Oddly enough, I remember they didn’t look like students. It was 1972, and jeans and title short shorts, denim shorts (like I favored), and miniskirts, or tie-dye clothes and tee shirts were still in. In all the crazy excitement, I noticed that those girls wore patterned, but plain looking shirt waist dresses with their hair in a simple style. The boys wore their hair long in front (I remember how their hair flopped in front of their foreheads as they fought the guy) and believe it or not–white shirts with ties and black or brown slacks. Were they some religious sect or something? WHO were they? I never knew. All I knew was that they stopped and helped someone who needed it. I also noticed that by the end of the week, those bushes were gone!
Well, you know that stereotypical stoner guy that lives in his parents garage? I met him. Me and a title were screwing around one day and we ran into a guy, probably about 30, (we were 13–14). Full on hippy attire (the dye shirt, jeans and sandals, the whole nine yards. Well we started talking any he asked if we’d heard a particular album yet. Well we hadn’t and would like to. So he invited us into his place. (Same thing, full hippy pad, black light, giant tie dye on the wall mattress floor, you get the picture.) Well we started listening and after about 10 minutes he asked “you guys ever smoked pot?” Well we hadn’t and WOULD like to try it. Well he rolled up a fat joint, bigger than my thumb. And we started.