us some breakfast while I started to gather my things to pack.
"How you gonna get there?" Asked George.
"Hitchhike."
"All the way?" He could tell I was excited and no words
would change my mind.
"Boy, when you make up your mind, thats
it." I went in the bedroom and got my stuff. Clutch and Jerry were fast asleep. When I came out Gram
had eggs and toast on the table. George was finishing up his when I sat down. It was the best tasting meal I had
in a long time. I felt relieved. I had freed myself up once again and had no regrets, except for lying to Bob.
That didn't sit right with me, but I was going to have to live with that. I could go out to Gresham and try to explain
myself but that was very risky. I didn't want to be convinced to stay. My time here was up and that was all there
was to it. George shook my hand and said good-bye before he went to work. He wished me well and I believed he
meant it.
When it was time to leave there was no-one to see me off.
I had all my shit on my back and was walking down the street when Clutch ran out the door.
"Bob wait." He met me on the street. He looked at me and knew I was leaving.
"Were you going to leave without saying good-bye?" He looked afraid.
"I didn't want to wake you." He reached out to shake my hand.
"I guess we got separated up here. I'm sorry." He was
not good at apologies.
I decided to make it easy on him, like Bob did for me.
"Nothing
to feel sorry about my friend. I don't belong out here and you have your own life to build."
"Maybe we'll meet again back in Boca." He said, although we both knew he would probably
never leave Portland again.
"That would be far out. Take
care of yourself." We finished our shake and I walked down the road hitching through town looking for I-84 east.
I found a bank and cashed my well earned paycheck. I got sixty in cash and eighty in Travelers Checks.
I quickly got a ride out to the Interstate and sat there hitching, looking at the beautiful Columbia
River Gorge thinking of my time in Portland with Clutch. I think back now to the times we had together from Boca to
Oregon. We were inseparable. He was the closest thing I ever knew to having a big brother. He looked like
he felt a little guilty, as if he let me down. I think about my two younger brothers and how I wasn't there for them.
I left them home back in Minnesota where I had gotten into so much trouble. This pained me a great deal. They
were young when I left and I had abandoned them when they needed and looked up to me so much. It is a pain that I still
feel today.
My first ride out of Portland was with a guy who was out raising
money for the Tinitus Foundation. The road was almost clear. We followed the Columbia River along the
Dalles
until the Cascades were in the rear view mirror.
The land flattened out again as the
mountains turned to plains and Rye grass. He drove me clear past the bend at Pendleton and left the road just south
of there. I got out at the highway. It was getting dark and I was a little freaked out about being on the road
alone at night. The first night out by myself. I found a motel and got a room. A seedy place where I took
a much needed shower and tried to relax feeling like I was missing "The Ride."
10. Meet The Locals
In the morning I got a cup of coffee in the lobby and enjoyed the
comforts of home for about an hour before I wanted to get going. I got back on the road and the day soon turned hot.
I got a ride from 3 guys in a pick-up truck right off. I would have to travel in the back. The sun scorched my
face, as we drove for what seemed like days. I remember the terrain reminding me of a model railroad scene of old abandoned
mining towns. Tumble weeds and all. Very brown.
I got dropped off,
quite some time later, on I-84 near Fall River, Idaho. It had been a long drive and the sun was very hot. I was
glad to get out of the back of the pick-up. I was sore and stiff, but when it drove off, I was struck with the wide
and vast desolation of the land. The middle of nowhere. I was alone again.
The wind whistled across the range and picked up sand revealing small tornadoes which would disappear as fast as they
appeared. It was truly barren of life except for some grass. I expected to hear a Condor screech. There
I stood out on the highway with very few opportunities for a ride, thinking that I needed to get through this area and get
some water. It was over 100 degrees. I felt dizzy.
Within
an hour though, I heard a sound. It was like a distant ghost wind. Gazing down the long straight road I could
see a blurry black spot that seemed to drift up and down slightly due to the heat pouring up from the road. It caught
and held me like a dream. Very vanishing point. The sound was now revealing itself as a car. My heart felt
hope. Maybe a ride, some water. As it approached I could tell it was a '63 Impala, and it was slowing. I
got excited and went through the ever present concern about who is stopping. I stepped back as the car pulled up and
stopped. It was a bunch of freaks. I stepped up to the car. They were all dressed in anti-war fatigues and head-bands.
I just smiled.
"Hey dude, you want to go to a party down on the
river?" The driver asked.
"Far out." I replied.
The two guys in the back seat scooted over. I jumped in and we ripped off. This car was a Low ride-da. There
was 5 of us and everyone had all the room they needed. The driver handed me a joint.
"Dude you look like you been out there awhile. My names Paul." He opened his hand
for a shake.
"My names Bob." I returned the shake.
Introductions and shakes went around the car.
"Where you been?" asked
one.
"I left Portland yesterday. I've been dying from that
sun."
"Well, do you have time to go to a party?"
Another asked.
"Time is what I do have. Where's the party?"
"On the river dude. You want a beer?"
The joint went around until it disappeared. We left the highway, that split a vast plain
of brown emptiness huge to the mind, and onto a state road that headed to a place you could not yet see. The sun blazed
hot just like in a spaghetti western, so the idea of a swim in the river was inviting. We were going down to the Snake
River. Suddenly, the earth opened up. There was the Snake River flowing through the middle, winding and meandering into
the distance until it disappeared sharply around a corner. It was a chasm a mile wide and hundreds of feet straight
down. The only road I could see looked little more than a Mule trail. Majestic.
We started to descend into the canyon on a dirt road that was very dangerous to negotiate. On the way
we came up on a dude on a chopper by surprise coming around the corner. He dropped the bike and almost went over the
side. I turned around to see if he was okay. He was flipping us off as we drove away. I was now depending
on Paul's skills to get us down there in one piece. He just finished chugging a beer.
When we arrived there was a party going on. About 200 kids, having the time of their lives.
There were kegs of beer, free food and a band jamming on a make-shift stage. It looked like all the area's young people
were there. I was soon drinking and having a great time enjoying very friendly people. The sun was warm and swimming
was heaven. The water was black like the Sandy River, cold and swift, rich with organics. It must be dangerously
unswimmable when the spring thaw comes and the water is high. The piles of smooth rounded boulders that lined the river
except for a small beach area were immense, with kids all over them getting sun and hanging. Again, many of the girls
were naked which was cool. Something about rivers out here, I thought.
The whole area, up above and in the canyon screamed of harsh, dry unforgiving desert. Deadly as it is beautiful.
These folks were playing and splashing around in the one lifeline, the only source of relief from the scorching burning Plains.
I thought this is how it should be. Children at play in the land of God.
Paul and some others climbed up on my rock and got comfortable laying out on towels. I was happy for the company.
Two of the girls were topless. They asked me about my trip and we talked about Florida.
To get my eyes off
of the girls I would look up the shear cliffs of the canyon until I noticed on the point of the river turn there was a structure
built on the surface that rose almost straight up into the sky tilting ever so slightly to the other side. It looked
like a rocket launching pad that was made in Pisa, Italy. I looked at how it was built for awhile until it occurred
to me. What was it? I pointed up and asked.
"What's
that?
"Dude, that's where Evil Kenevil is going to jump."
The guy from the car said.
"Far-out. I heard about that."
I looked and looked. The girls weren't interested in the least.
"When?" I asked.
"In a few weeks."
Another replied.
"He's throwing a party this week in Butte.
Then he comes down here." I looked back up at the ramp.
"He's gonna die." I said, every one laughed.
"He
can't possibly make it. Look at the angle." I said.
"I see what your saying dude." He lights up like a news flash and turns to his buddy.
"That's it. We'll go to Butte."
"You are so right." Paul replied. Everyone else agreed. Just then a mission formed. Before my
eyes. A road trip. Their kicks for the summer. They were all discussing it while I was thinking, do I go?
After long consideration and a few more beers, I decided no. I didn't think that a week long drunken brawl was in my
interest, or security. I knew what that would be like. It would cost me all the money I had. The driver
of the car turned to the other.
"Go see who wants to go."
He jumped off the rock and disappeared in the crowd.
"Bob you
want to come?" Paul asked. I shook my head.
"No,
my direction is east right now. Not north. But I could use a ride back to the road."
"Oh for sure dude, we won't leave you down here."
"Not a bad place though." I commented. I was looking at the naked girls. No modesty here.
He leans in to talk in my ear.
"The chicks here are hot."
I agreed and nodded.
"One of the girls laying on the rock turned
to him.
