Here’s a few short tales from the late 60’s and early 70’s that could only have taken place in the hippest most happening city on earth.
The Usher: While reading the paper something caught my eye, 2001: A SPACE ODDESSY was in town playing at one of the older theaters that had a big screen plus, it was being shown in stereo and 70mm. They even had a bargain matinee. I was there. I asked the other’s who inhabited the commune on 25th St. with me if anyone else wanted to see one of the best films ever made. Everybody except Kerry said no. They all told me they had better things to do that day. Oh well, they’re loss.
Kerry and I went to the corner store, bought a couple cans of beer and some munchies, then took the MUNI to the theater, bought our tickets then went in. Since it was the first showing and early in the day the auditorium was fairly empty so we sat right in the middle of the center section. While waiting for the flick to begin we popped open our brews and snacks. Then lights went down and after the previews the movie commenced. Entranced, we watched the ape scene. As soon as the space scene started I asked Kerry if she want to smoke a doobie. Of course, she said yes.
I fired that puppy up, took a toke then passed it to Kerry. She took a hit and passed it back. All of a sudden there’s a beam of light shining right in my face. Oh shit, we’re busted! We’ll probably get thrown out.
However, the usher simply says, “I’m sorry sir, but there’s only smoking in the side sections. You’ll either have to move over there or put it out.”
I tell him I’m very sorry and we will happily move to the side section.
He thanks me, turns off the flashlight and leaves.
Kerry and I get up and move over to the side section and finish the J. A bit later we sucked down another one while the movie got better and better.
As we left the theater I saw the usher so I went up to him. Smiling I handed him a joint telling him to enjoy. He thanked me as he pocketed the hooter, then told us to come back anytime.
The Security Guard: My commune mates and I decided to hit the Filmore West on Saturday night. Joe Cocker with Mad Dogs And Englishmen were playing, and we’d heard they were hot. Plus, Joanne was dating a record executive who gave her, and us, free tickets. He was even promoting the warm up band so this time we’d even get to go to the pre-show buffet and have backstage passes. Since I was growing a lot of grass in our house, I always took a bunch of hooters with me where ever I went, especially to rock concerts. Depending on how much pot I had I would roll up anywhere from 10 to 60 joints. Then once the main band was cooking I would stand in the middle of the crowd light a doobie, take a hit then pass it left. Light another doobie and pass it right. Light another one and pass it forward. Light one more passing it back. I would do this until I had run out of weed. I’m happy to say I got turned on to a lot of different dope by other freeks who appreciated my effort.
We’ve been fed. The warm up and secondary bands have played their gigs so now it’s JCwMDAE. And they are rocking! Cocker is singing his guts out while Leon Russell is prowling the stage keeping the band tight. This is one of the best concerts we’ve recently been to. It’s time to pass out the ganja. I start lighting them up and passing them around. There’s a tap on my shoulder.
Fuck! It’s a security guard. I sure hope he don’t 86 me, this music is too good to miss. I smile, yes?
He says, “Are you the guy passing out the J’s?”
I shrug.
He says, “It’s okay, there’s no problem, man. But, you see those two?” He points to a couple standing about 30 feet away.
I tell him I see them.
“Well,” he tells me, “Make sure you don’t share any of your dope with them. They’re nothing but a pair of rip-offs.”
I thank him for the info then hand him a hooter.
He tells me to enjoy the concert and splits.
After that I make sure I don’t pass any doobies their way.
The Cops: I’m attending one of Joanne and Kerry’s weekly parties at their flat on Petrerro Hill. They are always loud and they always run late due to the copious quantities of drugs and booze involved. Plus, since Joanne and Kerry are a couple of hot young sexually liberated hippie chicks, the parties are always well attended.
It’s after 2 a.m. and the stereo is turned up to max when there’s a knock at the front door. Kerry, being the perfect hostess, answers. Immediately the festivities come to a screeching halt because standing there are 2 of the City’s finest. The boys in blue are here and there can be only one reason for their presents. We’re busted! The booze is set down, the dope is furtively stashed, the music is turned off and our clothing is rearranged. The cops just stand there watching, they’ve seen it all before.
