MOST Newsletters Table of Contents

Bishop, 9/1/99: Hi everyone, I love reading our newsletter; the stories and tidbits are "most" rewarding and lift my spirits each time someone from that wonderful era that we had the privilege to share in, shows up on the screen in front of me. I understand why PC users get a little freaked when a virus comes along since so many are targeted at PCs/IBM compatible/, and your right to send out a warning. However, one issue right after the next where one has to scroll down and down and down, in the hopes of finding
something wonderful from our family. I also understand in #73 about the reference to the hoax, but this could be stated without repeating the entirety of all the warnings. On the other hand maybe I'm just being too much of a control freak, sorry if that's so. On the positive side, just to show that I'm not in a total snit. Laurel, beautiful page you made for Tuck. Jodi, I love your stories and hope you don't get to bored to
continue. You may not remember me, but I remember you. You have no reason to remember me though. A lot of people don't remember me, I think because mostly I was kind of quiet. I had a heavy experience with belladonna in 1970 that left me kind of nervous for a few years. I hung out with Maverick a lot when we were both new to the land. Then later with Coyote and the rest of the Mighty Avengers. Coyote was one of the first people that I met my first day at Wheeler's, but wait I think I'll start a little bit earlier.
 The year was 1969, about early November, I was seventeen years old and living on the streets of San Francisco. A prostitute that had befriended me said she'd heard of a commune outside of a town called Occidental, and we should go there for the weekend to get out of the city. Sounded like a good idea to me, so I asked her where it was. She said she was pretty sure it was south on the coast highway. We took a bus out to Ocean Beach on the Great Highway. After standing there a while with our thumbs out, I thought to ask her how far south it was. She responded that she didn't really know, she'd only heard about it. I went to a telephone booth and called 411, the operator was very helpful and pointed us in the opposite direction. It was about midday when we set out, and by sunset we found ourselves standing in Occidental next to Negri's. A short time later, a flatbed pulls up with a load of hippies on the back. Someone asks if we want a ride, turns out they were going to Wheeler's. This was the first time I'd heard the name, up until then I only knew of a rumored commune. We said "cool," and were on our way. It was already getting dark when we got to gruesome gulch where we had to get out of the truck and walk the rest of the way down to the front gate. To this day, I remember the walk down vividly; funny how some things stick
in your mind. It seemed so magical; I felt more alive than I had in a long time. We had sleeping bags, so we laid them out right at the front gate by the road and went to sleep. When we woke up late the next morning we found other people hanging out near by who offered us food. We ate and continued to hang out, evidently this was a place for people to hang out. Through conversation, we learned that most of these folks were visiting for the weekend just like us. Talking to someone who had been there for a while, I asked where I could find some acid. Following his instructions, we made our way back to the pine grove and went up to the Octagon house. I called out, "Hey! Does anyone know where Coyote is?" Out of a window pokes a head, and with a broad grin he says; "I'm Coyote what can I do for ya?" "Word has it that you've got some acid," I responded. "Come here and open your mouth, how many do you want?" I said "three is usually a good number," so in he drops them and away I went. I had taken acid several times, the first when I was fifteen in 1967; but that was the first time I had really tripped. Everyone
hanging out there that day was high, and some didn't even take anything. What a perfect day. I'll stop here for now, it's midnight and I have a Chamber of Commerce Meeting at 8:30 in the morning. Until later, Peace and Love. BADABA! Bishop

Tomas, 9/7/99: Princess and the Pea -- Learning about Joanie. The next day I met Huw William's. He took us to his farm that he called Tolstoy after the famous author. Golden wheat fields on top of the canyon. Tolstoy was down in the canyon. Access to the farm was a dusty road that traveled the bottom side of the canyon. You could travel in and out of the canyon from each end of the dusty road. The farm was down in a canyon. The soil was fertile, It had been farmed forever. We were only young visitors. The
garden was next to the main house. It was large and turned by hand. You hand picked the bugs off the plants. There was a tall man there, Ken, mild mannered. His business was his own. A worker bee. There was Nancy and Wally and the two kids... Sometimes people remind me of things that happened so long ago.
