Mar 24, 2017

June 22, 1968: Travelodge Theater, Phoenix AZ


There's a worthwhile happening at the Phoenix Travelodge Theater tomorrow night. James C. Pagni of San Diego is bringing in a couple of acts that ought to bring glee to the hearts of all dedicated followers of fashion. The lineup will consist of of San Francisco's pride and joy, the Grateful Dead, England's Ten Years After, and last, if not least, our own Thackeray Rocke.
The Dead are probably the most unappreciated group around these days. While their music has had a tremendous influence on the modern rock scene, their popularity among the pop population has not been a reflection of it. They remain as sort of musician's musicians. A major reason for this may be the Dead's out-and-out rejection of the commercial system. (The Maharishi once tried to persuade them to get on the bandwagon and change their name to Everlasting Life. They couldn't dig it.)
On stage the Grateful Dead are something else. They combine a funky rock with some hard core blues and manage to come up with new exciting sounds. You get the feeling that while the Jefferson Airplane was so busy "loving you" the Dead were spending their time in rehearsal. 
Ten Years After is another case of a fabulous group that is literally unknown in the States. (Promoter Pagni has another way of putting it, "I bought them too soon.") Their album has been at the top of the British charts for some time and lead guitar player Alvin Lee is finding himself thrust into that tight circle of such trendsetters as Hendrix, Clapton and Bloomfield.
The action will begin at 8.

(by Jon Sargent, from the Arizona Republic, Phoenix, 21 June 1968)


Jon Sargent also wrote a very brief follow-up review in his "Vibrations in the Valley" column in the 6/30/68 Arizona Republic:

Last weekend's Grateful Dead concert was a smash. Too bad not everyone knew it. The further the Dead got into their music the quicker some people got out to their cars.

 More photos at:

Mar 22, 2017

October 11, 1970: Paterson State College, Wayne, NJ


If you somehow missed Sunday evening's 7:00 o'clock performance by the Grateful Dead, but stuck around to raise hell about your money, you discovered to the Assembly Committee's relief that there would be a concert sometime the night of October 12.
The Dead late on arrival were minus one corpse, something about a lost bass player. The crowd stood passively, only occasionally crushing someone against the doors of the auditorium. Soon, thanks to the unrestrained efforts of the valorous N.Y. cabbie, a bass player did arrive in time for the nine o'clock show and was immediately given an option for the second appearance later in the evening. Bodies cleared, doors opened, nine hundred and eighty-seven people simultaneously passed through one set of double doors. (Approximately seven feet wide.)
Once inside, you had close to twenty seconds in which to obtain a seat, of course there were also the aisles. At that point, if you dig emphatic audio expression, you probably haven't thought about the ridiculously massive sound system staring down on you from the stage. Could all that have been delivered to the wrong Shea? Five or six figures wander out from the stage and take places in front of the wall of speakers. There are definitely six now, two drummers, why two drummers, "I still don't understand it."
The Dead play "rock blues," more often than not, wrapped country style. It's immediately captivating, and if you are really there to get into the sound, you can start with the first note: otherwise the second will do. Their greatest influence is The Band, "and fellows, it shows." But, do not disappear, there is a different individuality to their work. The lead guitar work more than made up for what was lacking in bass; but after all, he stepped out of the cab, and out onto the stage without even tuning up.
It was fascinating to see the audience become part of the show with the same speed at which they took their seats. It was also fortunate, for unfortunate was the brevity of both performances.
There is something to be said for the way in which the evening was run, for some people were not at all understanding in their point of view. There seemed to be a definite shortage of ushers; "compliments to those who showed." Also, hearts and flowers to the Assembly Committee for not hassling the two hundred or so people who attended each show unannounced.

Picture caption: "The Grateful Dead performed two concerts here during Homecoming weekend. They attracted one of the largest crowds ever to seek admission to a PSC activity."

