The sixties were unique.. part of it was my young years.. part of it struck me as our species actions coming around to remind us what freedom.. equality.. and the necessaries of our species were.. a loving care.. and admission that destruction toys just make the obvious seen for what it is.. a generation believing what they sensed and saw.. not what they were told.. for a while..
I was happy.. free.. trusting.. One spring afternoon.. years before LSD was illegal this particular experience lasts to this day.. it was brought to mind by the current world series.. specifically the Indians.. why? Grandpa Archie.. well known as a composer and well liked by just about everyone..grandfather had given me a 1948 baseball.. to ‘Our little friend Tony’.. signed by all the Stars of that day.. the last time the Indians won the world series.. until?? my granddad also gave me a ball signed by all the players of the ‘Los Angeles Dodgers’on their first year here after so many years in Brooklyn, New York.
Grandpa Archie was known as ‘Archie Gottler’ attaining fame as a founding member of ASCAP.. (American Society of Composers Authors and Publishers).. and while the Federal Courts were hashing out what a ‘consent decree’ was.. (in the face of monopoly).. was also a founding member of Motown.. proceeding in his time to write and publish over four hundred songs after his smash.. composed with Edgar Leslie ‘America I Love You’.. some of them big hits of the time..
One Spring Day I speak of I had LSD.. I would like to have given it away but I did have to pay for it.. legal or not.. a friend.. Buzzy Thaxton and Julie Benson paid me in advance for three hits of ‘L’.. I was to meet them at the Pacific Beach Pier at four o’clock that afternoon.. then.. in what I thought was a stroke of good luck Jimmy Dalton and Brooke.. both friends.. both I thought to be trustworthy.. to make a long story short.. I found they were headed toward the beach.. I asked them if they would make the legal delivery.. and gave them a couple of hits for the favor..
Next day.. Buzzy asked me why I did not show the previous day?.. I told him what happened and could not imagine how this came about.. it was answered by more than one friend.. relating how the ‘delivery two’ had taken all the acid.. failing entry to the home of yet another friend (who was not home) they turned Salem Court into their boudoir.. a public street.. stark naked.. they were arrested to the tune of a song they composed whose sole words were ‘acid’ ‘fuck’.. and that was that..
I felt bad for Jimmy.. he had loaned me records.. an old turntable.. and told me what he knew of acid.. apparently he missed the calling of consciousness expansion.. if not friendship.. Jimmy was a twin to Tommy.. and brother to Robert D., the eldest of the three..
In the fearful mood brought by a marijuana bust and some equally stupid mouths there was a quick exodus to the Haight..
Marijuana.. at that time carried a two to ten years in the pen for simple possession.. I.. in the former time of friendship and happy words with J. Dalton.. had left a suitcase.. a sleeping bag.. and things small and unobtrusive in the cellar of the Dalton Home where the brothers had built a place to relax.. not realizing the human capacity for delusion I did not foresee the obvious.. which was Mother Dalton blaming me for her son’s indiscretion and betrayal..
I called their home to say I was picking up my things.. this was three months or so after the great alley fuck.. (there was no drug bust.. they did nothing illegal because of me.. I informed her after she told me I had a lot of nerve calling after what I did to ‘her Jimmy’.. my reply was.. ‘I did not put it in his mouth’. I did not mention the theft.. and his responsibility for his actions..
I did nothing to deserve what happened next.. but people being people.. the baseballs were sold.. they are still mine.. morally and legally.. anyone who knows where they are please contact me.. my life would be better with my grandfather’s beleaguered will.. my Father died in 2005.. for those of you who know what this means when a loved one passes on.. it is hard..
This story is true.. Julie went to Florida with her child and I heard she OD’d on smack.. The last time I saw Robert.. a good friend.. was in ‘Uncle Suzies’ on Mission Blvd. .. a pancake house of great popularity at that time.. Bob was a Marine on his way to ‘Nam.. this hello was in June of ’69..
I guessed the reason for my old friends nervous laughter.. it became apparent.. I hope he made it back cross the big pond.. alive and well..
If you have the baseballs that are mine.. and have a heart that doesn’t front off for their own convenience.. I would like my ‘baseballs’ back..
I hope those of you who saw those wonderful days.. still live free and remember this was one afternoon for some young people in those sunny days of hope and trust..