At Tolstoy Joanie and I were new friends. We had traveled different roads to Tolstoy and later to Morningstar. I remember her explaining to me, as we walked the dusty road, the way she was, she told me of the Princess and the Pea. The story of how the Princess could feel the pea at the bottom of a
stack of mattresses as she lay in bed at night. Joanie explained to me that she was a princess and that she had dropped out so she could understand life and not be bothered by the pea. I understood what she meant at that time. I had traveled a different path to Tolstoy. I was also there to understand my life. I keep thanking her because she is a teacher and I understood what she was saying. We were on the same level plain and she taught me a lot about life. Our time together was intense and sweet, two young children, learning about life with each other. At that time I was totally involved with Sylvia as my love and Joanie as the wonderful friend, teacher and lover of life. At Tolstoy Joanie put a flower in my hair, at
Morningstar she placed homemade lei on Kathy during the solstice. I always remember Joanie wearing sandals...
Tomas 9/20/99: Ambo, Kathy and I were riding with Laurel in her new blue 67 Mustang on the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. We were singing along with the radio. That day I heard someone singing about " Loving the One Your With". This is good, I thought to myself. I spend all my time searching, dreaming
and pining for love. Love was here, there at my feet, no need to look for love elsewhere. Where Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young picked that up is beyond my knowledge. They conveyed a message in a beautiful song. "Love the One Your With". A lot of people think I was looking in a mirror when I heard them singing that song. Laurel has a beautiful speaking voice. She has the voice that we all like to hear. "It was the Night before Christmas ......",  "What's a Hobbit?  Hobbits are little people that live in Middle Earth............"   Why is it that some people have beautiful speaking voices. I heard Art Bell speaking and he was charming the crickets and black stealth out of the night sky. What a pleasant voice! I have tried to get Laurel to live on a commune, living closer to the earth. Laurel's problem is the way she was brought up. She was taught to wear make-up at an early age. Ambo, Kathy and I said the people at Morningstar don't care. Laurel knew it would be a problem for her. I compromised. I bring Morningstar to Laurel, and let her know that the world of Morningstar in within us all.
Caring and loving the one your with is very good.

David Hatch, 9/24/99: Dear most-digesters, Jade (Doris Clark) gave me a ride up the hill from Occidental yesterday. She works full-time in Forestville for a disabled child, and tho overworked and underpaid, seems to enjoy it. Her older son Kyle (whose father is not M* Kyle) lives in NY state, and her younger son Del Mar lives in this area. She is thinking about getting a computer, but had a bad experience on one at the library. She sat down at one and started looking up medical info but couldn't get any answers. After a while she complained to the librarian that the Internet wasn't so great if it couldn't answer her questions. The librarian told her she was just using a local library computer, and the Internet computers were over there and she would have to sign up in advance to use them! Exit Jade. She gave me her address as:
PO Box 51,
Bodega Bay, CA, 94923.

Roland Jacopetti, 8/1/99: Dear Ramon, I, too, hope they'll still need me and still feed me when I'm 64, which will be next February, unless Y2K cancels everything out. Of course, as we well know, the answer to Y2K is "Y Not?"
I always enjoy reading the MOST, even though I was a relatively early Morningstar inhabitant, and so don't know very many of your correspondents. It was great to see that letter from Bruce Baillie a while ago and to see that he's in the ranks of the Basically Unchanged. Many of us are living proof that the psychedelic substances of the 60s were the Philosophers Stone of the ancients that conferred virtual immortality to the partakers. Most of the people I know from that era appear far younger than their
actual years. Of course, each of us has a painting in an attic somewhere that's growing older and older while we remain young...