(by Bill Lavorgna, from the Paterson State Beacon, 20 October 1970)  

November 16, 1970: Fillmore East, NYC


The concert was announced at the late show Saturday night; tickets went on sale Sunday noon, and were sold out Sunday evening, showing the popularity of the Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead. The two bands, the best that came out of San Francisco, had never played together in New York before. But the Airplane had a concert cancelled, and the Dead were in town, so Bill Graham scheduled the two together for last Monday night. Unfortunately, only half the Airplane showed up, but even so there was more than enough music to last for eight hours.
At 8:30 Bill Graham announced the New Riders of the Purple Sage who travel with the Dead, and for whom Jerry Garcia plays pedal steel guitar. They played their country western music very smoothly and tightly, playing most of the songs they usually do in concert - "Truck Driving Man," "Last Lonely Eagle," "Dirty Business," and ending, as almost always, with "Honkey Tonk Women."
In "Dirty Business," Jerry Garcia produced sounds that have to rank among the weirdest in the world, making wailing feedback noises with a wah-wah on his pedal steel guitar. By the time they played "Honkey Tonk Women," everyone was on his feet, dancing and clapping.
The audience was enthusiastic for Hot Tuna - Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady of Jefferson Airplane on guitar and bass, and Will Scarlett playing harmonica. Normally, Joey Covington of the Airplane plays drums, but since he had burned his hands, they had another drummer for the night. While the New Riders play country music, Hot Tuna is deeply rooted in the blues tradition. They play songs by Mississippi John Hurt, Furry Lewis, and Reverend Gary Davis, songs like "Candyman," "Windin' Boy Blues," and "The Midnight Special."
With Kaukonen, as usual, playing acoustic guitar, they started with "Know Your Rider." However, he then switched to electric guitar, and introduced a new member of his band, Poppa John, playing electric violin. Poppa John was immediately the star of the show. He stood swaying back and forth, his mouth half open, his violin seeming to be a part of his body. When he played a solo, his phrases soared and swooped, and wailed above Kaukonen's powerful guitar lines.
At one moment he would sound like Jimmy Page, at the next like Sugarcane Harris, then like nobody but himself, ending his lead on a screeching note that faded into the progression again. They returned to the traditional as they finished with "Hesitation Blues," showing off Kaukonen's finger-picking blues guitar style.
The Dead are the tightest band in the world. From the very first note of "Casey Jones," everything was in place and under control. Bob Weir holds everything together above the double drumming of Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann. Jerry Garcia swirls guitar phrases among Phil Lesh's syncopated bass lines, and Pigpen plays organ and sings.
They played dance music - "Casey Jones," "Not Fade Away," "Good Lovin'," and old rock and roll by Chuck Berry. During their set Steve Winwood came onstage and played organ, and Chris Wood and Jim Capaldi sang. All the while the Dead never got distracted. After three hours of playing, they finished with the most vocally tight version of Uncle John's Band I have ever heard.
Afterward, Hot Tuna jammed for another hour, finally ending what was for New York unfortunately a very unique concert, one where excellent musicians just get together and play.

(by Chris Ross, from the Daily Princetonian, 23 November 1970)

