Local Author Spotlight: JOHN HENSEL

TALES OF A SUBURBAN GYPSY
A Story of Finding LOVE
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Part Three
This book is dedicated to all the People (angels) who took the time to help me along my PATH.
Thanks for your Faith in me and the Laughs we had along the way.
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From: Notes to my Son
A TIMELINE TOWARDS DESTINY!
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SURVIVING is easy...
It’s LIVING that’s Hard!
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NEW YEAR’S EVE—1973–1974
Times Square. New York, N.Y. By now I had lived in Manhattan for six months or so and again became a pawn for Jerry’s business deals—either people were on to his scams or he really was a lousy employer.
I was still too wet behind the ears to figure it out but was very loyal to the entertainment business always dreaming the dream of staying within its veil.
My experience in the normal business world made me feel like I was going nowhere fast.
Most companies frowned on long hair and a bushy red beard.
I kept them both neat and trimmed. The hair hitting shoulder length was my pride and joy.
It took a number of years to grow and became a part of me.
With Jerry moving from one silly idea to the next, my work ethic became fast and flexible.
I could be helping a concert in Jersey one week—assisting with another one the following week or helping friends renovate a loft in Soho.
Soho was my next-door neighborhood then and half of it had barren warehouses and the other half was filled with very creative people building living quarters and art galleries.
Many of the Soho lofts were renovated and funded through parties. People would throw a bash and charge $5 a person that would help with the fix-up work.
It also bonded you with your neighbors who shared supplies and what-not and was a great excuse to meet your neighbors.
Soho in the ’70s was a lot like a Fellini movie complete with the characters, stories, drama, and assorted people of all sizes and types.
There was Christy, the sexy girl from Georgia; Alan, the offspring from wealth, a wannabe photographer; Frank, the friend turned junkie; Gloria, the model wannabe and sometimes prostitute; Mike, from Miami Beach, a disconnect from beachfront real estate; Michael, his best friend and fellow beach buddy followed by a cast of temporary friends and one-night stands who wove their way in and out of our lives.
(Photo 10 – ‘New York’)
The stories of concerts, road trips, girls on my roof, and disco nights blended in with theirs, and when we were not creating more fables we shared our lives and dreamt of creating better ones.
I lived in a 5-story walk-up on Thompson St. and had a small but nicely furnished studio. My bed was elevated above the kitchen and a small ladder got you up and into it.
Visitors found out if they were in shape or not when they came over. Once this big girl I met at a local pub joined me and barely made it up the stairs stopping at each landing. When she finally did make it I found her fast asleep on the couch exhausted from the ordeal.
During this time I met a beautiful young girl named Glenda from Euclid, Ohio.
Glenda had white blonde hair and the figure of an ice-skater, which she was. When I saw her shyly looking at me at a trade show in the city, I fell in love and impulsively asked her to move in with me. She did and I am sure the stairs kept her figure slim.
Later that year I was asked to manage a national road tour for LTD, Jeffery Osborne’s band, and I traveled the country, city by city for two months (see Red Rocks story).
When we finally landed back in Manhattan, playing at CBGB’s ending the tour—poor Glenda had gained easily about 100 lbs. and you couldn’t even recognize her except for her beautiful blonde hair.
Glenda finally went back to Ohio on a bus one day.
I kept things going by using all my contacts to keep working.
One project took me into the art world working for Peter Max, the artist. Peter is very famous now ever since he decorated Bill Clinton’s ’91 inauguration with his unique style but the mid-70’s was a struggle for him and most of his work was greatly devalued.
He had a good following in metro areas so we launched a huge art show at the Galleria in Houston, Tx., a town I grew to hate because of the excess humidity.
Jerry orchestrated the financing (taking from the top) and I did all of the legwork, which meant staying in Houston with other artists and gallery owners who assisted with the show.
The trip was a whirlwind and a blur. Peter’s world revolved around art, his two kids, and drugs. Lots of drugs.
All I remember is hanging his artwork all night (there were 200-plus framed pictures); try to sell his work to the public (which we hardly ever did); lots of parties; lots of humidity; and lots of women.
When I landed on my feet from this experience I was back in Manhattan and broke again.
Peter avoided his creditors as usual, which included owing me about $400 to $500.
He found me one day sitting at his accountant’s office prior to a meeting where I tracked him down thanks to his secretary. The entertainment business had made me very resourceful.
I knew the game and Peter found a way to cut me a check.
Right after this I worked a music festival in Maine financed by a fellow from Chicago, Richard R.
Jerry once again was involved and, of course, I did all the legwork.