I'm still living in Sonoma County, approximately a 5-8 minute drive from Morningstar, and in this house in which Jeanne and I have broken our personal bests for length of habitation; mine was just recently as I hit 16 years at the same address, exceeding my previous record of not quite 16 for the house I grew up in.
My other secret of immortality is tai chi, to which I've been hopelessly addicted for a little over 2 years, attending four 1-1/2-hour classes per week. Tai chi was invented by the ancient Chinese to keep people who are at social-security-collection age from falling and breaking their hips, which is very ignominious and difficult to explain in respectable ways like "I guess I was too stoned." Many of my fellow tai chi players have serious Joneses and there are no 12-step groups because nowhere in tai chi does one take 12 steps without standing on one leg for a long period of time.
I'm also continuing to be an antiques and collectibles dealer, with a space in the local collective and a sordid history of buying and selling on eBay, the notorious on-line auction. This has dragged me sullenly into the computer age, and Jehezius knows where it will lead from here.
I think you probably knew my dear friend Jerry Wainwright, who passed on a couple of years back. If you don't, I suspect that someone or other of the MOST's readers will recognize the name, and give him a warm thought or two. Big C did the deed and he didn't have a terribly hard time. I, too, have had my contretemps with Big C, emerging victorious this time and, though the site was my throat, right on one vocal chord, the voice remains good, though not long lasting enough to do stage work anymore. But that's O.K, because the last few plays I did were not as much fun as they might be, because it's hellishly hard to memorize lines for those with severely altered brain matter. It was the drugs, of course. I am continuing to do radio, on a volunteer basis at the local NPR station, called KRCB. A music show Saturday midnight, where I can play absolutely anything I want, read anything I want, say anything I want (at least no one's told me to stop yet. ) Also a five-minute interview show, recorded and played back on weekday mornings. Come up and be interviewed sometime. Also a radio drama show that's trying to get off the ground.
I don't think I was the guy who boned Jason Orr for two bucks at the Trips Festival. I don't remember taking any admission money at that event. The only person involved in it who was any good with money was Bill, and you'll remember he lost several hundred dollars of the proceeds and was in a state of panic until he remembered that he left the cash in a paper bag in the trunk of his car. I guess I met Bill about the same time you did, when he was still working with the Mime Troupe, though soon to leave and, even
then, so many people had told each of us that we looked like the other, that he and I actually sized each other up when we met, looking each other up and down like a mirror and mumbling "So you're the guy who's supposed to look like me..."
Here's some money, Ramon. I promise to send more in a while, and to keep in touch, too. I'm sure I'll start remembering a whole bunch of strange stuff; now that I've finally written. Keep the MOST going; the only other periodical I greet with as much enthusiasm is News From Native California.
Badaba,

Bea Phair, 7/28/99: In 1967, someone told Willie B. and I that the slaughterhouse in Santa Rosa got horses from free wild horse round-ups in Nevada and made dog food out of them. Well we had to do our part to stop that. The one thing we could do was buy one. So on a foggy morning we set out from Sebastopol in our Studebaker truck, something like a 1950. By the time we arrived at the slaughter house it was a beautiful sunny day. I'm not real sure where the slaughter house was exactly, maybe closer than
Santa Rosa. When we arrived the pens were full of houses, wild, wall eyed, scared to death of the smell of death all around them. It was obvious to us they knew their fate. One lovely mare had a baby that had been born only a few days before. The man said it was a male and part Morgan, part Mustang. The color is called sorrel, with a black tail and mane. He was the only baby there. We knew nothing about horses except that we loved them and couldn't bare to see this one killed. (which he would have been after
fattening him up a bit) So with our big hearts and empty heads we paid out $60.00 and became horse owners. Then the question was, how to get him home? The people there helped us get him in the back of our truck and tie a rope somewhere around him to keep him in. Off we went, at a snails pace, to our