"Shut-up." She was beautiful. I had to
change the subject, or roll over again.
"I have some friends to
see in Minnesota." I sat up and stretched.
"All the
way to Minnesota?" She asked. She rolled over on her belly and smiled.
"Oh yea. I lived there awhile back."
"So your going home."
"No, my family moved. I'm
just stopping by for awhile. Then on to Florida." I could see the other dude in the crowd talking.
I wondered how many he could get to go.
" That is so far out.
I wish you luck." She got up and hopped off the rock. What a pretty sight against the landscape. No
tan lines. She walked like a goddess completely confident with her nudity.
The canyon walls started to turn from a bleached hot tan to a saturated, warm golden yellow. The sun had reached that
point in the late afternoon when the light displays all that is beautiful in the world. The colors of the different
rocks in the cliffs stood out clearly now, ranging from hot red to purple and the sky appeared a deeper blue. Very Pastoral.
It was golden hour.
"Paul!. The dude in the crowd returned
up the rock.
"Everyone's coming."
"Too cool." Paul replied.
"Everybody?"
I asked in amazement. They were all very excited.
"The
beer is gone, so everyone's gonna rock the highway to Butte." This was going to be big for them. How cool
it was that they were able to pull it together so fast as if know-body had any commitments. Where would they stay?
How would they live. The freedom of it all. I realize one could ask the same about me, but I was just one.
It looked like all 200 people were going.
Things rapped up shortly
there after. I enjoyed a beautiful and perilously dangerous ride up the steep canyon road and back on to flat land.
They dropped me off on the highway just as sunset hit.
"Dude are
you sure you won't come?" Paul asked.
"Can't do it
my friend. Gotta keep truck-in." We shook hands and I got out.
"That was the best party I've been to. Thank you... for picking me up." They all laughed feeling proud.
The Chevy pulled away and I was on my own again. Drunk, but not stumbling. Departing this little pit stop was
easy. There were no issues to resolve, no one to disappoint. Just good-bye. How wonderful.
As it happened I was able to look back up the Canyon and enjoy the view as the sun fully set. The evening air was cooling
and the breeze was telling me to move on. The golds and yellows had turned to purples and reds and the clouds were streaked
with every color in the rainbow across the biggest sky I've ever seen. The first stars were beginning to appear.
The feeling of solitude and desolation returned to me, only with a view like this, I payed it no mind. I don't think
I'll ever forget it.
11. Turning The Corner
I had partied pretty good that day so the details of that night are a little vague. I
was on the highway about a half an hour when a pick-up truck pulled over. There were two dudes wearing cowboy hats.
They explained they had just finished the Rodeo in Pendleton and they were on their way to a bar above Ogden.
"Sounds good to me." I threw my stuff in the back and hopped up in the bed. The night
was dark. It got cooler too. I pulled out my trusty flannel shirt. The stars were now out and the almost
full moon was climbing. Again I was free. That uneasy feeling of uncertainty mixed with the anticipation of the
unknown. More and more stars appeared as we drove farther into the night. The Milky Way was exploding, arched
like a huge Bow across the sky. Then a glow on the horizon. A city was coming up. To the south the
glow increased. A road sign was coming, Interstate 80 East. That's where I would get off I-84. But it meant
more than that.
This was the point where Clutch, Jerry
and I came up from Denver. I was going on new road I had not been on before. This was now my trip. It wasn't
long before I could see through the trees passing by from the light glow building up behind them in the distance. It
was Salt Lake City. The passing trees thinned and there it was. A large metropolis bathed in light and surrounded
by utter darkness, probably 20 miles away. It almost looked like I was flying in. We turned Northeast on to I-80
East as 84 continued south. Salt Lake panned around to the rear of the truck and disappeared as did I-84. We drove
up a long grade for an hour before the cowboys pulled off the road far above Ogden.
"Good luck." They said.
"Thanks." As
they drove off they took every ounce of light with them, except for the moon. Thank God for that. I was now very
alone, with only a vague idea where I was. It was very late now. Not many rides. I was starting to think,
stuck. It took about 3 minutes before a car came. I could hear it coming a mile away zooming up the canyon.
It was really moving fast. Bad sign. If they're going too fast they won't stop. It took another hour of
waiting before I came to the conclusion that I was there for the night. I was exhausted and feeling hung-over from the
day on the river. Along the roadside was a place where you could roll down the grass and make a bed, which I did.
Sleeping wasn't great but it was something. It was my first night "on the land." Getting comfortable,
I thought about where I was going to go the next day. What would it bring? What was Clutch up to? Where
was Trip? What would Minnesota bring? I didn't belong in Oregon, what about there? Would that work?
What was Ann doing? I fell in and out of sleep with very little rest. I know I slept because I awoke. I
heard a moo. I looked up to see a cow chewing her cud. There was barely any light.
"Good morning dear." I said. I got up slowly. Very sore, hungry and needing
a bathroom. There was no way I was going back to sleep in the now warm grass. I could see cars passing by on the
road. I was glad they couldn't see me. It was just before day-break. I pulled my stuff together and used
the litter box.
Back on the road I felt somewhat rejuvenated
and hungry. I also needed to wash. It wasn't long after I started to thumb, that a truck was going slow enough,
due to the grade, to stop. I was excited. I climbed in and introduced myself. He was headed to Laramie and
didn't mind the company until his partner woke up. He was back in the sleeper. They were both Quakers so I didn't
expect too much partying going on. He started explaining his way of life and it wasn't long before I started nodding.
Last night's lack of sleep was catching up to me already. However, if you have ever tried to sleep in the front seat
of an Auto-car, you haven't lived. It's the worst thing you can endure. It felt like it had no shocks. The
bouncing was unbearable. I managed to fade in and out of a dark slumber. The next thing I recall the driver was
waking me.
"Hey dude, time to wake-up." Said the driver.
I snorted and bobbed my head up. Wiping my mouth.
"Yea!
it's time for me to get up." Said a voice from the sleeper. His buddy poked his head out of the curtain that
separated the cab from the sleeper. I looked startled.
"Hey,
how you?" He said.
"Fine. Sorry I took your seat."
"That's no trouble. I had to sleep. You getting out up
here?"
"Yea, whenever you stop."
"There's an exit up here. It's Laramie. There will be traffic. It's time for the
Laramie Round-up"
It was mid-morning. Close to nine if
I figured right. I was left at the side of the road utterly exhausted and filthy. I looked for a Truck Stop but
there was none. You couldn't really call what I had gotten in the last 24 hours, sleep. I paced back and forth
for awhile until I got tired and sat down against the guard-rail and lit up a cigarette. I was visible to a car
that might sneak up so my mind started wandering. I thought about being on the river the day earlier. I thought
about the warm beaches of Boca, food, the Mill-hopper, Star, the Gainesville 8. I was falling asleep, when it happened.
The ride.
12. A Bit Of Fortune
Up pulled a fancy stretch Lincoln Continental with big set
of long horns on the front grill. It was pink with a Landau roof. One dude driving. He pulled up and rolled
the window down.
"Get in man. You look tired."
Then he laughed like he was at a party. I was ecstatic. He reached down and hit a button in the glove box.
The trunk popped open. This guy looked just like Boss Hog on "The Dukes of Hazard."
"Sure." I threw my shit in the trunk and got in. He tore off.
"What's your name?"
"Bob"
I said. We talked briefly as I was settling into the most comfortable seat I had ever been in.
"You get some rest. I'll wake you when we get to Cheyenne." The Continental, compared
to the Autocar, felt like riding on a cloud. The seats were some kind of fir. Boss had quiet music playing and
didn't seem talkative. I stretched out my legs and was asleep in minutes. I slept very deeply.
When I awoke about three hours later we had pulled into the parking
lot of a Bar. It was nice, not fancy. There were Coors and Olympia signs flashing in the window and it looked
like there was a place to tie up a horse. It was close to noon as the sun shined. I got out and stretched.
Cheyenne was a few miles away north. I could see a large truck stop and the county fair grounds that would host the
Cheyenne Round-up soon. It was dusty and brown in this part of the country. Boss got out hungry for some lunch.
"Come on in, we'll go eat. My treat." He said.
"Sounds cool." I replied. We walked up the wooden
stairs and in. The juke box was playing "Good Hearted Woman". There was a couple of dozen men sitting
around the bar and at tables. Everyone was laughing and carrying-on. Boss was greeting a couple as we sat down.