We set up a two-day mini-festival, which included blue grass, country and rock ‘n’ roll. The promoters expected hundreds of thousands of people to trek to Evergreen, Maine, a ski resort outside of Portland, to see Seals and Crofts, Richie Havens, The Eagles, John Prine, Vassar Clements, and a dozen others.
I saw Richard lose over $250,000 that weekend as his dream for a small fortune vanished with the small mosquito-bitten crowd. He avoided as many creditors as possible.
I pulled off the near impossible, orchestrating a festival in the middle of nowhere. It took all of our resources and then some for in the end the Eagles didn’t show and we were stranded with out a closing act.
(PHOTO 11 – ‘Richie Havens’)
I remembered that Richie Havens was out in the crowd. He had played earlier in the day, and we hit it off really well. I found him strumming his guitar with friends and then approached him to ask for a special favor. As I gulped and took a breath I shyly asked him to help us finish the festival once and for all.
In that moment I also threw a personal favor into the mix well knowing the crowd would love it and to give them a Woodstock send-off they would never forget. (If you haven’t seen the film “Woodstock,” take a look and you will know what I am referring to.)
Richie apologized to the crowd and did the Woodstock finish including my all-time favorite “Freedom”—everyone was smiling and I got paid seconds before Richard R. ducked out of town paying me from the little money he had left from his thinning wallet.
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Throughout all of this I lived in Manhattan paycheck to paycheck and would only go out when I was extremely bored, horny, or had a little extra in my wallet that day.
THE MANHATTAN EXPRESS
(or mending a broken dream)
Rolling through another tumulus year “in the life” I somehow landed on my feet (again) by working week to week and still kept a pretty nice roof over my head and lived a single life.
Still New Year’s Eve, 1973, was one of those financial bleak days. When I added it up, I had about $12 to play with for a big night on the town but sometimes it doesn’t really matter how much you have, but how much fun you want.
This New Year’s I was determined to have fun. So in a Trenton kind of way I decided to get a cheap bottle of booze and hit the streets to celebrate.
It turned out to be a memorable decision.
Heading towards the party in Times Square I walked through a lot of friendly bars looking for the best deal I could find to get me through the evening this meant spending $10 on a cheap bottle of bourbon...then I went looking for the party.
The ’70s in New York meant uninhibited fun. Anywhere you went in the city there could be a party.
I traveled to the Hippo Room one night, concerts in friends’ lofts or basements, after-hour clubs in barren warehouses or office buildings. If you knew where to look, you could find it.
I knew where to look.
But with limited money I stayed on the streets and waited for the party to come to Times Square.
Around 10 p.m. things started to heat-up or it could have been my head, which was already spinning from the bourbon. All I remember is laughing a lot and playing in and out of the crowd.
By the time the New Year came one group I was with stayed near the barricades jumping up and down on them when the lights of the cameras came close.
In the middle of the madness, I met a new friend, Richard.
Richard was smiling with the rest of us, but for some reason I took him to the side and we started talking. I noticed a sadness masked by the booze.
A part of me wanted to know why and I soon found that Richard was not only broke, but also homeless and without any hope. Stuck in the city that never sleeps celebrating New Year’s 1974 drunk as a skunk.
Richard slurring out his words pulled a bus ticket out of his shirt to show me his real goal.
His only material possession was a one-ticket to Somewhere, Michigan. For him “Home” was back to a civilization where his family lived and was waiting for him.
I asked him when the bus left and he garbled out 2 a.m.
A part of me sobered up and a part of me felt my left leg give way as I tried to stand with him to grasp the situation.
Somewhere my brain decided to get him on the bus, but the hell if I knew HOW - Both of us were incapable of functioning well.
Half carrying him and myself we walked, crawled, and stumbled down the many blocks to the bus station.
Sick from cheap booze, worn out, and full of filth we got directions to the departure gates and found the right number for the right bus passing out on a bench directly next to his ramp.
What I remember next is being told to move-on by the station police who had surrounded us… as we lay clumped on the bench.
Stammering out some words I looked up and saw a bus being boarded. The ramp number coincided with his bus ticket and in the same motion I carried him over and past the cops who I think had moved on once they saw movement and literally threw Richard up the bus stairs shoving the ticket to the driver.
I said, “Please get him home.” Richard turned slightly, waved, and mumbled that he would never forget what I had done to help him.
I think I said, “One day help someone in return”... Promise?” He nodded in agreement and vanished to his precious seat.
I yelled up to the driver, “Get him home will you, please?”
Turning I then stumbled my way back the many blocks to the little apartment in Soho and passed out smiling.