little house in Sebastapol where we had moved from Morningstar for me to give birth to my second and Willie's first child. We had 2 dogs, 2 goats, 2 cats, 2 birds, and two fishes, now one horse. We tied him up to the fence out back where he could see some other horses, perfectly content with their lot in life. I guess some of that wore off because each day he became calmer and more easily approachable. I gave birth to Patrick (Deiv) and we moved back to Morningstar. Minus the cats, birds, fish and goats. Willie built a coral for Thor and a neighbor, I can't remember his name but he was lovely and this young family were all good people, helped us break Thor. We were afraid to approach him and he would jump all around when we did. We'll call him Hans, because he looked and felt like a Hans. Hans would just walk up to Thor and do what ever he wanted, put on a bridel, brush him and pet him. He taught us how to be and to overcome our fears. We learned to lunge Thor and eventually to ride him.The police were very prompt most mornings at that time, must have been around March of '68, at the crack of dawn the dogs would bark and we knew they were there. So we'd wake up Andre and instruct him to be quiet as a mouse, gather up Patrick and slither off into the woods like the criminals we were. Living illegally and all. That got old real quick, and Bill had been talking to Lou about opening up his place like Morningstar. He wanted to be a little cautious about it ,so he "invited" a few people over to try it out. Well you know us Morningstar people, give and inch, we take over. Fortunatley for us, we were invited and moved right over with Charley, I remember, and maybe Laura and a few others. Willie and I set up camp over on the Knoll. It was so beautiful and quiet over there and I could sleep instead of worry about the next raid (Pam and Larry were there too, down in the canyon). Of course Thor was there too. He was getting bigger. We had decided not to cut him until 4 yrs. old because that was suposed to allow him his full growth.
That also allowed him his full ego!! (surprise surprise) He grew and we decided he needed a friend, so off to the slaughter house we went again. This time there was a beautiful little filly, all sorrel with fire to
match. There was no getting her into the truck, but she would walk, kick, jump along with us as we walked. That was a long walk my friends. She mellowed quickly and became a lovely riding horse with decent manners which is why most people don't remember her. I named her Fire Dancer because of
the way she "walked" home that first day. The two horses may actully have been bought before we got to Wheeler's. A bit foggy in the memory, and it dosen't clear up later either. At some point we went off to the wicked place again and fell hopelessly in love with a big gentel mare that was a strawberry roan. We named her Shanti. About a week after we got her to Wheeler's I went up to the barn where she hung out to feed her and was surprized to find a little bab with her she had given birth in the night. We were all very surprized. It wasn't long after that we moved away. We gave Fire Dance to some friends of Willie's and Bill kept Shant. Her baby went to some other friends of mine. Thor remained a THORn in everyone's
side for years to come. I know he went around rummeging into people's camps more like a goat than a huge horse. It was reported he had kicked Josh in the head, which made me feel hopelessly responsable for another's injury. I'm sure he provided much distraction to everyone, But let me place the blame on Willie. He was his horse and I'm sure he won't mind because it was all so exciting and full of life. In the time I was with him and Thor was around we rode him often and Willie loved to lunge him too. Keeping him busy kept him out of trouble a bit. Then I was compelled to move to the infamous Gaskin Farm and no longer was a part of Thor's life, but I've heard tell a few stories. Would like to know more, Bill must have a trove full. More later

Ramon replies: Bea, you should write your memories of M Star (both) and Wheeler's in more detail! Especially about Thor! Thor became quite a presence at Wheeler's, leading the cows in raids on people's oats stashes.20

Ed Fatzinger, 8/29/99: I've already related that Thor was Sonny's horse. I do not remember where she got him, but I do remember her naming him. During the time She and I were splitting up, she came to the Haight and told me that she didn't have any way of trucking Thor to Wheeler's, so she had to walk him over there. He was less than 2 years old at the time and was never riden.
