SECOND PART
Later that afternoon, Rocky and Robin started re-telling their favorite tripping stories. At one point Patty interrupted their flow, “Good trippin’ stories, guys, but I’ve got the best one yet. I was at a social work conference in Philadelphia about troubled youth, and this presenter is leading a discussion on the importance of being good role models– when he says, ‘Let me give you an example of how not to do it, or maybe exactly the right way to do it’.”
Later Patty made her tripping story part of the movie, hiring actors to do a re-enactment. Her producer thought it was too long a digression from the movie’s plot, but Patty insisted it be included saying “It’s didactic. Plus, road trips include telling each other stories about our lives.”
Here’s the scene from the movie, a youth counselor doing the narration:
“It’s my first year being a streetworker for Voyage House here in Philadelphia. My buddy Russell is one of the group home parents. We knew some of the kids were dropping, and we were brainstorming ways to talk about it without being hypocritical.
“The group home had this veranda porch, corner of 34th and Powelton. Russell did most of his counseling on that porch, listening to music, the kids shaking tambourines, or whatever – Russell doing some talking, doing his thing. Occasionally I’d show up and we’d walk down the block to a pay telephone booth and smoke a doobie. The album of the summer was “All Day Music” by War, with Eric Burden the only white guy. It was playing most every time I showed up.
“It’s the spring of 1974, and I say to Russell, ‘You know, your favorite band, War, is gonna be at the Reading Fairgrounds, Memorial Day. Let’s go – I’ll score some acid – it’ll be great.
“The day comes, and since I don’t have a car, Russell scores the Voyage House station wagon to do the 50-some miles to Reading. We drop just as we were leaving. Going out the door, three of Russell’s charges say they want to go too. Holy Shit! But, you know, maybe this is the time to talk to them about doing acid in moderation. So we invite them along – get tickets at the gate.
“I’m the only one with a driver’s license, and the only white guy. Halfway there me and Russell are starting to come on, and everybody’s enjoying the scenery – first time out of Philadelphia for all of them, including Russell. Glorious day. The mood cheery and upbeat, being real pals talkin’ about what a great world it is. Then Russell whispers to me, ‘Put that other hit in the wine sack. Now’s the time.’
“They’re his charges, I think, so okay. Russell then starts passing the wine sack around explaining to these under 18-year-old minors, ‘It’s electric. Just sips. You don’t need much to get as high as you want to be – one hit between the five of us will do the trick.’
“Things proceeded to get un-real – not just far-out, unreal far-out. And what do I do? Get off one exit too soon! We’re in some small town – can’t remember the name – and I pull up to the main drag – it was Main Street, USA, and I make a left just as their Memorial Day Parade is taking off – and we’re the friggin’ lead car.
“People lined-up both sides of the street, even in the street. I’m lost, but I can’t pull over and ask directions – that would mean stopping the parade. And speeding away is out of the question, so I start pretending we’re part of their damn parade. ‘Just maintain, just maintain’, I say to myself. But everybody in the station-wagon is freaked-out, really freaking-out – a gauntlet, all these white folks and not a Black face to be seen. Of course, most of the parade watchers are staring at us more than us staring at them, their faces pushed forward straining to get a better look at us. Finally, there’s a chance to pull over, and we beckon this white guy over for directions. But he approaches Russell’s window looking mongoloid, and wavy like in a fun house mirror – we all thought so. ‘Ohhh, did you see that guy!’ those in back utter almost in unison, as I pulled away without waiting for directions.
“Thank God, going straight got us to the Fairgrounds – where the music is supposed to be. Where we park, first spot inside the first gate, we can’t hear any music, and piling out of the station wagon with our drum set, our congas, triangles and tambourines, this guy shouts, ‘Hey, the band’s finally here!’ (You know, one white guy and four Black guys.) That didn’t help the freaking-out.
“Then a helluva long walk to the entrance gate, most of the way Russell pleading ‘Let’s get back to Philly.’ I try to be optimistic, ‘There’s going to be music.’ But Russell seriously believed I’d been duped into thinking there was this concert.
“Once at the ticket booth, it gets weirder, if that’s possible. Still no music, and now cops all around with police dogs, everybody being herded into single lines with chain-link fences on both sides. When one of the police dogs starts snarling at Russell – (you know police dogs, since slave days they’ve been tracking runaway slaves) – Russell totally loses it, and sensing fear, the police dog gets even more vicious, straining on its leash to get at Russell. ‘I’m not going in‘, Russell says, ‘This is some fucking concentration camp. You got lured here.’
“But we’re stuck in this line, so we keep marching into what they all thought was a concentration camp I’d lured them to – walking to their executions!
“Entering the Fairgrounds, rounding a corner, ‘GLORY-HAL-E-LU-YA!’ I scream throwing my arms in the air! I can hear the music!’ And we see a sea of people – normal looking people ! – sprawled on blankets almost as far as the eye can see all the way up to the stage. The rest of the day, totally mellow, playing along with the music, and Russell doing his thing. Those teen-agers never stopped talking about that day, and Russell continued his sway over their futures.”
As Patty was finishing the story, Robin got up and played his old War album for us:
Music is what we like to play
Yeah yeah
All day, all day, all day, all day
To soothe your soul, yeah
Down at the beach or a party in town
Making love or just lying around
…
Let’s have a picnic, go to the park
Rolling in the grass till long after dark . . .
Soon after Patty’s LSD story, we all crashed in the Land Yacht except Jack and Sally, who got the room Robin called his “Mistress Bedroom” – a second master bedroom but with a water bed. Big Sam had the Rover.