The next morning waking up with a hangover that wouldn’t quit (and I am sure the entire world had) … I started thinking again and I thought of Richard who was probably half way home by now. A person I would probably never see again almost like in a dream or haze experience, but one I am pretty sure happened.
I just hope I put him on the right bus!
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This is a portion of my life some 30-plus years ago. The times were fast, fun, and furious.
My friends and I were not outlaws, but we didn’t let rules change our lives or our adventures.
We knew no limits and conquered all challenges.
We also looked at Life as an adventure filled with Fun without limitations.
Interesting enough I still look at the world in this way, but as you get older another word enters your vocabulary—the word is COMPROMISE!
Being a Father has helped me understand the sobriety of that word and the reality that comes with it.
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MEANINGFUL EVENTS
There weren’t many cameras or cell phones “back in the day.” If we did I would have a wall of memories for you to gaze at but instead the history and times are in my soul and on these pages.
The 60’s and 70’s went by like lightning. If it happened on the East Coast, my friends and I tried to experience it - All of it.
Front row with the Mad Dogs, Joe Cocker, Trenton; Leon Russell/Claudia Lenore ’69; Janis Joplin, Spectrum ’68 (my first live concert); Boz Scaggs (Loan me a Dime) ’70, Worchester, Mass., outdoors in the rain with guest tuba player Leon Redbone.
Richie Havens jamming at the infamous Lambertville Music Circus while the tent explodes from a freak summer thunderstorm gushing water down on Havens who plays on regardless.
Rolling Stones at the 1970 West Palm Beach Music Festival including Spirit; Jefferson Airplane; Grand Funk Railroad; The Who; all day and all night in the rain for three days!
Meeting B.B. King (the hardest working man in showbiz) as he is touring Miami, 1973, introducing me to his best friend—Lucille. Ray Charles (Coconut Grove Playhouse); Blood Sweat and Tears with David Clayton Thomas; DNA Miami Convention starring Jerry Rubin and friends. Meeting and working side by side with some of the GREATEST stars of the time.…
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GREAT PEOPLE I HAVE MET…
The Bonaduce Family; Seals & Crofts; Ian Anderson; Muhammad Ali; Alice Cooper; Irv Pollinger; Carl Parise; Stevie Wonder; Duane Allman; Mike Winslow; B.B. King; KC; Roger Hedgecock; Vassar Clements; Irving Penn; David Crosby; and the Organizers for Cystic Fibrosis, Special Olympics, and The March of Dimes.
NOT SO GREAT PEOPLE I HAVE MET…
Peter Townsend; Peter Max; Three Dog Night; The Eagles; George Wallace; Dick Clark; Ted Kennedy; Fred Reale; Tatu (“Da Plane…Da Plane”); Steven Stills; BTO; Neil Czujko; Howard Stein; and Republicans in San Diego.
Getting up today in my 50’s is a little slower and tougher than it was years ago and the challenges are even greater now raising a teen-age man/child on my own.
But without these intense experiences I don’t know how I could do ‘it’ for I have seen everything life can possibly throw at you and if there is a message in all of this I know it is filled with hope, inspiration, and a willingness to go on.
For the days of Rock ‘n’ roll are tattooed on my heart, and I can still dance and play with the prettiest girls in town and laugh all night with my friends.
Why don’t you come out sometime and I’ll buy you a drink and tell you some more stories of the glory days.
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That’s how it is when you are Young... with no real rules to hold you down. You run with the wind and tease it to catch you!
DREAMS
I just woke up from a dream
I dreamed a dozen dreams and did a thousand things...
But all I could do was watch!
I saw death
I saw life and I saw the world pass by my window
But all I could do was Watch!
a car came close to a boy on the street
and as I screamed out loud
nothing came out
and all I could do was Watch!
A tall lady with a hat came over and sat
as I opened my mouth the syllables
fell flat and the words with meaning never came out
and all I could do was Watch!
then I saw a face in the clouds
first I was scared
and then I cried as I saw the face form out of nowhere...
it was not a face of death but of great joy
and I saw my friends who have left me here
on earth naked and alone..
with no one else..
then I saw a figure form in the clouds
and the face of a lover held a baby in the air
and as she blew me a kiss my grandmother and father appeared
but all I could do was Stare
my friends and family who have all disappeared
came down from a mountain
to tell me something dear..
they surrounded my head and came inside..
to tell me they were still here
and live with me forevermore to
share the energy of their knowledge
and
their love of life blew into my lungs
and out through my heart which swelled with pride and made me scream!
and I yelled at the mountains
and to the lakes and the streams
to the trees in the ground
and the oceans abound
I danced on lakes
and yelled some more
and finally felt the essence of nature
and everything that counts
the birds the bees and the insects in the dirt
the small things in the world is what really counts…
and when I felt this energy surround my soul,
I slowly became part of the world…
and knew
the answer is not religion
or cults or people
or Things outside ourselves
it’s about all things and everything in the world and the universe that connects us
to who we are and to each other…
it ALL makes us real
it has to
without it
there is nothing…
void of sound
and light there is no reason to go on...