The neighbor "Beatrice" writes of was Helmut Schmidt, his wife's name was Judy. In fact he taught me about horses and would occasionally lend his horse to Sonny and me for a ride around Morning-star. His horse was part Tennesse walker and part drafthorse -- very big and wide. One evening we were over at Helmut's and he, a friend of his and I went to Occidental on a beer run. On the way back, his friend rolled the car over and smashed into a mailbox post. I was laid up in "Ed's Shed" for a couple of weeks with cuts and bruises all over my back. Helmut's friend lost an eye. About 5 years ago I went to the doctor because of a bone growing oddly in my upper back. After performing surgery to correct the "growth," he informed me it was probably from an old fracture. I think it was because of that accident. In any case I think Bea may have a fews "facts" incorrectly memorized. Sorry about the crap, but I DO remember correctly.

Winston H. Taylor to Pam Hanna,9/9/98: I'm having a terrible recollection of the names I knew at Morningstar Pueblo, I tentatively project that yours rings a bell -- I just can't be sure. I spent the summer of 1970 there. I worked the fields and therefore was alotted a pueblo compartment. It was one of the most wonderful summers of my life. A beautiful couple (Lord, I wish I could remember the names!) were more or less, unofficially, my "patrons" and we worked hard every day (mostly weeding). I remember the
wonderful Pueblo Elder, Tell Us Good Morning, and was amazed to come across a post card of him in the mid-80s among some friend's knick-knacks. I -- not being enough of an "old-timer" -- couldn't come into the monthly tipi ceremonies, but certainly was provided my fill in a nearby shack where the medicine as cooked up into a stew, as I recall. I love the fact that Morningstar, at least at that time, really worked so
well and was leaderless and noncultish. It was clean living and belied the stereotypes of the "unwashed ones" as seen in "Easy Rider" and so forth. I remember the ice-cold baths in the dammed creek's swimming hole, filled with that fresh water flowing down from the Sangre de Cristos. Other reference points are Marin County (lived there 5 different times off and on, beginning in 1968), Olema (I remember Peter Coyote visiting there during my brief stay), Takilma, Cave Junction, Oregon... stayed briefly at
Wheeler Ranch... on and on and of course my home town of Austin, Texas (itself a "spiritual center", if you will, in its own right).
It would be neat if someone out there remembered me... but even if not, it's great to find your site and have so much of what really was good about that era recalled. I can't wait for the promised chapter about Morningstar Pueblo itself! Sincerely,

Winston 9/9/98: Pam, unfortunately, I can't line up the names with the faces as yet, but somehow "Jason & Linda" sounds familiar. Your name sounds familiar, too, the more I think about it. I'm not gonna break my head trying to guess... But one thing is a certainty -- According to the time-frame you relate, we simply had to know each other; that's the summer I was there and I was there the entire summer. You and Larry's descriptions really ring the bell and I recall a short pregnant woman... even something
about a pregnant friend moving closer to amenities as she came to term... I really do remember that! Adam Siddhartha rings a bell (but bear in mind how many American Siddharthas were born in the '60s!). The couple I described as my "patrons" (or mentors or whatever -- anyway, people who'd been there
a while and who sort of took me "under their wing") were a guy with real long hair, skinny but sinewy strong, and his recently begun relationship with a beautiful young brunette woman. I think he'd wear a red bandana as a headband when we worked (usually nude) in the fields. I recall him as possibly being a Vietnam vet with a strong, silent, serious personality (but a good heart).
I found Morningstar East simply by chance... I was hitchhiking from Austin to Marin (having lived out in Marin between 1968-1969 or '70) when a Mestizo college prof gave me a short ride and told me about it. So I decided to detour there and check it out. I arrived on a chilly dusk, just as sleet was starting to come down and -- by chance -- a peyote ceremony was about to begin in that tipi (some chance, since if I recall correctly, the ceremonies were only performed once a month). So I was greeted with warm food and a brainful of cactus! I knew I'd arrived at a special place that night!
