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The last hippy poet of the woodstock generation
Excerpt-2: 1966 would be a life-changing year for me.
1966 would be life changing for me. In January—right after I turned 16, Mom told me we were moving to Hollywood, just the two of us. My sister was pregnant by her boyfriend. They were getting married and she would be moving in with him. Mom and Dad agreed that I would go with Mom and Bob would go with Dad. Our family was disintegrating.
I had barely started high school, but now I had to leave everything and everyone I knew and start over in a new, unfamiliar city. I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, and the Ford that Dad had given me was still not fixed. Mom said I had to get rid of it, since there was no way to take it with us, and no parking at the apartment building where we would be living. To make matters even worse, she told me she had a new boyfriend, and he would be living with us. I was angry at her, at the changes, at everything, but more than that, I felt betrayed. I didn’t try to express any of that—because I didn’t know how. So I stuffed it.
When you are young, a year can seem like an eternity. But this year felt like a whirlwind of change. I suppose it was fitting that I moved with Mom to Hollywood, merely one year before the Summer of Love, at the birth of the psychedelic revolution.
With no one to talk to or confide in, I withdrew into a fantasy world of my own. The only outlet I had for my feelings was my poetry journal, which stayed hidden under my bed. Mom was too busy with her new boyfriend, and I didn’t want to confide in her anyway at this point.
I did make the best of it, though. During the day, I went to my new high school, Hollywood High, but at night I roamed the famous Sunset Strip. For a 16 year old like me, the Sunset Strip was magical—a place of wonder. On the weekends, cars lined both sides of the street, packed with teenagers cruising Sunset Boulevard, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene. Hundreds of teenagers paraded up and down the sidewalk in front of the Strip’s most famous nightclubs: The Whiskey A-Go-Go, Gazzarris, The Galaxy, London Fog, The Trip, The Sea Witch, It’s Boss—just to name a few.
Groups of teens would linger in front of the various clubs, hanging out and talking, hoping to catch a glimpse or earful of the local bands whose music emanated from inside the clubs. These were the up-and-coming L.A. bands who would become the minstrels of our generation. Bands like The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, Love, The Byrds, Sonny & Cher, Iron Butterfly, Johnny Rivers, The Mamas & Papas, Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Bobby Fuller Four, and, of course, The Beach Boys. Many of the clubs were teenage nightclubs where the admission age was set at 15, which was perfect for someone like me who loved to dance.
I managed to get a job at one of the teenage clubs—It’s Boss, as a doorman and DJ, spinning my 45s on the turntable in the audio booth between sets of the house band, The Regents. Yes, at 16, here I was already working in a teenage nightclub on the Sunset Strip!
Many of the bands I mentioned played at It’s Boss. I also met other soon-to-be famous people. For example, the year before Steppenwolf recorded their first album, John Kay used to bum cigarettes off me at the door, while I was letting people into the club.
I met a new group of friends at It’s Boss: Sherman, Marnell, Sunny and Sheila. Except for Sunny, they were all older, over 21. Even so, they would invite me to drink with them. We would go out back, behind the club, and chug Colt 45 malt liquor. It was stronger than regular 3.2 beer. It went down easy and sure did help with my churned-up feelings.
Speaking of friends, Jessie also came to Hollywood—as a runaway from juvie, and I found him a place to crash for a while. More on that later . . .
ϟ
Shortly after Mom and I moved, I met Katie. She was 16, like me, and my first true love—a real, honest-to-goodness, sensual, heart-throbbing love. She wasn’t my first steady; that, of course, had been my puppy love, Liz, who was my girlfriend until she’d moved away to Mill Valley and I never saw her again. We had kissed; we had danced; we had held hands—but never anything more.
Katie and I met at It’s Boss one night while I was working. She often came there with her best friend, Karen. They lived in the San Fernando Valley but would come over the hill to Hollywood because they both loved dancing, and It’s Boss was one of the best teenage dance clubs on the Strip.
I had seen Katie a couple of times before, but I was too shy to approach her. However, thanks to my friend Sherman and his Colt 45, I found the courage to ask her to dance—and she accepted. We ended up dancing together all night long.
We were great together, and we both loved dancing. After that night, we became inseparable. I would often take Katie to dance with me on American Bandstand, where I had become a regular dancer, as it taped in Hollywood, just down the street from where I now lived.
I had barely started high school, but now I had to leave everything and everyone I knew and start over in a new, unfamiliar city. I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, and the Ford that Dad had given me was still not fixed. Mom said I had to get rid of it, since there was no way to take it with us, and no parking at the apartment building where we would be living. To make matters even worse, she told me she had a new boyfriend, and he would be living with us. I was angry at her, at the changes, at everything, but more than that, I felt betrayed. I didn’t try to express any of that—because I didn’t know how. So I stuffed it.
When you are young, a year can seem like an eternity. But this year felt like a whirlwind of change. I suppose it was fitting that I moved with Mom to Hollywood, merely one year before the Summer of Love, at the birth of the psychedelic revolution.
With no one to talk to or confide in, I withdrew into a fantasy world of my own. The only outlet I had for my feelings was my poetry journal, which stayed hidden under my bed. Mom was too busy with her new boyfriend, and I didn’t want to confide in her anyway at this point.
I did make the best of it, though. During the day, I went to my new high school, Hollywood High, but at night I roamed the famous Sunset Strip. For a 16 year old like me, the Sunset Strip was magical—a place of wonder. On the weekends, cars lined both sides of the street, packed with teenagers cruising Sunset Boulevard, trying to catch a glimpse of the scene. Hundreds of teenagers paraded up and down the sidewalk in front of the Strip’s most famous nightclubs: The Whiskey A-Go-Go, Gazzarris, The Galaxy, London Fog, The Trip, The Sea Witch, It’s Boss—just to name a few.
Groups of teens would linger in front of the various clubs, hanging out and talking, hoping to catch a glimpse or earful of the local bands whose music emanated from inside the clubs. These were the up-and-coming L.A. bands who would become the minstrels of our generation. Bands like The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, Love, The Byrds, Sonny & Cher, Iron Butterfly, Johnny Rivers, The Mamas & Papas, Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Bobby Fuller Four, and, of course, The Beach Boys. Many of the clubs were teenage nightclubs where the admission age was set at 15, which was perfect for someone like me who loved to dance.
I managed to get a job at one of the teenage clubs—It’s Boss, as a doorman and DJ, spinning my 45s on the turntable in the audio booth between sets of the house band, The Regents. Yes, at 16, here I was already working in a teenage nightclub on the Sunset Strip!
Many of the bands I mentioned played at It’s Boss. I also met other soon-to-be famous people. For example, the year before Steppenwolf recorded their first album, John Kay used to bum cigarettes off me at the door, while I was letting people into the club.
I met a new group of friends at It’s Boss: Sherman, Marnell, Sunny and Sheila. Except for Sunny, they were all older, over 21. Even so, they would invite me to drink with them. We would go out back, behind the club, and chug Colt 45 malt liquor. It was stronger than regular 3.2 beer. It went down easy and sure did help with my churned-up feelings.
Speaking of friends, Jessie also came to Hollywood—as a runaway from juvie, and I found him a place to crash for a while. More on that later . . .
ϟ
Shortly after Mom and I moved, I met Katie. She was 16, like me, and my first true love—a real, honest-to-goodness, sensual, heart-throbbing love. She wasn’t my first steady; that, of course, had been my puppy love, Liz, who was my girlfriend until she’d moved away to Mill Valley and I never saw her again. We had kissed; we had danced; we had held hands—but never anything more.
Katie and I met at It’s Boss one night while I was working. She often came there with her best friend, Karen. They lived in the San Fernando Valley but would come over the hill to Hollywood because they both loved dancing, and It’s Boss was one of the best teenage dance clubs on the Strip.
I had seen Katie a couple of times before, but I was too shy to approach her. However, thanks to my friend Sherman and his Colt 45, I found the courage to ask her to dance—and she accepted. We ended up dancing together all night long.
We were great together, and we both loved dancing. After that night, we became inseparable. I would often take Katie to dance with me on American Bandstand, where I had become a regular dancer, as it taped in Hollywood, just down the street from where I now lived.
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