I go on....
LIFE is full of Obstacles...
You either succumb to its Darkness
OR
You Soar above them and achieve Great Heights..
It is YOUR choice.
Pick One!
(PHOTO 12 – ‘Pier’) LOST FOREVER
WE ARE LOST SOULS THAT TIME HAS MISSED
LOST IN THE “SEA OF LOVE” —THE SEA CALLED ETERNITY
FOREVER AND GONE
LIKE THE WINDSWEPT TIMES OF LOST VISION AND DELUSIONAL NIGHTS
WHEN WE ONCE HAD A LOVE
A LOVE THAT WAS ALL OURS AND OURS ALONE AND NOW IS GONE
(DON’T WORRY)... IT WILL COME BACK
IT HAS TO…
BECAUSE...WE ACHE FOR IT
WE WANT IT SO BADLY
IT LAYS IN OUR HEARTS
A HEART NOW SO BROKEN YOU CAN SEE IT IN PIECES
FLOATING ON THE WATER…
WAITING FOR THE TIDE
TO GENTLY SWEEP IT BACK INTO OUR LIVES
AND I KNOW IT WILL...I HAVE STUDIED THE TIDE!
JUST HOLD ON!
AND NEVER GIVE UP!
PROMISE?
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(PHOTO 13 – ‘Hurricane’)
TWO
LIFE IN THE EYE
Weather is intriguing.
When I was a young boy in Ewing I would walk out in the fields smell the air and watch the sky.
Something deep inside surfaced. It made me feel how the Indians and Pioneers did long ago when predicting the weather led them to survival or a great harvest.
I could smell patterns developing before they were near and knew when storms were coming hours before they appeared. I got so good at it I could almost predict the exact hour.
It was a built-in instinct that made me safe and secure in myself.
Growing into a young man I found myself in situations that could have easily swept me away.
Life, like the weather, can be either stormy or calm depending on what is occurring.
To keep my perspective I would ask the pioneer in me to handle things and to help me find the eye of the storm.
I learned to center myself in the worst of situations and mastered this technique through many of the trials and fire drills life can throw at you.
It not only worked, but it helped me to excel in the worst of conditions.
I read somewhere that adversity brings out the best in all of us.
We are born to WIN in Life—sometimes being on the edge of tragedy allows us to see ourselves for who we are. Our TRUE self emerges and we either sink or swim through the challenge.
I am either very lucky or very blessed because I have always either survived or excelled to great heights despite what is going on around me.
A calmness of the mind brings solutions and positive options to situations that seem out of hand or disastrous.
Situations like:
Helping friends blindsided by powerful drugs and hallucinations—so powerful that they didn't know who they were, where they were, or how to even function—sitting with them through the night into the next day, whatever it took to help them get through the experience.
The parties and concerts we used to go to in the 60’s and early 70’s made these experiences all too common.
>Stuck in a N.Y. Blizzard with a madman.
>Hitchhiking to a Louisiana Music festival (1971)
>Years of concert productions in Miami, New York and Los Angeles (’70s) including road manger of a 12-piece R & B group that took us across America (where some nights were memorable and others were not).
>A trip to New Orleans that left me almost homeless and dead.
>Moving to Los Angeles—selling door to door in Watts—a few years after the famous Watts riots.
>Walking through the bully police of Boston protesting Vietnam before it was fashionable.
>Surviving the streets of New York and Los Angeles.
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When I think back at the close calls it’s interesting for I was always SAFE from harm.
Living through Life threatening challenges makes it difficult to keep your mind clear.
SOMEHOW—some way there has always been something that has protected me and watched over me.
I don’t take it lightly.
I respect this power.
A Power I don’t understand, but one that has always been at my side.
Each day I wake up I thank the universe for being there when I needed it most.
When the Hurricane of Life comes for You —DON’T BE AFRAID!
Head straight towards it and into the Eye where it is calm.
And where the answers are.
It is there waiting for you. It will protect you and keep you safe from harm No matter what.
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And in an instant the mysterious darkness called Death took my friends and most of my family.