I remember a guy living in the hogan and "BJ" sounds familiar. I also remember hanging out with several folks in the hogan upon occasion. Another memory is how cozy and comfortable the pueblo compartment I was graciously lent was. Cool in the day, warm at night. I remember how delicious freshly harvested and boiled green peas were. I remember the many different colors of maize grown there. I remember the health food store in Taos (but not its name anymore!). I remember blowing my last "travelin' bucks" on a pizza feast with the above-mentioned "patrons" and others at a pizza parlor in Taos (maybe you were there, who knows?)... and not giving a damn about the money! I remember a good hike northwards, over a shallow creek in which was a cabin on a small island in which some loner hippie lived, going up in the
foothills of the Sangre de Cristos and spending several days alone in a cave, trying to meditate (and partially succeeding). I remember getting as strong and healthy as I'd ever been in my life... Only one other period, of yoga and diet, in Marin, is comparable.
I used to play a bunch of songs on the guitar around campfires at night at Morningstar, lots of Dylan (no great surprise, but everything he wrote was gospel to me back then), passing around the wine or whatever (drinking was the exception rather than the rule in those days... at least for me! Other stuff seemed more, uh, "educational").
I'm sure I was just a face in the Olema crowd to Peter Coyote, but I certainly have remembered him over the years, even though he wasn't any sort of celebrity or leader to me back then... I just noticed that people at Olema seemed to defer to him when he'd visit from Forest Knolls (I think that's where he lived -- at least some of the time). When I started noticing his name in movie credits, I was amazed to remember that distinctive face, minus the shoulder-length hair! "Yep, that's him alright!"

9/18/98: Hi, Pam... perhaps a brief synopsis of my life may prove interesting (then again, perhaps not!... Hope it doesn't bore you) and put who the heck I am in perspective. Raised an Air Force brat by two great parents (my good-hearted ole bear of a dad was a career combat pilot and veteran of World War II, Korea and Vietnam... my veddy Anglo-Texan mother was a drama major at UT -- that's University of Texas, not Tennessee -- and imparted a love of drama, literature and history to me). Got to live around
the world (4 1/2 years in France was definitely the most memorable -- I love Europe). Believe it or not, my military family and early environment raised me to be a liberal (shhh... dirty word nowadays... but I've become pretty disillusioned and cut off from just about all politics anyway). That
was back before the "Summer of Love" and the whole meaning of the word "liberal" has changed (or vanished!) since then. We were pro-Kennedy and Martin L. King and civil rights. Why, I can even remember my dad returning from some Top Secret meeting at the Pentagon in 1965 and bringing me a copy of Pete Seeger's "We Shall Overcome -- Live at Carnegie Hall" as a present! Anyway, I went to two military schools in high school (because I wanted to, if you can believe that!). I was gung ho in those days about what I thought this country stood for... and still have fond memories of the calibre of people I knew growing up in the Air Force. Well, then Bob Dylan, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones (and reading the book "1984") happened and my dreams of glory in the U.S. military quickly fizzled! I wanted to be one
of the New Romantics and grow my hair and wear Edwardian-style suits! I wanted to be a poet, a beatnik and "find myself", by golly! I spent the "Summer of Love" between grades at Texas Military Institute, quite lost in some ways, but quite excited about the whole "underground" thing that was even sweeping Texas (of course, Austin has long been considered "The San Francisco of the Southwest" by many). Smoked my first joint in November 1967 (at the military school -- shortly before getting kicked out for smoking tobacco cigarettes!). Moved out (sort of "ran away", but not exactly) from the parents and dropped out of my Junior year in high school... Moved into a funky house with a handful of my hippie friends (mostly UT students... or recently dropped out UT students). Then, in 1968 (I was 18), about six of us and what belongings we could jam into this girl's car, made the trip to the Bay Area for what we presumed would be "the second Summer of Love". So began the first of 5 different occasions I found myself living in Marin County. I hung out at various places (sort of "on the street"... but that was quite a different lifestyle for some of us then than what it is now) and was fortunate enough to befriend a "poor
little rich hippie kid", whose parents were old Jewish/Intellectual/Leftist types and who were kind enough to let me live in their big fancy house in a basement apartment. The kid, Harvey, and I had many interesting adventures, including discovering this hippie "community" (not an organized commune) in
Southern Oregon, near Cave Junction (in a little river community named
Takilma). My time there was right up there in quality with my time at Morningstar, in terms of friends, getting in touch with nature and my more spiritual side. We were a motley crew, called ourselves "The Crude Oil Brothers" (after our potent coffee) and were a little rougher around the edges than some of the more "peace, flowers and love" types in the area. But everyone got along quite well, as I recall... even with the local farmers. Our only nemisis was a local Sheriff named Metcalf, who really had it in for us. The beauty was that Metcalf ended up being investigated by the State Police, who even interviewed some of us about brutality charges (he ended up getting fired). I guess Oregon was somewhat progressive, at
least at that time.