Mar 13, 2017

January 14, 1967: Golden Gate Park, San Francisco


Would you believe Timothy Leary and Mario Savio? Allen Ginsberg and Jack Weinberg? Lao-tzu and Spartacus?
It's happening.
Berkeley political activists are going to join San Francisco's hippies in a love feast that will, hopefully, wipe out the last remnants of mutual skepticism and suspicion.
The thing is called A Gathering of the Tribes, a Pow Wow and Peace Dance, a Human Be-In. It will happen at the Polo Grounds in SF on Saturday the 14th.
The two radical scenes are for the first time beginning to look at each other more closely. What both see is that both are under a big impersonal stick called The Establishment. So they're going to stand up together in what both hope to be a new and strong harmony.
The Golden Gate Park Grounds will hold fifty thousand people, and an endless number of sounds, scents, and sights. Beads, bells, flutes, incense, flags, symbols, cymbals, drums, feathers, flowers.
And words. Words kept short. Words painting a picture of a free, loving society to come.
In homes on both sides of the Bay, while this was being shaped from a dream to a reality, the basic problem was whether to play the word game.
The San Franciscans didn't want to play that game any more; it doesn't work, they said, and the non-verbal modes of expression tell it where it's at.
The Berkleyans wanted to play that game because that's where the rest of society plays; that's the only way, they said, to get through to most people.
The hip wondered aloud whether the politicos would make the Gathering a haranguing rally. The politicos wondered aloud whether the hip would all happily turn on and any social message would be lost.
They solved it.
The Human Be-In is the message. It will say, "We're here, together, free, alive, creative, and this is the way the whole world will be when it's ours."
Music sounds will come from the Grateful Dead, the Quicksilver Messenger Service, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and others.
Word sounds will come from Dick Gregory, Lenore Kandel, Jerry Rubin, Richard Alpert, Stu Albert, Allen Ginsberg, Michael McClure, Gary Snyder, Mario Savio, Timothy Leary, Jack Weinberg, and others. Mostly in person-to-person talk, not from platforms.
As a spokesman for the San Franciscans says it, "A new concert of human relations being developed within the youthful underground must emerge, become conscious, and be shared so that a Revolution of form can be filled with a Renaissance of compassion, awareness, and love in the Revelation of the unity of all mankind."
The beginning is the Human Be-In.

(from the Berkeley Barb, 6 January 1967) 

* * * 


The Haight-Ashbury hippies and the Berkeley political activists will join forces, at least temporarily, at a "happening" on the Polo Field in Golden Gate Park on Saturday afternoon.
A hippie press conference, with incense, marigolds, fruit and tea (liquid), was held on Haight Street today to announce the affair.
Not unexpectedly, the two groups have different expectations. Said Allen Cohen, the poet and bookseller:
"When the Berkeley political activists and the love generation of the Haight-Ashbury...embrace at the Gathering of the Tribes for a Human Be-In at the Polo Field...the spiritual revolution will be manifest and proven."
Said Jerry Rubin, the Berkeley activist:
"The political radicals and the hippies are turned off by the same things in this country. We are alienated from a society which tells us that patriotism means the bombing of peasants in Vietnam."
He said the theme of the new community, the new generation, may be summed up as "tune in, drop out, take over."
But Gary Snyder, the poet, hastily amended this call:
"The term 'take over' is not to be construed in any ideological or political sense," he said. "Our hope is that man's capacity for love will take over."
Rubin made some concession to the hippie emphasis on love and acceptance, however. He said:
"We affirm that there can be a world in which human beings treat human beings with love and understanding.
"We are idealistic. The  'human be-in' on Saturday will be a time for all to rejoice in their common humanness and brotherhood."
The Be-In will begin at 1 p.m. First, said Snyder, magical Sanskrit and Tibetan incantations will be chanted "to pacify the mind and reinforce the spirit."
Then he, Allen Ginsberg, Michael McClure, Lenore Kandel, and other Bay Area poets will read from their works.
After that there will be an "open mike" - meaning anybody is free to come up and sound off. Finally, before dusk, several rock 'n' roll bands will turn on and "everybody will interact."

(from the San Francisco Examiner, 12 January 1967)

* * *


Tomorrow beginning at 1 p.m. on the Polo Field in Golden Gate Park, there will be a "Gathering of the Tribes," for a Human Be-In. It marks the first conscious get-together of all the elements in the Brave New World.
Berkeley politicos who have been notorious for their squareness will join the Hashberry hippies uninterested in politics to make an affirmation for life.
There will be speakers such as Tim Leary, Dick Alpert, Mario Savio, Jerry Rubin, poets such as Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Lenore Kandel, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder, comics and social critics such as Dick Gregory (if he can get here) and Robert Baker, and a host of rock bands, including just about all the good ones on the scene such as the Grateful Dead, the Loading Zone, the Jefferson Airplane, Sir Douglas Quintet, and Big Brother and the Holding Company.
It ought to be a magnificent and inspiring afternoon. The non-organizers (an anti-organization stance is characteristic of the movement) invited the public to bring "costumes, blankets, bells, flags, symbols, drums, beads, feathers, and flowers."
If you want to know what is really happening, you will not miss this. And if you want a glimpse of the future as it will be (poetically if not practically), dig it.