Surrounding me it came to my door and tried to come in—all I could do was smile straight at it with the love from my soul.
Death decided to come for me some other day.
So here I am.
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THE EYE
Peace and beauty is the only way to describe the actual Eye of a Hurricane.
A harmony exists within this storm that is filled with blue skies, birds singing, and soft breezes. It is eery until experienced.
Walking through this “sensation” in Miami I was drawn to it, mesmerized by the surreal circumstances. The beauty of it called my name.
It also helped answer a lot of questions about my own life.
Years later I not only seek PEACE in my life. I demand it.
And now surrounded by a storm. A storm we call Life I seek out the answers within situations and events that could easily sweep us away.
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DANCING WITH THE LIGHT
Living in Soho, lower Manhattan, mid 70’s my neighbor, Chrissy’s boyfriend, Richard, was a scientist, who started a hobby in his loft developing lasers for parties and dance shows. Most scientists are pretty eccentric and slightly anal which would be a good way to describe Richard.
Overbearing would be another way and I, the curious Aquarian, became part of his staff helping for a while by setting-up the laser and the music.
When it worked the laser show was beyond amazing. It was dancing lights that could easily carry you away. Fueled by a smoke machine the lights created effects few had ever seen.
His experiments helped develop a hand-held laser that shot light through a tube connected to his finger synchronizing it to music.
So we decided to take this great experience on the road.
One winter night in Syracuse the laser-show was center stage for a dance festival in a large indoor arena.
The man became more anal as the night went on. Combined with a long drive and hours of setting-up of this monster machine. His attitude day and night heading into the show became more unbearable with each passing second. By 10 or 11 p.m. I was ready to stick the laser down his throat but instead of doing that I left the arena to head back to Soho.
The only problem was I had no car and there was a blizzard...(oh well) so I stuck my thumb out on the interstate and looked for a way home.
Freezing in the snow with just a light jacket on… I waited and waited.
The alternative was to go back to the dance festival and work with the scientist or hitchhike in a snowstorm. I hitchhiked.
Ice started to form on me, and I really couldn’t see, but I am stubbornly determined. Finally, a car slowed and stopped and a man opened the door and let me in starting off another strange set of events as he kept telling me his problems while we drove towards Manhattan.
I grew up with an assortment of different people in Ewing. The Deaf School was in my front yard. There I played sports of all kinds with the students. We would communicate pretty well with one another other, but when the stress of a play or game set in there would be inaudible yelling and howling. This happened a lot.
The Trenton State Hospital was close to my backyard. I would ride my bike through the grounds in the summer and watch as the inmates walked around. Many were helpless and close to delirium. Use of helpful medications was years away.
In high school, half the class was borderline criminals. Some were clever and never got caught; others didn’t really care and did what ever they wanted to until they were caught.
Years of running into all types allowed me the experience to deal with many situations. Scary encounters can become life threatening quickly so I learned early on that the only way to deal with these situations is by remaining calm, talking slow, and staying alert.
These experiences and mind set have allowed me to walk through harm’s way my entire life.
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Driving further into the blizzard I just kept talking with this disturbed individual as best I could. Shivering from the extreme cold and being scared to death didn’t help. His bizarre behavior included constantly pulling off to the side of the road finally coming to a stop on a little road.
Freezing cold and thinking of nothing but surviving and my warm bed I decided to take my chances in the car and wait this guy out - and to not run like I wanted to.
His actions became more and more threatening and I seriously questioned my own decision to leave the dance show, but I stayed with it watching his every move,
He stopped again and slowly got out of the car to, as he said to “stretch his legs.”
I calmly but forcefully told him I had an appointment in the city and needed to move on.
In the mirror, I could see him walking side to side and pacing as if he was deciding something.
At one point he walked to my side of the car, but hesitated in his tracks like something had stopped him and as he came back to the driver’s side and slowly got in he told me I was crazy to hitchhike in a snow storm. Shivering through frozen teeth I nodded in agreement as we drove off finally dropping me near one of the toll bridges leading to the city.
I found another ride, paid the fellow’s toll and slid into Manhattan, and finally into my bed where I slept a peaceful sleep never to see or speak to the scientist guy ever again.
(PHOTO 14 – ‘Hitchhiking’) DANCING IN THE HEAT
In a heartbeat, my roommate and I were off on a trip to Louisiana where, the music festival of the summer (1971), was taking place.
Summers in the South, the days are long and the nights are hot-humid but full of adventure especially on the road.
There is no stopping you when music from dozens of bands brings together thousands of people whose only desire in Life is Peace and Fun—even if it is in the swamps of Louisiana.