After returning to Marin, I moved in with a very interesting group of folks, several of whom were into vegetarianism and yoga. I was open-minded enough to try it and I still don't regret it. No, I'm not strictly
vegetarian these days (but I keep my foot in the door) and it's not something I'd preach even if I was. I never completely followed a guru, but took Hatha Yoga (physical exercises) lessons from the most impressive yogi I ever met (but then, I've only met a few!). Still, this guy was big and well-developed, not the stereotype of the scrawny guru. I will get off this subject by simply stating that during those years when I most applied my willpower to living by those guidelines, I was happier, healthier and accomplished more (creatively, at any rate) than at any other time.
Returned to Texas, tried to hold down a job, buzzed out again for Marin as soon as I had "hitch-hiking money" and stumbled across Morningstar Pueblo on my way out West (as I've already told you).
After that 1970 summer, I finally made it to Marin. It was during this second stint there that I lived for most of the winter at Olema "commune" (for want of a better word) in northern Marin County. It was too many people for too little house space, but I really liked some of the people who'd been living there originally (which made me feel a little self-conscious, hoping I wasn't being a "hanger-on"). That's also when I had my encounters with Peter Coyote. My most vivid memory was his recounting of a private screening he'd been to, I think he said with Janis Joplin and Albert Grossman, of the unedited version of the Bob Dylan documentary, "Don't Look Back"... still an important film, in my humble book. Anyway, I'd seen the theatre-version as many times as I could since it had come out... that's how iconoclastic Dylan was to me at the time. Mr. Coyote absolutely mesmerized me (he is a good story teller, as I recall)
with his descriptions of the scenes cut from the released version... Like Dylan and John Lennon wacked out of their minds in the back seat of a limo. and many other scenes obviously too controversial for public release. It was all fascinating grist for the mill to me. Anyway, cut to the dramatics... In 1973, I was in Asheville, NC, staying with a kookie family whose Matron directed the town's Shakespeare-in-the-Park festivals every summer... and who recruited me to act in several plays. Well, while in Asheville, I happened to be in the wrong house at the wrong time and was one of three guys charged with possession of 7 lbs. of pot. Well, it wasn't mine or my traveling partner's, it was the 3rd guy's, a guest, but we all took the Fall (a three-year sentence!). For what it's worth, I never hustled even a single joint during all those psychedelic years... Never once made a penny from any of it. I just never have had a hustler mentality and was only "exploring." Well, after 9 1/2 months in Hell On Earth, I was paroled back
to Texas (boy, I learned a lot about how naive I'd been most of my life about "the basic goodness in all people!" Not to be cynical, just to be aware, I think for the first time I noticed that some "people" just plain don't have souls! Brrr!). But I did okay (being an actor and immediately growing the bushiest, ugliest beard I could grow, talked like a redneck hillbilly and got along fairly well with prisoners and guards alike).
