I don't know how many of us old people are still around from the hippie era but much of those bygone days still remain a psychedelic blur, a magical mystery to me. Although it was a time of flowers, beads, no bras, peace and love, the slogan, "make love not war" was a terrible reality - young men were dying in Viet Nam, a useless and bullshit war where huge profits were made on their corpses, not to mention the innocents of that far away country. Things still haven't changed - just different casualties in different countries - the war mongers for profit still in power and business. I'm a bit of a history buff and from what I've gleaned, what's going on today has been going on for thousands of years; nothing has changed and most likely never will.
I was fortunate, living in Canada and not the US because it saved me from being drafted in that unnecessary conflict across the Pacific. Because of the fear instilled in everyone by the two Atom Bombs that had been dropped on Japan during WWII, like many other young men, I wound up because I was flat broke, in all places; the last place I ever wanted to be: the effing army - a six month enlistment concentrating on the possible event of Vancouver being hit by a nuclear bomb and how to deal with the horrifying results, that is if any of us were lucky enough to survive such a blast. It's a cinch the military weren't too concerned about my joining because with poor eyesight, weighing in at about 125 lbs. and a rifle almost as big as me, I would have made a piss-poor soldier, but then again, human fodder is needed on a grand scale because if no one shows up, then there's no war. When only a couple of weeks remained till the end of my course, I broke out with a fever and no matter how many covers I was wrapped in, I was literally drenched in sweat and shivering uncontrollably. When two MP's arrived in a jeep to haul my skinny, white ass off to the base, I could hear their booming voices threatening that I would be instantly discharged if I didn't go with them, I was so glad when I heard my dad yell back from the porch, and told them to take a hike, I wasn't going anywhere. So for me, except for my short military interlude, the hippie-era was a great but hazy time. However, even today, I sometimes wonder what happened to a young, handsome American friend, who showed up at one of our usual racetrack parties? He was all dolled up in an army uniform and being shipped off to Nam the next morning, never to be heard from again.
Drugs were certainly prevalent in those days and I can remember going to a club called the Electric Circus in downtown Vancouver. The unmistakable pungent aroma of pot was wafting throughout the place, while a completely stoned long-haired band pounded on their instruments as the lead singer wailed out the latest tunes. Can't remember if I was stoned or drunk, quite possibly both but I do remember knocking over a metal folding chair, which like dominoes, knocked over a whole row. The band was screaming-loud and the audience, mainly wanna-be-flower-children were so out of it, I don't think anyone even noticed the racket. Although I embraced the 60's and 70's with open arms, had long hair past my shoulders, wore bell-bottom jeans, spoke the latest funky lingo and at the time, a functioning drunk, I still managed to work at two jobs and graduate from art school. Of course, like any young generation before and after that era, we had our good times, bad times, high times, low times and all the in-between times because it was our time...cheers, eh!
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