They knew him here, so I was safe. I relaxed and had a delicious hot meal. I never realized a Hamburger could
taste so good. It was great to be with people that made you feel at home.
When I got back out on the road it was getting mid-afternoon. I was on the highway about 20 minutes before I could see
rain-clouds coming in from the north. I figured I had about 30 minutes before it got to me. I started walking
to an over-pass, hoping to stay out of the rain. When I arrived I could see that the under-pass was a Motel for hitch-hikers.
Up above the concrete slope of the bridge is an area about 3 feet tall that someone can scoot into and get some sleep fairly
protected. I could see the pieces of carpet and boxes used for a bed. I decided to take a second and scuttle up
the slope. I stopped short of going into the cubby and sat on the edge just to get a sense of what it must be like if
someone were to be forced to live like this. There were clothes stuck up in the back of the crawl-space. Most
looked like they were used as pillows. Some bandages. There were boxes and empty packs of cigarettes. Empty
bottles of "Night Train" and "Wild Irish Rose".
What kind of Aqua-lung looking dudes lived here? Why would they? They must be retarded I thought. It reminded
me of the Bar I was just in and the friendly people there. A song came to mind. I took out my pad and guitar and worked
out a little tune.
South-bound to West Virginia,
Destination unknown.
Wish I was riding coach style,
Finding my way home.
Find my way home.
City air got me choking,
Unlike a new day's flower.
Guess I'll up and catch another subway.
Find my way home.
Finding my way home.
Some song writers sing about dying.
Some sing, some sing about home.
Sing loud, sing loud and clear now,
I know, I know you want to go home.
West bound to Ogden, Utah.
There's a place I know.
Come to me early in the evening.
I didn't leave till noon.
Some guy handing out the drafts,
Telling me bout home.
I up and left without saying good-bye.
I appreciate the tone.
appreciate the tone.
I wanted to work in Cheyenne to the lyrics but it just didn't work. Two cars zipped by down below. I kicked
myself for not being there and scrambled down the slope to the road. I couldn't see anymore and the rain was getting
closer. Dread was starting to set in. I lit a cigarette. There was only 3 left. I forgot to get more
at the bar. I sat on the guard-rail patiently waiting. I began to think that I had been lucky on my trip so far.
I couldn't complain about any of my rides or waits.
I
was anxious to get to Minnesota and see my old school friends. I wondered how they had been. There wasn't much
to do in Rochester unless you wanted to work or party. There was many beautiful parks and places where Freaks would
hang-out. We would go to the river bank in St. Paul, what a sight. Or go to the campus at Mankato and party like
there was no tomorrow. Even in the winter time it was fun. In High School I belonged to the Ski Club. After
school on Wednesday we would load up on the bus and head to a local ski slope. I remember as soon as the bus pulled
out of the parking lot of school, everybody would light up joints and start drinking. Of course it was dark when we
got to the slope an hour away so skiing was the best. Night skiing. We would manage to get about 6 hours in before we'd
load up the bus and leave at mid-night. The ride home was pretty quiet after about 10 minutes.
Suddenly a car sound. Out of the west I could see a Volkswagen Micro-bus.
It was buzzing up the highway. As it approached I could see there was one dude driving. He obviously saw me and
didn't turn his head away. Good sign. He was studying me. I threw my thumb out in a friendly manner as a
matter of formality. I could see his arm reach down to shift gears. He was stopping. I knew it. He
geared down and pulled up on the shoulder. I ran to the passenger's window.
"Where you heading." He asked in a friendly voice.
"Minnesota" I replied. He smiled.
"Far out.
So am I. Get in." I opened the side door and threw my stuff on the rear seat. I was thrilled.
All the way to Minnesota.
"You don't mind the company going so
far, do you?" I asked as I climbed in the front seat.
"No.
Not at all. I just got out of the Army and I'm going home. My names Pete."
"I'm Bob. What part of Minnesota?" I asked
"Twin Cities hey."
"That will take you right through
Rochester." I exclaimed.
"Right through."
He smiled.
"That's cool. I got some money for gas."
I offered.
"No I just got a chunk of money. I am a civilian
now." He laughed. Then he reached down under the seat somewhere and pulled out a film vial.
"Can you roll a joint?" He handed it to me. I found a map on his dash board and showed
him I could.
We cruised out of Wyoming and into Nebraska
without any noticeable events. When we stopped to get gas and refreshments it was 4:30. I was finally able to
use the bathroom. It was a pleasure to wash my face and hands. There was a place next door to get food.
I got a couple of dogs and Pete got a sandwich with some large cokes. When we got back on the road he had me drive.
It was a hot day and the coke was soon gone. It was easy to see that we
were coming out of the mountains and onto flat-land. There looked to be one last long rolling hill to go over and then
you could see it. The Great Plains. Very cool. The terrain sloped for what seemed to be 1000 miles.
There were different patches of colors from the plant life that stretched in all directions. The clouds raced across
the sky.
The wind was out of the south and made driving difficult. The
constant wind demanded that attention be paid to the road. Interstate 80 was two lanes at that point, one coming and
one going. When a Semi came at us from the east it was usually traveling about 90 miles an hour. The wind, as
it rushed past would push the micro-bus almost off the road. Very intense. I had to jerk the wheel to the left
as the wind hit just to keep the van on the pavement.
I had been driving
about an hour and was just re-tasting my hot dogs. Pete was fast asleep and I had just hit the roach in the ash-tray
when we rounded a turn. Up ahead stood these two guys in the blazing sun. One was at the top of the on ramp and
the other at the bottom. They were nearly a quarter of a mile away from each other. I didn't know what to do.
I was driving and Pete was sleeping. Should I stop? I wanted to but would Pete be mad and ditch me? I was
coming up on them quickly. I would have to decide fast. I decided to play it safe. Not stop. What
was I thinking about, I was a hitchhiker. I can't drive by them. My Karma would never forgive me, but, it's not
my van. I could now make eye contact with the first one. He was walking out on to the highway clasping his hands
as if praying. He looked like he was from back east. Sunburned and dirty. He looked genuinely desperate.
It was killing me, but I kept going. I buzzed by the first dude as he collapsed on is knees. The second guy was
coming up fast. He was on his knees begging. Inching out on to the highway. He also looked desperate.
That was it. My guilt got the better of me. I quickly downshifted and broke. Pete came to. I was hoping
he wouldn't get mad, but if he did I could speed up now and split.
"What's up?" Pete asked.
"These guys are dying.
I'm gonna pick them up. Okay?"
"Cool, no problem.
The more the merrier." Pete was so cool. I came to a stop just below the second dude. He was jumping
up in the air. I got out to help him with his bags. Pete got out to stretch. I looked up at the first dude.
He was running to the van. He had a ways to go and we were shouting to him not to run. He had a full duffle bag
in each hand and a smile on his face.
"Wait, wait!"
he shouted. We were waving our arms for him to slow down. He did not. He ran all the way to the van bent
and winded. Everyone was making greetings. The first dude was named Tony, the second was Dave. Pete handed
them a canteen of water. They were parched. I picked up the two duffle-bags Tony had ran with and almost broke
my back from the weight. He ran with them, I thought to myself. He wasn't going to miss this ride.
"Bob do you still want to drive?" Pete asked.
"No problem." I replied. We piled everything in the back and hopped in. Soon we were buzzing down
the highway smoking pot and trading road stories. Everyone's spirits were up. We had a pretty day, good company
and a lot of open flat land to travel.
I had driven about two hours when I-80
happened on to an intersection. On the side of the ramp was a chick hitchhiking. She was around 18 with everything
she owned in a pillow case slung over her shoulder. She was smiling and chewing bubble gum. I decided right away
to stop. The others had dosed but I didn't care, I stopped.
"What's
going on?" Pete asked confused. Tony and Dave woke up. They were all looking around when they saw her.
A collective "Oh" came out of the van. Tony slid open the door with a big smile. She ran up to the van.
"Hey guys. Can I get a ride?" She blew a bubble
and popped it. She licked it from her lips.
"Where you going?"
"Does it matter?" She laughed.
"No I guess not, get in." I said. The guys all agreed. Back on the road.
We got a girl. This was so cool. She was real flirty and cute. We liked her right away. We drove all
day until dinner time and stopped to eat.
Pete took over driving that night
and we drove until early in the morning until we pulled over at a rest stop to get some sleep. I stretched out in the
front seat while Tony, Dave and Sherry threw out sleeping bags on the ground under the stars. Pete took his place in
a make-shift bed in the back. We were all asleep in minutes.