(by Ralph Gleason, from the San Francisco Chronicle, 13 January 1967)

* * * 


SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) - Anybody who was nobody was there.
And if there were any anybodys, nobody knew.
It was the city's biggest social event of the season but it failed to make the society pages.
It was a happening.
It took place at the polo field in Golden Gate Park. They were all there - the hippy denizens of the Haight-Asbury District and outlying regions, the activists from Berkeley, the Hells Angels, students, beatniks, toddlers. Thirteen thousand of them under a sunny sky.
And about 2,000 spectators, some of them bemused, some completely dumbfounded. The police also sent a delegation, mainly to ticket dozens of illegally parked cars.
Word of the event began circulating earlier this month in the Haight-Asbury, home for many of the city's far-out types. It was billed as a "human Be-In" and a "Gathering of the Tribes," a get-together for political activists and hippies. The public was also invited and asked to bring "costumes, blankets, bells, flags, symbols, drums, beads, feathers, and flowers."
Timothy Leary, high priest of the psychedelic cult, delivered a sermon. Bedecked with beads around his neck and flowers in his hair, he declared:
"Turn onto the scene; tune into what is happening; and drop out - of high school, college, grade school, junior executive, senior executive - and follow me, the hard way."
Jazz virtuoso Dizzy Gillespie blew his trumpet [to] the accompaniment of flutes and tambourines.
More music was provided by the Jefferson Airplane, the Quicksilver Messenger Service, and the Grateful Dead. Members of the Hells Angels motorcycle gang guarded the generators which powered the public address system.
An unidentified guest with a white helmet arrived by parachute.
Poet Allen Ginsberg chanted a zen Buddhist hymn in Sanskrit as everybody faced the sun setting over the Pacific.
Anti-war activist Jerry Rubin, just out of a Berkeley jail, derided the establishment and passed the hat for money for his defense in court.
A gaunt young man with flowing hair wore a red gunnysack. Another was clad in the costume of a court jester. Togas and priest-like vestments were also in evidence.

(from the Argus, Fremont CA, 16 January 1967)

* * *


SAN FRANCISCO - The first "Human Be-In" was held here recently in Golden Gate Park.
And 10,000 of the faithful gathered to participate in the rites.
Who are the faithful? The hippies of the Haight-Ashbury district which has now become the hippie capital of the world.
It is the Mecca of the movement. Hippie pilgrims from afar journey hither to make the scene.
The major prophets of the new faith were all there at the Human Be-In. Poet Allen Ginsburg, who came up through the ranks in the quaint old beatnik days, was there to lead the mob in a Hare Krishna swami chant.
If you don't know what that is, you are unspeakably square.
Pig-Pen, the organ grinder for the Grateful Dead whose gaudy sweatshirts are a must for teen-age girls, gave the invocation with rock music.
And ex-Prof. Timothy Leary, high priest of the LSD cult, delivered an impassioned plea to "turn on, tune in and drop out" while everybody who could twirled around a maypole to the delirious beat of the Quicksilver Messenger Service.
It was the Happening of Happenings.
To the tune of "We Shall Overcome," the crowd belted out its national anthem, "We Are All Insane."
This is about the only thing that makes perfect sense to people not meshed in the hippie movement.
Some of the hippies are probably insane and others are suffering from serious mental disturbances. But probably most of them are kids who are getting a tremendous kick out of doing absolutely everything that is abhorrent and annoying to their parents.
Wait ten years and you will find most of the current hippies are "turned off, tuned out and dropped back in."

