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When I was just getting involved with the counter-culture in New Orleans, our sneaky FBI was into infiltrating any communes that came on to the radar. They were just keeping tabs but were found out.

My redneck uncle in Mississippi was also pissed at the FBI because they had infiltrated the KKK.

 

And how many times have you seen a flag-wavin' kind of guy with his little flag all tattered and filthy? That's some respect for your flag. It's illegal too, if I remember correctly. American flags that are no longer in good repair are supposed to be burned in private.

 

Heh... Difficult times make for strange bedfellows, as they say.

 

Yeah, but me and uncle George weren't best buds after I voted for McGovern instead of George Wallace.

BTW, I learned you couldn't have a McGovern bumper sticker on your pickup in MS. Someone scratched it off while I was in a restaurant.

 

One day we received a couple of keys of new grass. So I took a few lids and a few joints onto Haight Street to see how they would be received. I ran into a couple of people that I knew and lit up a joint. As we were sharing it, this black fellow joined in. I look at him and feel I recognize him from somewhere, but where? As it turns out, it was Jimi Hendrix. We didn't find this out until later. When we went to a poster shop and saw him in a black and white poster. I found out a couple of years later that we weren't anything special. It seems he would go out and find fans "groupies" to add to his entourage. So even if our dope was really good, he didn't care: he was just looking for fans "groupies". He didn't start his entourage with us . And, he was kinda boring. The only thing he could talk about was someone he knew in a group called The Fugs. We didn't oooh and aaaah over him, so he went about his merry way.

PAX

 

Damn, so disappointing, but in a way, expected. I love this thread!! <3
eace:

 

A hitch hiking story? One time in 1979, when comming back from Oaxaca, I had taken a second class train from Mexico City. I arrived in Mexicali,crossed the border into Calexico and hitched over to San Diego.I was skinny and emaciated from staying with those Zapotec Indian families in Teotitlan and I kept getting weird rides.One old farmer looking guy even showed me porno pictures and asked me if I wanted to go to his place.
I took a deep breath and shouted that he should let me out right there.
I finally got a ride with some ultra druggy pill freaks from Ventura who tried to said that I looked tired and should take some ritalin.I declined their offer.I hate speed!Yuck.They gave me a small package and let me off at the clover leaf and I jammed the pills into a gopher hole hoping that the gopher wouldn't eat them.
It was starting to get hot when I got a ride by two excellent southern stoners in a big red van.I passed out rright there and fell completely asleep for many hours. When I woke up the driver gave me a very polite formal rap.
"Sir, I don't believe that we've been formally introduced.My name is Billy J Hawkins and this is my best buddy and copilot Mr. Stivie P.Taylor. We will be driving to San Francisco and all points north at a comfortable cruising speed of 60 MPH. We've got southern fried chicken, genuine Mexican cerveza, good tunes and an entire kilo of fine grade US prime Acapulco Gold.Bucle your seat belt. sit back, relax and we will take you anywhere you wish to go."
I could barely talk. We cruised the length of the coast highway from San Luis Obspo to Santa Cruise smoking js and listening to Almond Brothers, Cream, Santana and Beethoven.
These guys didn't talk much but had the absolute best vibe.They continued on across the Golden Gate Bridge and politely let me off at my front door on Amacita Street in Mill Valley.

 

Forgive me, but I'm a little old lady. It was 1974, Cedar Rapids Iowa. I'd been to the Quad Cities the weekend before and spotted a pair of red stilettos in a mall there. I just had to have them. The next weekend, I met the engineer on the Rock Island Rail between Cedar Rapids and Moline. He agreed to slow the train at a particular intersection where I jumped on the engine. I changed the gears, adjusted the speed, and blew the whistle the way the printout directed, at the appropriate mile markers. What fun!

In Moline, near the tracks, was an older hotel with an all night cafe. In the lobby, I looked up at a 2nd floor mezzanine with banquet rooms. hmmmmm They usually have cloakrooms. I found one and went to sleep on the floor. I was woken by a banquet guest trying to hang his coat. Boy, was he shocked. I ran out, found the mall, bought my shoes, and took a bus home.

 

For my friend's 18th (who lived in our flat with us) his parents flew me, my brother and my other flat mate to fuckin' Paris! We took some dank acid before getting on the plane and ho-ly shit dude! When you feel then engines warming up when you're about to take off you feel like you're gonna' be shot into fucking hyperspace Needless to say the visuals were trippy. Anywho, this dude is loaded beyond belief and the four of us have been real close buddies for years and shit. We get to the airport and this sharply dressed black frenchman tells us to come into his cab and he's like, yelling on his phone the whole way. He fuckin' charged us triple when we got there but we had real bad vibes so we just wanted to get the fuck out. (never trust a sharply dressed black frenchman to take you in his taxi) In the hotel he had like, 30 people staying there. Sick. We went to some trippy place called The Buddah Bar where this massive Buddah was in the room (3 stories high) and there were chandeliers but the lights were mushrooms. After that we went to the Moulin Rouge (This super famous crazy french circus) which tripped us out even more We went to clubs all night after that and when everyone else went home me, my flat mate, and our other friend (who joined us at the flat later) went to some other club with chicks we met on the street. We brought them back to the hotel but in the proper light dude. One looked like Owen Wilson and the other looked like a penguin/seal. Maybe we were just tripping.....anywho, three of us were sharing a room so, no action. Maybe that was for the best haha

 

In 1970 I lived in Jackson, Ms. in what had to be considered a nice townhouse. Brand new - I shared it with another dude - Gene Wilson. Driving home one day I picked up a young dude - maybe 18 - who was hitching. I wasn't going far - which was cool with him. Really, what he wanted was a nice hot shower and to get fucked up - which was cool with me. We went to the house - he showered, ate and then we listened to some Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder.
I was thinking how great it would be to go upstairs and spend an hour under the sheets with him. Straight or not I enjoyed sex with someone else, male or female.
Didn't work out though, I was just too subtle I think.
Wound up taking him back up to Highway 55 stoned out of his gourd - which would seem a hassle to me - but he was excited about it.
God those days were cool.

 

In the fall of 1969, on my way back from a 2-week "vacation" in San Diego, I was hitching rides back to San Francisco on Highway 1. I was dropped off outside of San Luis Obispo by a group of college students, late in the afternoon, and from that point I could get NO rides! I actually began walking after about an hour standing in one spot. I walked from San Luis to San Simeon, about 40 miles, until about 1AM when I was picked up by a young couple returning to the Bay area after a modest honeymoon on Catalina Island. They offered me some of their hamburgers and fries, which I polished off in what was probably only seconds, and promptly fell asleep for the rest of the trip into SF. They dropped me off on Market St. and I walked up to the Haight where our "commune" was located. When I awoke again later that morning, I found that I had worn holes in my shoes, but nobody had any sympathy for me, since most of us had holes in our shoes or sandals anyway. Problem was, those shoes were almost NEW when I had left for San Diego. I'd like to connect with anyone who lived in the Haight during 1969-1970. Our "commune" was the Third Eye, and we ran a bookstore and a tobacco shop.