I slept
deeply as the night was mild and warm. At one point I woke up to a full moon peering through the window. I heard
giggling and moaning. I peeked out to see bodies mingling under the sleeping bag. They were having sex.
I was jealous, I mean, what am I, chopped liver. I guess sitting next to each other all day took it's toll. I
fell back to sleep. The sun woke up everyone and we were soon back on the road. Tony and Dave must have liked
Sherry a lot because they got off with her in Des Moines. Pete and I went north into Minnesota. I wondered how
long their new alliance would last in Iowa. Also, who was it she slept with last night. She didn't seem to be
more friendly with either one of them. I would never know.
13. You Can't
Go Back
Pete dropped me off on Highway 52 just
outside of Rochester after a fond farewell. I was a half a mile away from my friend Randy's house, so I decided that
would be my first stop. After all I had just seen him in Boca not long ago and I wanted to know how his trip went or
if he had even made it back home. It was a 10 minute walk from the highway. During the walk I began to think about
Ann. Ann was the girl I left behind when I left Rochester for Florida. We had been going out in high school.
She was the only girl, at that point, who really liked and understood me. What a fool I was. Youthful experimentation
with trust and sex. She lived very close, so we spent a lot of time together. Her parents didn't like me.
IBMer's, new in town, weren't liked or trusted by the locals and I was seen as a Maverick. I think that's what she liked
about me. Close by, but not at all connected to the Rochester she knew. She was a social and I was not connected
to anything. There was a time in Boca, before Clutch and his brothers moved in, that I called and asked her to come
down to live with me. A desperate phone call to the mid-west from a Florida phone booth in the night. There was
something very romantic about that. Fortunately for her she wasn't able to break away like I was. She was too
sweet for the life I was going to live and where would she be now. Where would I be with her. Somethings work
out for the best. I got to Randy's door and knocked. He looked glad to see me and asked where I was staying.
"I don't know yet. Maybe get a place in town."
"Well stay here for now. We could use the excitement." He let me in. I was
glad he offered. There was a room in the basement where He and his brother Dan slept. It was the party place of
the neighborhood. There was a large round table that would seat about ten people and also two couches. One I would
be sleeping on. It was pretty seedy given Randys hatred of cleaning. He had taken model paint and painted a mural
of the universe, as he saw it, on one of the walls one night when he was tripping. He once mentioned that it looked
better when he did it.
"Got any smoke?" he asked.
As I sat down and stretched.
"Sorry. I got some money
though if you know anyone."
"You got money! How much?"
he looked interested.
"Enough for a bag." I replied.
He smiled and ran upstairs to use the phone. Randy could always score. I sat down and lit up a cigarette.
He came back quickly.
"Let's go." He grabbed his keys
and we headed up the stairs to his car. A '66 VW Bug. We went into town to a friend of his.
Randy lived in town his whole life and knew all the people I would never meet being an out-sider.
His man lived in an apartment located over a Head-Shop. We went in and I scored some pot. It was a freak flop
house. Sheets for curtains and freaks crashed everywhere. We kept moving from friends house to friends house.
I was already bored with just hanging-out.
The next day I went and got a job
at a factory that did wiring. It was a good manufacturing job that I had trouble hitching to on time, so it wasn't long
before I was looking for another. Job after job, I had problems partying too late and getting to work in the morning.
Summer in Minnesota is pretty care-free. We would go from party to party night
after night in the beautiful evenings of Olmstead County. Most of the keggers were outside. One night, for a party,
we drove right off the road into a cornfield that was ready to harvest. We filled the trunk with sweet corn and took
it to a party down on the Zumbro River, where a crowd had boiling water ready for a corn boil. I can say that I have
had the finest corn in the universe.
Now would be a good time to talk
about farming. When I lived in Rochester with my folks, I had a job in Lake city. About 40 miles east on the Mississippi.
I answered an add in the paper as a hand. When I finally found the farm I met Jim Ferguson. He was a stout, mild
talking farmer in Oshkosh coveralls. We walked around the farm as he explained what he was doing. He grew corn,
soy-beans and sold feeder pigs. I would later find out what that really meant. Jim wanted me to help him with
a side business he had buying, selling and hauling hay. The job would take me all over the mid-west from the Dakota's
to Wisconsin and Iowa. I loved the traveling, but the work was brutal. At sixteen I was not used to physically
hard work.
My other two jobs at the time were shining shoes. I had
two locations. One in town in a tobacco shop and out at the Apache Mall at a hair stylist shop. We used to call
them Barber Shops, but then came the "Style Cut" and cool salons. I had two chairs at each location and I
would get 50 cents a shine with hopes of a tip. I shined shoes three evenings a week and washed pots and pans at Michael's
Steak House in town one evening. The weekends were saved for hauling hay. I did all this as a senior in high school.
As hard as it was, I still enjoyed working hay more than the other jobs. Pots and pans was dirty, and shining shoes
was humiliating listening to the old men telling me to.
"Buff harder son".
On the road I felt free. Watching the world go by from the comfort of the cab was great and Jim was a pretty good Joe.
In the summer it was beautiful and sometimes hot, but the winter
was something else. If you never put chains on a pair of ten hundred twenty tires on the side of the road in the snow
and ice, you haven't lived. To those who don't know how tough a Minnesota winter can be, I'll give you an example.
One morning we were in a barn loading the truck in Wisconsin. It was 5:30 am, and the sun had not yet peaked over the
horizon. The temp was 35 below and I was at the door of the barn throwing bails of hay down to the truck. Jim
was up in the loft throwing down to me. I was pacing and dancing just to keep warm. I had been in the cold that
year but this morning was very very cold and I could feel it. Just then the sun cleared and the light fell on my feet.
The sun felt good and my feet warmed up very quickly. I called up to Jim.
"The sun is great Jim. Come on down." He stopped and looked down to me.
"You warm up hey?"
"Yea, just when
the sun hit. My feet are toasty" He looked concerned.
"Did they warm up quick?"
"Super quick."
I replied feeling comfortable.
"Son of bitch." He cried
out in anger. I was wondering what his problem was.
"Just
when ya get going, they get ya. Son of a bitch." He looked at me in pity and began to climb down from
the loft. He always made a reference to "They" when things went wrong. As if there were some forces
in the world stopping him from getting ahead.
"What's wrong Jim?"
I asked as he got down to me.
"Lets get down to the cab."
He said. I didn't know what was wrong. I thought he was going to fire me for whatever reason. We got to
the cab and both climbed in. He started the motor and turned on the heat.
"Jim I feel fine. You don't have to do this."
"Say?"
"My feet feel great now." I said.
"No, take off your boots, lets have look." I started to untie them.
"For what? Why are we doing this?"
"Well, I hope I'm wrong." I went to take the first boot off when I noticed that the leather was sticking to
my skin. It burned a little. I got scared.
"What's
this Jim, what's going on?" Jim took over removing the boot.
"You gotta be careful." He worked the boot off slowly. When the boot came off my socks were still frozen.
He pulled it back and I could see my skin was blue.
"Jim what's is
it, why is it blue?" I panicked.
"It looks like you'll be okay."
He started on the other boot.
"Your feet almost froze. Your lucky."
He looked at me in pity.
"What's gonna happen?" I asked.
"They're going to be sore while they warm up." I could feel the heat beginning
to flow from the dash.
"You stay here, Bill and I will finish up."
We had an extra hand that day.
"Jim what's going to happen to my feet?"
"Well, your feet will get cold pretty quick from now on."
"For life?" I asked.
"Probably.
The capillaries go bad and your feet won't be able to warm up. It happens a lot up here. Just then I felt the
first pain in my feet.
"It hurts already?"
"Yes!" Jim looked happy.
"That's a good
sign. The sooner you feel pain, the less the damage." My feet began to throb. They were hurting very
badly now.
"I'm going back. You stay here and warm up."
"Thanks Jim."
For the next hour I
lay on the seat curled up crying. It was the most pain I had ever felt and to this day my feet still get cold easily,
even down here in Florida.
When the summer finally came around you could find
me doing odd jobs around the farm when we weren't on the road. One day I showed up and we went out to cut the
corn from the beans. I guess when a tornado hits a corn field the seed can spread for miles.
The grossest job I did on the farm was dealing with the pigs. Jim had about two dozen sows and a couple of males.
When a sow got pregnant we had to move her into the farrowing house to have her pups. This was always a big job as the
females never wanted to go and at about three hundred pounds of muscle, you had to convince them. My job was to stand
in the isle of the farrowing house with a piece of plywood to block and ward the sow into the pen where she would give birth.