Then came the blandness of the mid-to-late 70's, holding menial jobs in Austin until 1977. The closest I've ever been to marriage was one year in that period. After she and I broke up, I moved back to Marin, this time as a roadie for a local Austin music legend, Rocky Erickson, whose band "The 13th Floor Elevators" produced the first psychedelic rock'n'roll record from Texas to make the Top Ten ("You're Gonna Miss Me", 1966, in case you remember it)... I was considered "Security" for the band (another word for
"babysitter" is more like it). Anyway, that was a great three years in Marin and California, 1977-1979. Rocky's manager had a contract with CBS International (CBS-UK, that is) to produce Rocky Erickson and The Aliens' first record, all songs Rocky wrote when he was in the loony bin. Great stuff, great days! Went to L.A. with the band, holed up in The Tropicana Motel (another rock-n-roll legendary site, if you know the place I'm describing in West Hollywood), and the band played The Whiskey-A-Go-Go.
After the record was completed (three years!), I felt like leaving Marin and maybe doing something about becoming an "adult" now that I was closing in on 30. So back to Austin I went and took a business course in administrative skills. In 1980, I applied blindly for any comparable job for which I might qualify with Travis County guv'mint (that's where Austin is). Of all the last things I'd imagine, I took and passed the test for police dispatcher! The Constable (we have Constables in Texas, y'know... a type of Peace Officer of the Courts) who hired me was and is a very progressive guy and unusually liberal for a cop (socially liberal, fiscally conservative). Anyway, I was up front about my misadventures in North Carolina and he still hired me! So I was a police dispatcher for the County for 10 years (1980-90). Now, I'd come full circle, and I'm grateful to have seen the world from "Both Sides Now", to paraphrase Joni Mitchell. It was a true education in the "School of Life" and this particular agency performed only "good guy" (or at the very least, "neutral mediator") duties. All arrests were related to domestic issues, from Child Support to Child and/or Spousal Abuse. Child Attachments I remember as being some of the most poignant occurrences... But, then, hey, you're a paralegal, right? I'm surely not relating anything you don't already know! I resigned from the Constable Dept. in 1990 and once again (for the last time!), moved to Marin. Still as pretty as ever, but (maybe this is "just me") it seemed completely New Age Yuppiefied. And for all that trendy "touchy-feely" that New Ageism is supposed to personify, I found the community grown cold and self-centered. BMW stands for "Basic Marin Wheels", y'know (not that I wouldn't mind owning one). Anyway, after 1990-'92, I realized I needed someplace that felt more like "home" than any other... at least to belatedly try and build for my mid-to-late life... and Austin is it! Always has been. So I got my job at Dell in 1993 and am a happier and (I hope) better person for all the adventures, misadventures and still-simmering aspirations described above. However, if I ever make a new home somewhere else, it'll probably be Europe (preferably the United Kingdom).
Well, there you have it (somebody stop me before I subreference again!). I have no idea why I related all that to you, except perhaps via instinct... I guess I just like to communicate when it seems viable... I hope this correspondence is viable. I will contact David Pratt when you send the info. In this town, it's even
possible that our paths crossed somewhere around here over the years, who knows? My youngest brother -- my best friend -- is really into creative alternative music (and very talented and unique, I think), has been through three variations of a band and I've been a bit of a camp follower... keeps me in moderate touch with "the scene" (his bands often played coffeehouses and art galleries as well as clubs), since I don't have a real active social life currently.
Finally, I did read Mark Andrews memoir and can't quite say I remember him, but maybe... I seem to recall a kid on his own who seemed younger than most of us. At any rate, he's welcome to contact me, if he likes, and compare notes. His memories don't seem as happy as mine... maybe mine are selective, I dunno. But also, I was fortunate in that some people "took me in" to the Pueblo itself, because I worked in the fields. Is my memory correct on that point? Wasn't there some kind of "rule" that you could hang
out and party, if that's all you wanted to do, but it had to be a bit away from the Pueblo... I recollect a collection of tents near the road, parking area?... And if you were willing to work in the fields, you could stay in the Pueblo if there was space? Does this make sense? Also, my memory is of almost vast, lush acres of well-tended vegetable crops... not a lame effort. Sincerely,

David Hatch, 9/5/99: