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March 6, 2006

1972: The Summer of Weed, Windowpane and Georgio of Beverly Hills

July 04, 2009 10:29 AM EDT (Updated: July 04, 2009 10:36 AM EDT)

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In the summer of 1972, during the beginning of my mid-pubescent, all important summer vacation, my parents did the unspeakable. They took me on a cross country trip that lasted the entire month of June. We drove from central Ohio, to California, then north to Chicago, and east to Maryland, all to visit various relatives.

It didn't matter that we visited Disneyland, or that I saw both oceans, the Grand Canyon, or almost every state in the continental United States. I missed my friends and knew that something was changing,and I was going to miss it. I was fifteen.

Didn't they know that we, my tight knit group of middle class girlfriends, had just met a group of "South End" boys? Bad Boys. Hot boys. New boys. Boys with cars.

Boys with Cars was something inherently exciting, new and dangerous. That is, if our parents found out we were with Boys With Cars.

I returned in early July, and couldn't wait to see my pals. I wanted to show off the clothes I had bought at "Giorgio of Beverly Hills". I thought I was something else. Everyone knew of "Giorgio" as the store that dressed the stars, at least according to the credits of our favorite TV shows. I thought I was cooler than cool. Ha!

I raced to the pool, a semi-private pool, which required membership to enter. We were all members, as our parents would have much rather paid the fifty dollar a season membership, than worry where we were hanging out all summer.

Running down the back path to the pool. I saw a group of my pals, sitting in a circle, in an enclosed thicket of trees and brush where we often gathered to talk, smoke cigarettes we had pilfered from our parents, and otherwise goof off.

Upon entering the thicket, I smelled something burning that was not any cigarette I had ever smelled before. They were all giggling and laughing, and having a good ole time. Cheryl, my best friend, handed me what looked like a home rolled cigarette. I said, No thanks, as I had snatched a few of my mother's "Vantages". She laughed, and filled me in on the life changing events that happened while I was off seeing the country.

They had discovered drugs. Chuck and the other, "South End" boys had introduced them to the joys of pot, acid and other various illegal substances. "Ok, what the hell!" I thought, inhaling my first whiffs of weed. I commented that I liked this feeling, and Greg, a guy I had quite a crush on, offered me a little piece of what looked like a piece of red colored cellophane. "Its called Windowpane." Thus began my first trip. No one told me what to expect, but I was too busy laughing to care.

We decided to walk to another pool , about two miles away, to watch a swim meet. Why we didn't drive, I don't remember, but it was probably a good idea. We were walking to the other pool, this group of about seven happy go lucky teens who were stoned silly, when I had my very first hallucination. I looked up in the fat, fluffy clouds and saw,The Three Stooges, Larry, Curly and Moe, staring down at me, talking to me. I was laughing hysterically at their commentary about my pals. I couldn't seem to understand why one of my closest friends was telling me to knock it off.

Apparently, I was repeating the Stooges comments out loud, and had insulted several buddies. Luckily they were high too, and couldn't stay mad, after I explained, quite rationally. that it was the Stooges, not me saying those things.

We finally got to the pool, and it was more beautiful than I ever remembered, before or since. The azure blue water, rippling gently, sunlight dancing upon the surface ,and the water sprites dancing across the surface were more entrancing than anything I had ever witnessed. Apparently, I laid at the water's edge for over an hour before being roused from my enchantment.

Finally, it was time to go home, and home we went, smoking another doobie on the way. When I reached home, my parents had company, and someone had brought out a guitar. With my mother at the piano, they were jamming on old time country music. I remember my uncle, started playing "Take Me Home, Country Roads".

For some reason, it didn't sound right, and I told him to play it again, a little faster. I sang along, and when I finished, my Dad was looking at me, awestruck. "I always thought it was the radio when I heard that coming from the basement". I remember him saying.

It was a huge deal to me to receive that compliment from him as he was a very stoic man, not given to complimenting me on anything.

I sat in with them for the rest of the evening. They never had a clue I was stoned out of my gourd, maybe due to the fact they were drinking themselves. After that night, My folks often asked me to lend a vocalizing harmony to their frequent jam sessions.

That is the story of my first acid trip, followed by many, many others.

Hey, you can't let your Daddy down, now can ya?