The little pups were as cute as they could get, only life for them was short and hard. I remember one evening in October,
I went home after my chores and forgot to close the doors on the farrowing house. The temperature went down to 30 degrees
that night and when I went out to slop down the sows the next morning, I discovered that the pups had frozen. They looked
dead. I ran to Jim and explained to him.
"Jim the pups are dead."
I said.
"Did you leave the doors open?" I cringed. He looked
up to the sky.
"Well, you got me again." He looked at me.
"Go down and bring them up to the house."
"Why?"
I inquired.
"Just do it." He was mad so I went and collected
them up. When I got to the house he had a five gallon bucket of warm water waiting.
"What's that for."
"Bring them here." He took one
and held it by the head.
"You take them like this."
He dipped the pup into the water and swirled it around slowly, keeping the head up.
"Is it alive?"
"Oh yea. It takes a little while, but they
will come around eventually. Pig's are tough. Here take him". I did the same as Jim did. Slowly
swirling the pig until his leg moved.
"Hey Jim, it's working."
Then I could see him start to breath. I began to feel better then. Jim came back in the room.
"See, there you go. Give him another minute and then you can set him on the floor."
I was amazed. I would have bet my paycheck those pigs were dead. I set him down and he lay there panting as if
deep asleep as I grabbed the next one and started to warm it up. After a few minutes the next one was done and the first
one was on his feet.
"I hope that was a lesson for you. He'll be worth
forty dollars when he goes to market." That was a weeks pay for me at $1.35 an hour.
Now, when the pups are about two to three weeks old their teeth are coming in. If left alone they will chew their mothers
tits off giving her an infection. One morning Jim had me come with him to the farrowing house. Standing at the
pen full of new pups.
"Grab one." Jim asked.
I grabbed one. He took it from me.
"You take him like this."
He lay the pup in the palm of his hand on it's back and pulled a pair of small Dykes out of his pocket.
"You shove your finger in his mouth to open it." He did, showing eight small very sharp
teeth.
"Then you do this." He took the dykes and cut the eight
teeth out just above the gum. The sound almost made me sick. I turned white.
"You gonna be okay?" Jim was smiling.
"Yea!"
I was dizzy, trying not to barf. The pup was squealing to beat the band. Jim just threw him back in the pen.
"Grab another." Jim insisted. I did and handed him to Jim.
"Don't give him to me, your turn." I was having a problem with this,
but I managed through it without getting sick. Enough about farming.
One day I looked up Ann and we talked out in front of her house. She was still beautiful with long straight blond hair.
Her braces were off and I wondered what her kiss was like now. A real South Florida looking beach girl only with very
little tan. She had gotten over me and was busy with her life. She could see that I was a work in progress.
As I drove off on Randy's motorcycle, I could see Ann's father watching from the window. I wondered if I should let
her go. Whether I was making a mistake or would a mid-western girl fail to adapt to a very different environment and
keep me together at the same time. What a risk. I'm sure her Dad was relieved.
Soon I had been at Randys for a month and was feeling in the way. I was over Rochester and thinking
about returning to Florida when it happened. I got too drunk at a kegger and got beat-up. Randy and the boys weren't
into violence and decided not to help me. My jaw was broken in two places by a two by four and my teeth were wired shut
that night in the emergency room. They at least gave me a ride there.
No food for 6 weeks. I was in trouble. The doctors gave me a pair of wire cutters to use in case I got sick.
If I threw-up, I would drown. It seemed ironic to me after cutting teeth out of baby pigs. I did my best to work,
but soon was not able to keep up with the others and was let go. I found a weekly pay boarding house down town by the
tracks. It was a low-life joint. A flop-house. It was filled with bums, the dregs of the city. I was
doing great now. Wouldn't my folks be proud. There was screaming at night and police at all hours. I would
shove the bureau in front of my door at night for safety.
I couldn't party for
fear of over doing it and barfing. You learn how to talk and yawn with your teeth shut. Quite a trick. I
was sick and malnourished and wanted to get out of town as soon as I got the wires out of my teeth. I wanted to wait
because of how vulnerable one feels with your jaw wired shut. I just wanted to hide in this cold water flat and heal.
I only saw my x - friends from time to time and I kept it cordial, but, honestly didn't want any more to do with them.
Then finally I had an appointment at the Mayo Clinic in the morning
to get my wires off. I could barely sleep. It meant I could eat again and was getting out of this town.
I had lost 25 pounds and that was quite enough.
The appointment was brutal.
I discovered that the wires around teeth are pulled, or yanked out quickly with extreme pain. After they were removed,
my jaw would barely open. It was sore and stiff, but it was opening.
I
got out of the Clinic and grabbed my shit from the heart-break hotel, went to the bank and reported my $80 in travelers checks
stolen. They replaced them thank God. Then straight to a restaurant for some pancakes and eggs. Heaven.
I figured it would be soft enough to eat. After a long awaited meal, I headed for the Interstate 35. Hitchhiking
out of town, same backpack, same guitar, one more time. Good bye Rochester.
14. More White Stripes
I felt strong after a belly full of pancakes. I got out to
the Interstate quickly and headed south to Des Moines. There I picked-up I-80 again and took it clear to Davenport Illinois.
I got many short rides through the night. I thought about Rochester. I felt it had been a flop. It was fun
at first but got stale quick. The novelty of my arrival no longer could hide the everyday problems of growing up in
a small town. I did learn much though. Like how many things we do that effect the jaw muscle. Also hunger.
Six weeks without food. I now was familiar with the dark vail that is hunger. The unjust resentment felt for others
who were able to eat. When pangs turn to nausea and nausea into dementia. I found every reason to blame my misery
on the others around me. Fasting reveals the inner dark soul. The in-born human anger. In a phrase, self
pity.
I learned about girls and security. Ann wanted
to go with me, I could tell but, it was an extreme reach. I was too far out there for her. She needed more.
I also started to get it about belonging some place. I felt the difference
between being on the outside looking in and the inside looking out. I could see the difference between being with other
people out of need, rather than simple association. No one depended on me here and I felt empty because of it.
I longed for the friendship I left in Boca. Rick and the locals. The road people. I never would have suffered
like this if I were home.
Once in Davenport I picked up I-74 and took it all the way
to Indianapolis. We were about 20 miles west of Indy when day-light broke. It was a cool morning and the temperature
had reached the dew-point. Fog had settled in all the low lands. You could see the rolling hills of the high-way
at the tops only. The road would come out and disappear into the fog. When the car headlights popped out and disappeared,
it looked like two dragons swimming through the water in opposite directions. It went on for miles. A very cool
sight. Indianapolis came and went as did Dayton and Columbus. The people were friendly and I was making good time.
However I got no sleep last night and I looked it. I was nearing Washington Pa. when a middle-aged lady in a station
wagon pulled over and picked me up.
"I'm going to Pittsburgh. There
will be a better place to hitch. Do you want a ride?" I bailed in. Good thing I did.
"You'll never get a ride there. I'll get you to a better place. My name is Mrs. Raines,
what's yours?" She was old enough to be my mother. We were driving in a nice wagon. Obviously middle-class.
The radio played, "I Love You" by Olivia. She was curious about my trip and my family. I wondered why.
Then she said she had a son on the road and hoped he would run into someone like her and make sure he was alright. I
was looking out the window and I noticed the vegetation. It looked familiar to me again. I was back east.
She then invited me home for a meal and a shower. I accepted. Mrs. Raines was obviously not a threat. We
pulled into an upper-middle class neighborhood to a brick ranch style home with an in-ground pool and a view of the valley.
At home was her husband and two daughters. Did I mention beautiful daughters. They had their own lives to live,
but managed to spend some time with me. Mrs. Raines wanted very much for me to call my Mother and tell her where I was.
I made an excuse not to, that she didn't buy, but didn't push it. I refused because I didn't want my Mother to find
out what had happened to me without being able to tell her face to face. If she saw I was okay, she wouldn't get as
upset. After a swim, a shower and a meal, Mom drove me back to the high-way with a sign and a bag of sandwiches.
I was hoping to stay the night, but she didn't want me there with her daughters. We were having too much fun in the
pool.
I had a difficult time getting a ride. It got dark fast and
the weather was changing for the worse. I had eaten all the sandwiches and decided not to use the hand-sign. The
traffic was looking like rush hour. I had cigarettes, so I was ready to go into the night. I followed I-70 until
I got to the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I-76.