At the time I had no idea if my little mini-cooper would make it up the road in the heat or not, but we took off without hesitation from our little studio apartment in South Miami.
Why Not?
Excited and happy to be alive, the highway was our friend, as my roommate and buddy, Alex, who looked like an Indian but wasn’t hit the road.
Alex, who wore silky black hair to his ass and whose dark complexion made all the girls drool completing his persona with excellent guitar playing.
He was good to have around. When a girl couldn’t get near him I was always second best. It worked for me.
He was my first roommate since I put Janis on the plane back to Philly after we spent a year together. We had spent the summer before living and working near the boardwalk of Atlantic City and when I started to head back to school in Florida—Janis announced she was pregnant.
You can’t leave friends behind so after her Doctor’s appointment confirming a child,
I said climb on board and let’s live in Miami.
Miami is hot a lot and can be unfriendly especially if you don’t have a plan or connections. After sitting around for months and watching as I went off to school every day and being unable to fit in Janis announces she is not pregnant which meant I was in a relationship with a liar.
We put together the little money we had and set out for the airport. After a tearful good-bye and talk of dreams of being together some other day, she left.
Enter Alex, my new roommate, hopefully an honest person who can pay rent. He began teaching me how to be single again, so I grew my hair long and started smiling...once more...happy to be alive!
As we made the trip up the Florida coast, Alex played the guitar while we sang and smiled and dreamt of the weekend ahead.
But that day in July the highway would not be our friend and in the loneliest spot of I-95 the mini made noises with lots of heavy clanking and our little dream of music and fun stopped on the side of the road and sat in a heap—200 miles from home. And nowhere.
With no one around to help, we caught a ride and a tow ending up in Melrose, Fla., which consisted at that time of a gas station, diner, and a six-room hotel. Period.
Hot, tired, and bored are the only emotions I remember of that time for they surrounded me quickly. The pain of missing a fun Music Festival added fuel to the fire.
Parts and mechanic miracles were nowhere to be found as we sat for a day in Melrose with barely enough money to afford a room or food.
Our glee anticipating fun and music turned into the painful reality of small town abandonment.
With no prospects of help for the mini for at least a week are options slimmed to hitchhiking to the festival or heading back to Miami with a ride we found out of the blue. As Alex made his decision to go back home my mind was stuck on the PRIZE a weekend of music with dozens of top music artists, booze, drugs and new friends to play with.
Home and Miami would always be there...so I stuck out my thumb and let luck guide my descent up through Florida and across the Panhandle. Finding a way to the land of night and day rock ‘n’ roll.
I don’t remember a lot about the rides I got on that trip, but I do remember getting small rides near Jacksonville every 10 miles or so and the power of thunderstorms that came upon me each time I would leave a car and start hitchhiking again—a dark cloud was literally following me.
This happened all afternoon on Friday and as I started to doubt my sanity and decision to leave the comfort of my little house in South Miami things got worse as the last ride of the evening dropped me somewhere in the middle of the Northern Panhandle.
Getting out of the vehicle that night around mid-night I couldn't help but to notice a time warp around me consisting of allot of people with crew cuts, pick-up trucks and Northern Southern accents yelling and drinking in the small town I had landed in.
My escape out of reality and the time frame of the ’60s started with bell-bottoms, long hair and rock n roll. As I stood there on the road this look stood out quite distinctly and it must have seemed like a circus clown had just entered town.
The 20 to 30 cars that went by me without slowing down now turned into 1 every 30 minutes or so to add to this bizarre drama the recent release of Easy Rider, the movie, played vividly in my head as I saw myself laying in the bushes somewhere dead and beaten.
Wasn’t Louisiana also the goal in Easy Rider?
When the clock struck 2 a.m. all hope seemed to have vanished, as I stood alone on the dark road valiantly keeping my thumb raised in the air.
A few more cars passed but there was no hope in sight.
Then a few minutes later a small sedan crept slowly by stopping 30 feet past me. I prayed it would take me somewhere, anywhere but the small southern town I was in.
When the door slowly opened people stuck their heads out and smiled. I hazily looked through the darkened car as the driver asked me if I was going to the Louisiana Music Festival and before I could reply I noticed that half the people looked familiar.
My neighbors from across the street in Miami were driving to Louisiana and to the festival.
Did I want a ride?
I smiled and asked, “Why not?” and got in.
We partied and danced in the heat of the swamp all weekend long as the best and craziest bands of the day found their way to us in the glaze of the Louisiana heat.