Kerry swallows saying sweetly, “Yes officer, can I help you?”
The older one asks her if this is her place?
She nods.
He then tells her, “It’s late and we’ve had a noise complaint. So you’re going to have to turn down the radio and keep the party to a low roar. Understand!”
Kerry assures him that she does. The cop says, “That’s real good, because if we have to come back here again tonight there will be trouble because you’ll all be going to jail. Understand!”
Kerry says she understands perfectly. He stares at her for a while then says, “Okay then, just keep it down.” and turns to leave.
The younger cops smirks saying, “And get that pot plant out of your front window because the next cops who see it might not be as understanding as we are.”
We look over at the curtains and sure enough, there’s a flowerpot with a marijuana plant growing out of it. As he leaves he shakes his head and laughs saying, “Fuckin’ stupid hippies.”
I’ve lived in a lot of places and only in San Francisco, and maybe Amsterdam, could these events have had the outcome they did. Anywhere else, at the very least, I would have been kicked out or the event would have been shut down, but the City in those days was something special. In fact, when I lived there, 1966 to 1975, where ever I went I always carried some weed on me to use as barter. Not only did I trade for goods and services from other freeks but from the private sector as well like, stores, gas stations and theaters. I even traded joints for service from city employees. If the driver of the MUNI bus looked hip I’d give him a doobie instead of the fare. Or if we had neglected to pay our utility bills on time and the PG&E or garbage guy showed up demanding immediate payment or else, I’d simply hand him a hooter or 3. He would always be happy to cut us some slack. Even the top administrators really didn’t care too much about the use of pot among its denizens, as this last short tale will illustrate.
The DA: The Mighty Quim had just scored a quarter pound of some fine Colombian gold. Since he had copped it in Noe valley and it was a nice summer’s day, he decided to walk back to his commune on 22nd St. He put the dope in a brown bag and started strolling. At a corner he didn’t see any traffic so he crossed against the light. A beat cop saw this blatant disregard of the law and stopped Quim to chews him out. The Mighty Quim told the cop that he must be joking. This was way too chickenshit to believe. The cop got pissed and asked to see some ID because he was giving Quim a ticket. And by the way, what’s in the bag?
The Mighty Quim later told us, “Man, right then I wanted to book, but I figured the cop might just be pissed off enough to shot me. And it sure ain’t worth getting capped over a little weed so I handed him the bag."
The cop looked inside, saw the grass, smiled then told Quim that he was going straight to jail. He cuffed Quim to the light pole and called for back up. The paddy wagon came and took the Mighty Quim to the hoosgow where he spent the next 3 days.
As The Mighty Quim tells us, “The pigs come and get me out of my cell. I tell them it’s about time I got arraigned so I could make bail and get out but they tell me I ain’t goin’ before the judge. They say the DA wants to see me first. They shackle me then lead me over to the DA’s office where I have to wait another couple hours while watching a lot of suits going in and out. Finally I get called in. The DA tells me to take a seat."
"He says he sees that I don’t have any criminal record. And since it’d only be a waste of his time to prosecute me for possessing only 4 ounces, the most I’d get is a couple years unsupervised probation, that he’s willing to drop all the charges if he doesn’t hear my name in the next year. However, if he does then he will prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law and he’ll even charge me with intent to distribute. Do I understand. If I stay clean for a year, not even a parking ticket, then I’m home free."
"I tell him that I understand perfectly. From now on he will never again know I exist. He says that’s good then tells me to go back out into the waiting room and wait for a cop to escort me back to the jail where I will be released as soon as possible. I thank him then leave. Pretty cool, huh?”
We all had to agree it was not only pretty cool but that he was extremely lucky too.
The Mighty Quim lights a joint then smiles saying, “Don’t I know it, man. Don’t I know it.”
We were all very lucky to have lived in and experienced San Francisco during that wonderfully free era.