15. Despair Takes It's Toll
After the time I had getting through Pittsburgh, I was glad to get a ride from someone
going some distance. His name was Dave and he was going east on the Penn Turnpike for about three hours before he turned
south to Baltimore. He was a middle aged traveling salesman type. There was some clothes hanging on a make-shift
rod across the back where I had shoved my backpack and my guitar. He pulled up in a 1971 Plymouth.
"I can't take you all the way east, but I can get you out of here." He pulled onto the
road and into the Toll Booth, grabbed the ticket and shoved it up in the visor.
"Your lucky the rain is gone. You'd be wet to the bone." He said. We were picking
up speed as we headed out on the Turnpike. It was a dark night and I was very tired. Rochester to Pittsburgh was
harder on me than I thought.
"You got a name?"
"Yeah Bob Baxter, glad to meet you." We shook hands.
"You pick the subject, I'll talk about anything." He looked at me and smiled. I was
too tired for conversation but I guess Dave wasn't. I yawned very long.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry."
"Thats okay. You been
traveling all day?" He asked.
"Ya, yesterday too.
The day before that and before that, ever since last July".
"Where
did you come from? He looked startled.
"Well, I left Boca
Raton in June, going to Portland Ore. with some friends. From there I've hitched to here."
"Well its October. Where have you been? Did it take you all this time to get through"?
"I took my time and stopped along the way." I answered.
"Well that must have been quite an adventure. Were you by yourself"?
"As it turns out, I was." I replied.
"Well,
what do you mean by that"?
"I was hoping to meet up with
some other people on the road but, I didn't see any. Except these two jokers we picked up in Nebraska and one dude that
caught a ride with us going out west."
"Who were you looking
for?" he asked looking puzzled. I noticed crushed cigarette butts in the ash-tray.
"Just some other people hitchhiking. I wanted to travel around and meet people, see the
country. Do you mind if I smoke?" I asked.
"No
go ahead, I don't mind. So where is it your going?" He asked.
"Nowhere really, wherever the wind blows me. Actually, I'm targeting New York, but who knows what will happen by
then." I fumbled to get a cigarette out of my crushed pack and lit it up.
"Free as the wind blows huh?" I shrugged.
"I guess."
He could see I was miserable.
"You just need to get back home where you
belong." Those words sounded very inviting and painfully true.
"You
think that's it?" I asked.
"Hell ya. I mean, what are you
doing in this world with out friends and family? You don't belong anywhere."
"Hmm." I thought about it for awhile. He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette.
"Let me know if it gets too cold."
"No
problem," The night air smelled sweet and I felt safe. I knew I would soon snooze. I looked out the
window at the full moon and remembered riding with my sister from Tampa. It seemed like an eternity ago to me.
I drifted off to sleep.
"Hey Bob, it's time for me to head south."
A voice said quietly. I awoke startled. Where, when, black, dashboard lights, cold, stiff neck, one more time.
The radio was playing "Riders on the storm". Above me I saw some lights through the window. Must be
homes in the hills. Nice. That's right, I finally got out of Rochester.
"Where am I?" Looking over to Dave. I noticed we were traveling 75 mph.
"You are there my young friend." He said with a confident and friendly smile.
"We're in the mountains on the Penn Turnpike coming up on my turn-off and you need to decide what
your going to do."
"Yeah, Okay." I reached around
back and grabbed my trusty map.
"Here it is." I hadn't
looked at it since approaching Pittsburgh yesterday.
"We'll be
coming up on Breezewood in about ten minutes. You'll find it on the map around the middle of the state. That's
where I'm going to Baltimore. If you want to go east I'll let you off there, but it's late and I don't know how much
traffic you'll get." I searched my map. Sure enough there it was. Breezewood. A small round
dot. I pretended to study the map while I thought about my situation. I had a little money, I certainly had the
time. Baltimore was not my destination. That settled it.
"I'll get out up here. Baltimore is too far south for me and I wanted to be in New York tomorrow, but thanks anyway."
"Okay then, suit yourself. I'll pull up here and you'll be
able to cross over and hitch from the other ramp." He pointed across the ravine to the cloverleaf loop that led
east.
"This is it." Dave said. He pulled over
on the shoulder and stopped just before the Toll Booth. I looked around for Troopers, then got out of the car.
I stretched for what seemed to be an hour. The wind and crickets were the only sound. It was very dark except
for the Toll Booth.
"Are you sure you don't want to come south?"
asked Dave.
"Last chance." I could tell he really wanted
the company and I wouldn't have minded it myself, but something told me to get out here. I felt that going to Baltimore
was giving-up somehow. I was looking for something and I knew it wasn't there. My direction was east. I
had chased my thumb 3000 miles and I wasn't going to give up in Breezewood. He reached out to shake my hand, I returned
it.
"Remember what we talked about, it might help."
"I sure will Dave, thanks for turning me on to that. You gave me a lot to think about."
I shut the door and watched the Plymouth's tail-lights disappear into the toll-booth. I stood there thinking about what
he said and why he felt it applied to me. I didn't feel that I was there yet, why did he.
16. Where have all
the Hippies gone?
There
was a flurry of insects spinning like a tornado illuminated by an umbrella of light emitted from the street lamp above the
toll-booth. One lone attendant was working. She didn't seem to care about me. I could barely tell it was
a woman. I could only see a silloette of her from Dave's tail-lights as he headed down the ramp and vanished.
I could see the lights of the Gateway Inn at the end of the off ramp. There was no signs for restrooms, so I was going
to get in the dark to pee. Afterwards I gathered up my shit and walked across the ravine to the eastbound guard-rail.
I made sure to stay under a street-light to give people time to make a judgement. I turned my beat-up guitar case around
to show the "Jesus Saves" sticker. I started chanting to myself, "positive attitude gets ride."
At this point of my journey, I'm convinced as to how true that is. People can spot a bad attitude a mile away.
It was chilly and damp. I had no idea what time it was.
I figured it must be past midnight because the moon was so high. There was nothing I could see that told me there was
anyone around for miles, except the toll lady. I could see Interstate, but nothing else. It is very dark in the
mountains. I opened my back-pack and pulled out the flannel shirt that made me think about Gainesville and the great
time I had. I would love to crash on that warm porch again. It was about a year ago I started my trip.
What is that? A car at the toll booth? Yes. I was excited. My
heart was pounding. The glare from the headlights felt warm against the night air. Somehow, it felt like hope. I
began thinking, this could be a good ride. Wrong this WILL be a good ride. Hopefully it's a sexy little lady who
wants a good time. She might be going east and we'll have fun all the way there. I'll settle for safe right now.
The car pulled out of the Toll-Booth and accelerated. Out with my thumb as the headlights caught me. Oh no, the
engine is not running down. They weren't going to stop, I could tell. I stood there as the wind from the car blew
back my hair. My hope turned to disappointment one more time. How many more times. I could see the occupants
of the car trying not to show they could see me. It helps them. The car disappeared around the bend and the night
fell silent and dark again. There was only the sound of the bug zapper at the toll-booth and the crickets to break the
silence. I lit up a cigarette and began to pace. An hour passed, no cars.
This was a bummer. I was getting down. That's a bad thing. I've been here before, I know about getting
stuck. I was torn between getting a room at the Gateway and missing the "Perfect Ride", or staying out all
night and getting no rest. Another cigarette gone. I slumped on the guard-rail. I was having trouble with
this. I would love sleep but that would break my streak of good luck however at this point there had been only one car
going east bound and it didn't stop. Maybe Dave was right. It was then that I looked down at the guard-rail.
Messages. Hand written messages in pencil, pen and marker. Hundreds of them. More than hundreds. I
started reading and didn't stop for an hour. Most of the messages were for me. Anyone, stuck at Breezewood.
But some were to other people they knew would come through this way. A kiosk for road people. The interesting
messages were the personal ones. i.e.
Jimmy, you can't go east from here.
Don't try. I went to Balt. to find Robby.
see you there. Puppet
John John, 76 hours of nothing. Going crazy.
Cops hassling me. Won't let me walk. Need food.
Don't go east. Go south. love ya, Crazy Lady
Sandy, I'm back. I'll meet you in new England
Glenn
JR, I saw animal
in Cleve. He's back in the world.
Go see him. He went out to the farm. Jason says
party today, party tomorrow. I'll be in Milwaukee
for the winter with Sherry. Take care. Eddie
Who were these people? I was amazed.