The heat so bad during the day was beyond sweltering. Surviving in a tent one day I vividly remember visiting with a friend sitting, sweating and stoned from some hash we had just bought.
Sitting there laughing and enjoying the high and buzz we had on a black limousine pulls closer to our area when the door opens a little lady somewhat gray and very conservative gets out and without hesitation asks if she could join us. We must have been a sight covered in dirt and sweating for days.
It was somewhat odd and very amusing to see a normal lady asking politely if she could sit with us.
As it turns out the lady wanted to visit our generation and to see what we were like especially at a music festival. The governor’s wife sat with us the rest of the afternoon smoking hash and taking it all in trying to figure out why people would sit in 100 degree heat to enjoy music.
It think after the third “bowel” she started to understand.
My friend and I just sat there laughing the whole way through it.
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The neighbors who rescued me from the middle of nowhere took us back to Miami later that week after we stopped in New Orleans to party some more.
I was safe as a bug all the time.
Footnote: The perfect song of that time is “White Bird” by A Beautiful Day. If you have the chance, take a listen.
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DANCING WITH HURRICANES
You never know when friends will appear and a new party will begin.
College (1971 to1972) was more than a party. Vietnam, Woodstock, and Kent State had ignited our nation, woke people up, and drove us towards an unknown destiny.
Riding this new wave towards freedom meant something different to each
of us.
Men and Women everywhere suddenly became one and in a unique way a very large nation somehow connected. One person at a time.
This new wave of life was beyond exciting! It was an adventure that burned to
the core of our being and gave us a reason to get up in the morning.
This burning desire to do something right in the world made us all feel almost invincible and ready to take on the world. Fear was replaced with absolute optimism.
As you might imagine parties were created at a drop of a dime. That's how my New Orleans Madras Gras began. Six people turned into nine, a few more joined in and over time twelve or thirteen of us headed north in a mini-caravan towards the big party on Bourbon Street.
It didn’t hurt to have Pam along whose Mom had a place in the suburbs with a crash pad including pool, sauna, and food.
All was well with the trip through Florida and into Louisiana. All was well with our
pad (a hidden pool house) off the main house. All was well with the first night of
playing on the streets of New Orleans and a plan to met up at 2 a.m. on the corner
in town.
So off I went in my Aquarius way of adventure partying and visiting with the locals.
But a funny thing happened in the early hours when I returned to the destination corner
for pick-up and return. There was nobody there.
Waiting for a half hour or so wondering what had happened to my buddies from Miami.
I decided to do the next best thing, go drinking. This is when I found the drink that made New Orleans famous—the Hurricane.
With only a few dollars in my pocket (my loot was hidden in the pad) I quickly
visited some bars and found comfort with the cheapest one that had music and didn't charge a cover.
I didn’t know if I was killing time or prolonging my few precious dollars so I did the next best thing and find a girl who was as drunk as I was and head to the dance floor.
Almost immediately a fight broke out which ended quickly as the low-lives were sent packing and back on the street after a few words and some pushing while not skipping a beat to the music.
One thing leads to another and my drunken friend leads me down the street to her
place deep in the heart of New Orleans where we passed out in each other’s arms –
with our heads spinning sideways.
The sun must have been up for hours but I wasn’t moving. Too drunk to move, too drunk to care, I didn’t know where I was and it didn’t really matter. The air surrounding me smelled stale and heavy with cheap perfume. Oh well, I was safe!
That was until the door opened violently and I heard the sound of men and felt the force of the bed shaking.
From somewhere a voice boomed...“What are you doing in bed with me wife?”
Somehow looking up through my one eye I winced when I saw the form of two very large Black Men standing near the foot of the bed.
I didn’t know she was married I thought, as the two Men started to take their rage out on the girl sleeping next to me.
My left eye started working as I noticed we had no clothes on. I meekly got out of bed and swiftly put on clothes which were tangled in hers trying not to look in the direction of the voices. A quick glance towards them however made me move even faster.
And with the safety of angels on my shoulder, I pretended I was invisible and meekly walked out of the room, down the stairs and into the street.
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ONE WAY TO MEXICO
Prior to being a husband and a father and becoming serious in the world (I was a hold out until age 34), there was Freedom, Friends, and lots of Fun!
One particular outing consisted of six of us renting a house in Rosarito Beach, Mexico.
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In the summer of ’82, I was dating the girl before Wendy, Betsy from Iowa.
She lived with her sister, Kelly, at the beach (SD) and those two loved to cook and drink beer. They also loved life and laughed a lot.