How cool. Why hadn't I noticed anything like this before? Some of the messages were quite old but some very recent.
Some were dated. Most were signed. Suddenly I didn't feel so alone. Messages as far up and down the rail
as the street light allowed me to see. I was very intrigued by a line in one of the messages that said " I'll meet
you in New England." The phrase gave me a feeling of reconciliation, forgiveness. I began to think about
the author. Who were Glen and Sandy? Where did Glen go? Why weren't they together. How would Sandy
see this message in such an obscure place? Where in New England? What had gone wrong with them and why?
So I broke out my trusty ax and tuned it up. I fumbled around with some chords until I had this slow, sultry rhythm
and blues pattern going on. I sat there with pen and paper and imagined a whole scenario between them.
Yesterday I might have
sent you away.
But I realize the mistake that I have made.
Well hey I'm sorry, I love you, got to have you, got
to find a way.
So I'm coming home, tha'ts all there is to it now.
That's all I got to say.
I want to hear you speaking, show me your alive.
Wanna hold you in my arms, loving you all night.
Yesterday is catching me, and I've got to find a way.
I'm a thousand miles away from you.
and I've been sitting here all day.
I've been sitting here all day .
Well in a time or two, you'll see that I have changed.
The way you never came to me before
You'll come to me that way.
But right now I've got to find a ride.
I've gotta get out of this town tonight.
I want to hear you speaking, show me your alive.
Wanna hold you in my arms, loving you all night.
Yesterday is catching me, and I've got to find a way.
I'm a thousand miles away from you.
and I've been sitting here all day.
and I need someone to talk, sleep with me at night.
So I'll meet you in New England.
Where everything will be alright.
Everything will be alright.
I felt very accomplished for a short while. Whenever I write a song. I always think about it making me a million
dollars someday, which would make my time well spent. I played through the song several times more to commit the tune
to memory. I liked the way my voice carried in the mountains. I was singing loud enough to be heard for a mile,
the night was so quiet. I had forgotten about the toll lady. She must have heard me. I giggled. Oh
well, I hope she enjoyed it. It felt like I was on a roll so I decided to write another tune. Why not I certainly
had the time. Now, what should I write about? I decided that the only thing I could write about now was the situation
I was in.
Stuck in Breezewood PA depressed, alone and feeling
ripped-off. It was clear to me that I was going to have to make a decision here in this beautiful remote place that
I never knew existed. I was going to have to decide on whether I keep on my search for the now illusive hippie or do
I go home with nothing proven, nothing gained. I was overcome with despair at either option. On one hand, if I
keep going. How long do I go for? On the other hand, I had just spent six weeks with no food or comfort with my
teeth wired shut. Home sounded real good. Should I have gotten off with Trip? Was Trip the only road person
I would meet? What would I have seen with him? Would he have showed me what I was searching for? Where would
I be now if I got off in Colorado? This shit ain't easy, being on the road. I mean it can be fun, but, it can
also suck real bad. Like right now. Who knows when I'll get out of here. I wouldn't mind eating either.
But on the other hand, going home without the thing I came to find would be failure. Unthinkable. I truly
did not know what to do. I was going to have to think long and hard on this. I began strumming the guitar again,
half in confusion half running from the decision that faced me. I penned this response to my frustration.
Sometimes I fly so high,
Sometimes I fly so high,
Sometimes I'm
so high,
I almost get to heaven.
Last night I saw you in heaven, you said
I cried.
You said that I should feel better, I asked you why.
Cause the wind and the
rain come together.
and the absence of love doesn't matter.
For the rest of your life,
and I remember
You said that we'd never die.
Messages from Breezewood.
Really wish that
we could.
I Heard you on the wire.
Fills me with desire.
I will follow
you till I'm old,
What's that say for the road,
I'll be on for the rest of my days.
and for the
rest of my life,
I'll be a fool for my dreams.
If it's true what they said,
and Jesus walked upon the
water.
I know it's not his fault,
that I'm not where I aughta.
and I climbed high upon a mountain top
to see were I should be.
and I can see,
I'm nothing more than free.
I'd really like to see you.
Messages from Breezewood.
Hard upon on the wire.
Really hoped that you would.
Show me a heart of my own.
So I that can go home.
And live on for the rest
of my days,
and for the rest of my life.
I'll be a fool for my dreams.
I must say that I didn't feel any better after that song. The decision I had to make loomed in the back of my mind
like a dull headache.
I was sure this night would never end. I looked
up in the night sky and saw no sign of the impending daybreak. My ass had fallen asleep, so I got up on my feet and
started walking around to get the blood flowing again. My head was spinning. I didn't like this at all.
My whole summer, my whole trip was coming down to this. Success or failure. I packed up my gear and walked over
to other ramp headed to DC. I would make the decision when I got to the east coast, not now. Right now I wanted
to shake this feeling.
17. On Goes The Light
I got a ride from a trucker in just a few minutes. I was exhausted so I fell asleep right away.
I awoke shortly in Fredrick as the road was under construction. It was a dark sleep that seemed to consume me.
There were times when I felt like I wanted to wake-up but could not. But times I would wake to head lights in the darkness.
Silhouettes of equipment and signs. The pounding of the road.
When I was dropped off on the belt-way in DC, I was a mess, delirious. It was Monday morning 7:30 am. The traffic
was bumper to bumper doing 70 mph. What a night-mare. There was no way anyone could stop even if they wanted to.
Hitching on the east coast was very different from the west. I would have to walk. I walked for about a half an
hour until I got to a place where someone could pull over but it was still too busy, so I decided to get some rest.
I found a drainage pipe that looked clean and crawled in. I set my little alarm clock for two hours and set my knapsack
up as a pillow. Soon the traffic noise dissolved into the sound of surf and I was asleep in minutes.
When the alarm went off I awoke to traffic. My eyes opened to Graffiti on the inside
of the culvert. It said "Mike was here." There were several more but nothing too interesting.
My first thought was, who would write something here? How would somebody end up here? Then it occurred to me.
I was here. Somebody looking for some sleep or shelter from the rain, just like me. I wasn't the first one.
Then I thought about the messages at Breezewood. Could they be the same people? I reached for a pencil from my
pack and wrote "Baxter was here too." That felt good. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. The
messages on the rail in Breezewood came from the people I was looking for. Folks on the road. I climbed out of
the pipe and sat on the edge of the opening smoking a cigarette. The cars passed by like a blur. My heart was
pounding as the information pieced itself together. The people were out there. Or at least they had been.
It was real and I now was sure of it. I was a part of it. I began to get excited. The great transit of youth.
It was me. Thousands of people. Thousands of stories. Mine was only one of them, but it was one of them.
Part of the great story. I am that person and my trip had earned me the right to claim that. Suddenly I felt different.
The lost, insecure feelings I was having vanished. My search was over. I didn't find the people personally, but
I found the messages they left me. Their job was complete. Message delivered. Thank you for helping me to
see that.
The road is hard. Too hard to live on and
now I knew that. I could go back to my family and not feel ashamed at wasting my summer searching for something that
didn't exist. It did exist, only I was late. It was 1974 and most freaks went home or found new ones. I
gathered up my shit and walked out to the road feeling quite refreshed and strong. My spirit soared. I threw out
my thumb and soon was on my way to I-95 North and home.
The first
ride I got was from a guy that was in the Army. He actually tried to recruit me. He took me through and above
Baltimore. It was a beautiful morning. My next ride was from a dude that was out for the morning and returning
home. He also invited me back to his house.
"My wife will
make us some breakfast and we can smoke a joint." He was excited about having someone off the road. I felt
it reconnected him to his younger days, before marriage.
"That
sounds good to me." I didn't like the idea about the wife. That can get a bit personal. We pulled up
at his house and went in. We were greeted by his wife and young baby. The two of us sat in the living room and
smoked while she made breakfast. When the table was ready we sat down to scrambled eggs and bacon. She sat down
with the baby at a high chair. When she went to feed her, the child screeched and had a fit. I tried not to notice
but the noise was deafening. Mom looked to be at the end of her rope and Dad got frustrated. I was very uncomfortable.
They looked at each other. I could tell this was a big problem for them. How could she get the baby to eat?
The child screamed and screamed and tensions got high until the baby looked at me. She stopped crying and just stared.
Her mouth fell open and Mom slid in the spoonful of cereal. She closed her mouth and ate, staring. The couple
looked at me in amazement. I was nervous. They began to eat while she continued to feed the baby. The child
ate the whole bowl and Mom took her away for the rest of the feeding, looking very happy. I was a bit freaked out by
it all and was really glad when he said we should get going.