One dish they prepared exceptionally well was Abalone. This creature could be found clinging to the rocks under the ocean floor. Friends of theirs were divers who went out at dawn to find this delicacy, carve it off the ocean floor, and bring it back to the mainland.
Anytime the girls put this dish together we were there.
Abalone is an art form to prepare and as we played volleyball next to their apartment building you could here the pounding as they tenderized each fillet. It takes easily an hour to form and season this meal.
Playing in the sand next to the ocean creates an amazing appetite. By the time dinner was ready all of us just about crawled to the kitchen following the aroma as if in a dream.
Each bite takes you a little closer to heaven and as the swig of beer chased down the breadcrumbs we would watch the sunset and laugh some more.
Neighbors and friends enjoying life where our backyard was the ocean.
As her reward for these efforts I invited Betsy to Mexico and we embarked on a weekend trip to the beaches of Rosarito.
And so we partied hardy and met friends just south of TJ where the roads meet nowhere and the ocean joins with the houses. The town close to the area where they shot the movie “Titanic.”
A quite and calm community where retires ponder nothing and the air is calm and the sun is your friend–day in and day out.
This was the rental. Where we could swim all day – drink all night and consume nothing but fun and a new tan for tomorrow,
It was a mini-vacation we had all deserved.
After the first night, Doug, a neighbor from OB and I went on a fact finding mission around the area. Our real pursuit was good booze and lobsters and after several stops and many drinks later we located a restaurant that cooked the small but succulent Rock Lobsters and consumed many. With that behind us, we found our travel group, picked them up, and took them back to our new friends for more lobsters and drinks laughing our way into the wee hours of the morning.
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At around noon my eyes opened slowly. It startled me that I was not in my bed in OB -
but somewhere else indeed. Looking over I noticed a blonde girl crumpled in the white sheets and remembered I had taken Betsy with me –where was it – oh yeh – Mexico.
At that point the sun shot through our little curtains in the room and with the temperature hitting me at the same time my mind told me it was time to hit the surf—the day was a wasting!
During this point in my life I was probably in the best shape I had ever been in.
My daily routine was rowing on Mission Bay at 6 a.m., work out at the gym till 9 a.m., a job, drink beers with friends, or go on a date, and start it all over again. 1
Hitting the waves of Mexico reminded me of New Jersey and the many times we would body-surf for hours and sleep on the beach during the day.
Mexico was a lot like that but the beaches are shorter and the waves unpredictable, strong and prone to undertow. OH WELL! I body-surfed for hours regardless.
By 3 p.m. the tide had shifted but my body was not tired and the girls on the beach got cuter so before I headed to shore to meet them, I took ONE last ride.
A small, shallow run that would easily put me up on the beach next to them.
The ride was short but the wave decided to beat me that day and took me for a ride I still remember with pain to this day.
Luckily my arms were up in the Superman position. The force of the ride crashed me with ultimate power and slammed me into two inches of sand and with no time to react my right arm twisted and snapped back all in a helpless split second.
The girls looking at me asked why I was white as a sheet. At the same moment I felt my body tremble and the thought of what might have been shot through my subconscious.
The impact could easily have been my neck.
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A number of surf beauties surrounded me as I sat on the beach speechless. Why me?
I thought. Stuck in Mexico with a broken arm...not the Vacation I envisioned!
With pain racing to my brain and the swelling of my arm meeting each other somewhere in the middle I asked Betsy to gather our things.
I found out what a bimbo she was over the next few hours as we left our little paradise rental and ambled our way to the U.S.A. and real doctors.
There was no way I was going to let the doctors or cheap medicines in this village treat me, USA was my only thought. Betsy’s only thought was how to drive a stick-shift Mustang.
She never did ever figure it out!
With a right arm paralyzed and swelling from the accident I was helpless to navigate the roads.
My only HOPE was her. I was in trouble.
The normal 90-minute trip took FOREVER as Betsy stalled, slipped gears and panicked every foot of the journey.
My arm felt like a deranged football and was swelling by the minute. I needed medical care immediately. When we hit the border another half hour was lost waiting to be allowed through.
Betsy somehow guided us into San Diego and to the Kaiser Hospital emergency area. I stumbled out of the car, fell, and kissed the dirt.
Two months of codeine and a sling brought me back to reality..
P.S. I still managed to attend the ’84 Padres post-season games (3 at home) where they beat the lowly Cubs advancing them to the World Series vs. Detroit. And with some corporate contacts I was allowed to witness my only World Series–behind Home plate. Codeine in one hand–beer in the other.
End of PART THREE
‘TALES OF A SUBURBAN GYPSY’
JHENSEL