The ride back to the highway was quiet. I think he was wondering what had just happened, like I was. Maybe the
baby was confused by a new face present during the feeding process. I don't know. I do know that it scared the
shit out of me about having kids.
18. Where Am I
He dropped me
close to I-95. I had a short walk on a beautiful morning. I was buzzed and full of eggs with no idea what was
going to happen next. Extreme fatigue can make you behave quite irrationally. For instance, I was walking along
the road next to a group of trees more than happy with my position in life. The sun was shining and the birds singing.
I could also now begin to hear the highway like surf in the distance, when I heard laughter in the woods. It sounded
like children playing in a back yard. A bar-b-cue maybe. I kept walking. A few minutes later I heard it
again. Children laughing. I kept going. Minutes later, again. I decided to investigate. I set
down my pack and guitar behind some bushes and stepped into the woods. Big mistake. I heard the laughter again.
It sounded like it was coming from deeper in. There was light through the trees just up ahead. Maybe there I thought.
I continue to walk. More laughter, only in another direction. I walk in that direction. Searching.
I walked deeper and deeper. The sounds of the woods mixed with the laughter and highway came from all directions
out of the canopy. I became dizzy trying to sort it all out. I didn't want to think about what I knew was happening.
I looked for about a half an hour before I had to admit that I was hearing things. It was too early for a cook-out.
I didn't want to believe it. The laughter was coming in many directions now. I was in trouble, delirious.
I looked back to see where I was and I didn't recognize anything. Where was I? Where was the road and my shit?
I could hear cars, but could I now trust my ears? I didn't panic, but I was concerned. I was lost in the woods
somewhere in Maryland or maybe Delaware. I decided that I was going to have to trust my ears and found the road again
after about an hour. What a trip. I could have gotten lost in there and no one would ever have known. Much
relieved and shaken, I found my shit and resumed my walk to the highway. When I got to the Interstate and stuck my thumb
out I was immediately confronted by a State Trooper. I was in Delaware. The first cop I saw on the whole trip.
He was older and quite heavy.
"It's illegal to hitch in this state."
He said as he got out of his car. I didn't know what to do. I was bagged.
"Hitchhiking on the turnpike carries a fine of $15. You can pay me." He stated.
I was stunned. All the way across America and this guy wants $15 dollars from me. A cop yet. This was extortion.
I was in real jeopardy now so I played along. I reach into my pocket and pull out some money and count it.
"I've got two dollars and forty cents Sir. If you want it, you can have it." I looked
up at him sadly. He got angry and a bit embarrassed. I held it out to him.
"Oh, just get the hell out of here and don't let me see you again." He jumped back in his
car and tore off. I laughed with joy. I thought I was going to jail. That ass-hole busting my chops for
some money. I hope he slept good at night.
It was
a beautiful Delaware morning only I felt far retreated from it. The day was on the outside and I was on the inside.
Outside the body, bright and sunny. Inside, dark and distant.
I made it over the Delaware-New Jersey bridge and up the Jersey Pike without incident. Getting around NYC proved to
be a chore. It was very fast paced and people had little sympathy for a lone hitchhiker. It was mid-day by the
time I got to the city and on to I-287. Exhausted again, I ended up at a rest stop where I scored some food and drink.
After a quick nap under a tree, I set up my thumb by the on ramps and soon had a ride. It was dark when I hit the New
York Thru-way. I don't recall my rides from that point due to exhaustion. I do recall being stuck under a bridge
that had no clearance for me. It felt like being on a ledge of a cliff. I had wrongly tried to walk to a better
on-ramp and wound up at a place where I had to wait for the traffic to thin so I could run past the bridge and to a shoulder.
For almost an hour the trucks blurred by me close enough to suck me under. I was delirious with head lights and the
constant rush of diesel soaked wind off the road as the trucks whipped by. The head lights in and out of my eyes became
like strobes and I soon suffered from road blindness with a splitting head ache.
I know I made it to the Beacon Bridge somehow and walked across. Up route 9D somehow and into Wappingers Falls.
I was dropped off in what I felt was the center of town. There was a nice common with park benches. I sat there
wondering what to do and smoking a cigarette. My mind had shut down by now and I had trouble focusing. I didn't
know where my family lived since they moved here some months ago. This was a new town to me. I had an address
and a picture of my family's house, they sent me while I was in Minnesota, but no way to find it. Suddenly I saw it.
The solution to my problem.
A Police Station at the center of this quaint,
quiet little town. I walked in and asked a officer at the desk. He could see that I was unable to digest the directions
he was giving me and another one of the cops was nice enough to give me a ride. He began asking me questions about my
trip as we drove out onto route 9. It was a ways out of town. Country road after country road. It made me
dizzy. I thought to myself, the last ride I get on my trip is in a cop car, classic.
"This is Dogwood Hills Road" He said as we took a left up a small hill that seemed to disappear
into the dark. There were house lights a ways off the road. I was looking at the picture I had of the house as
the officer was driving slowly and waiting for a que. I looked up as the road turned slightly and there it was.
Just like in the picture. I was having trouble focusing, but I was sure this was the right house.
"I think this is it." He stopped the car.
"Let me see." He leaned over at the photo, then looked up at the house.
"I think your right." He smiled. It was about 11pm when we pulled in the driveway,
I was nervous. There was a slight fog that clouded the front door. I looked at the officer and he looked at me.
We both sighed. I sat there for a second wondering. Would they accept me? Would I be welcome? I had
been gone a long time. Will my brothers be happy to see me? What would my Dad think, say? I thanked the
officer. Walked up to the door and stood there for awhile listening. I could recognize the voices. It was my family
and there was company. Everyone was in a good mood. A good time to
knock, I did. The talking stopped
inside. Time seemed to stop. Then it hit me. I made it. Coast to coast. The whole trip started
flashing in my head. I heard my mother ask my dad.
"Who
could that be at this hour?"
"I don't know." My
father replied. The sound of their voices lifted a great burden off of me. For the first time in a long time,
I felt safe. Simply from the sound of their voices. I could see through the curtained window, my father's silloette
trotting down the stairs to the landing. He turned on the porch light and opened the door. He just stared at me
for a second. Then he realized who I was.
"Bobby!"
He shouted. He was happy, floored. My heart jumped out of hiding.
"What!" I heard through-out the house. My mother came to the top of the stairs.
"Oh my God it is Bobby!" She was ecstatic. She ran down the stairs to the door and
hugged me until she cried. My brothers show up and were jumping up and down for joy. My sister was there also.
She hugged me and welcomed me home. She looked very proud. I could see the police officer pulling away slowly.
I could barely speak. There were old family friends there and they were in tears. They were happier for my mother.
She was worried for me and they hated to see her like that. Not knowing where your son is. Mom rushed me in and
sat me down. Everyone was asking me questions about the trip and where I stayed. I was too over-come to think
straight. I tried to answer questions but could not. I was delirious, starving and dirty, but I was finally home.
I spent that winter and spring narrating the stories of the
road to my brothers, which my folks weren't too crazy about. They were still middle school age but it was a way
for me to regain their admiration. As far as having something to prove to my Dad, I felt that I had found the people
I was looking for through the messages and my journey was more than worth the pains I'd felt at times, but I never wanted
to rub it in his face. I kept the victory of my trip to myself. Sometimes I would tell a story and he would be
very entertained, but for the most part the trip was over for my family. I was one of the few who weathered the harshness
and lived the thrills of the road. It was me and it would forever be a part of me.
I worked a couple of jobs that winter to save some money for my return to Florida. When spring finally
came to beautiful Dogwood Hills Road my feet were beginning to itch again and I was soon packing for Boca. It was where
I belonged and all the different messages I received the past year told me that. My trip would be filed in the back
of my mind for over twenty years until I'd realize the relevance of it and begin this second journey.
I left most of the stories of my trip that summer back on the road where they belonged. They either
didn't seem relevant or I thought it best to leave them there until my now twelve year old son is old enough to understand.
It occurs to me that this book is for him. A record of a year in my life as a young man just getting out in the world.
Maybe something to gauge himself by. He can judge my behavior as he sees fit.
Like so many things in my life, my trip, this book, started out as one thing and turned out to be something quite different.
I found many of you on the guard-rail that summer, and of late, I have wanted to find you again. My brothers and sisters
of the road. The ones who left me Messages from Breezewood.
THE END
Copyright RG
Pictures Inc., 2007
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