(by Ellis Spackman, from the San Bernardino County Sun, 16 February 1967)

* * *


A bizarre union of love and activism was celebrated on the Polo Field at Golden Gate Park yesterday, marking the first annual Feast of the Incongruous.
While thousands strolled under the gum trees and soaked up sun in a carnival atmosphere, other thousands watched them.
Police at the Richmond Station estimated the crowd as about 10,000.
It was billed as a "happening," a gathering of the tribes for a "be-in."
It was said to involve the far out Berkeley political activists and the farther out love hippies of the San Francisco Haight-Ashbury District.
Mostly, it was a staring match - eyeball to eyeball.
All the high priests of both movements turned out in their costumes to be stared at.
Many of those staring were dogs, all kinds of dogs who had wandered in from the Sunset and Richmond districts with their masters and mistresses.
There were many kiddies, too, several of whom got lost and cried.
While the liturgical joys of the be-in were being celebrated, a squad of policemen went from car to car hanging tickets on windshields of autos parked illegally on the grass.
It was very festive.
Amid the cacophonic scene that seemed to be a living fever dream, there was a regularly scheduled rugby game between the Olympic Club and Oregon State University.
Out of the sky - a clear blue sky - appeared a parachutist in white helmet and white shield who dropped right smack in the middle of the rugby field, as if by design.
A retiring sort, the chutist walked away without giving his name or his airplane.
Dr. Timothy Leary, the apostle of LSD, was decked out in white for the occasion. He carried a daffodil and had a lei of flowers and beads around his neck.
Leary made a speech in which he advised his listeners to "turn on, tune in, and drop out." He explained:
"Turn onto the scene; tune into what is happening; and drop out - of high school, college, grad school, junior executive, senior executive - and follow me, the hard way."
Others wore tiaras of flowers, carried burning punk or incense. Many wore sequins; one had silver lame stockings; another had a red burlap robe and carried a piece of pampas grass.
No nudes were noticed.
At one point someone cut the power cable, which stilled the Quicksilver Messenger Service and grounded the Jefferson Airplane.
Alan Ginsberg, the poet; Lenore Kandel, who wrote a little book on love; and Jerry Rubin, a speaker, were there too.
Rubin had just been bailed out of Berkeley's jail and the hat was passed for his defense.
Robert Baker presented a parody of "The Night Before Christmas" in which Santa Claus arrives bearing marijuana cigarets and LSD caps.
Then, the poets Ginsberg and Gary Snyder led the assemblage in a Sanskrit evocation of a Buddhist chant.
The Olympics won the rugby match, 23-3.
The only thing lacking on the Polo Field was a polo game.
But no one had thought to get a permit for that.

(from the San Francisco Examiner, 15 January 1967)

* * *


It was a beautiful day, and as we crossed the bridge we picked out the cars that were going to the be-in. It's very odd to look around and see so many beards and so much long hair riding around you in cars. A Negro from Montana must have much the same feelings when he goes to Harlem.
There were a few straights but they looked very uptight and out of place, and their cars seemed to be straining to get back to familiar companions, rearing in shock at the '49 Fords and overloaded VW buses.
We parked in the Haight-Ashbury, not knowing how far the Polo Grounds were, and began to walk. The hippy stores were closed as though it were a religious holiday, and in the crowds in the street a direction could be felt as though a slow current were beginning to flow towards the park. Apparitions stood on the corners, the genius of the place was in full possession this day, the Merchants Association notwithstanding.
In the park we just followed the flow, drifting down walks and around corners with a crowd of hippies that got thicker and thicker. [ . . . ] It sure is a long way to the polo grounds from the Haight-Ashbury, nobody knows for sure where it is, everyone is just flowing along and after a while I was convinced that we would never get there, not that it mattered since the park was such a gas. Then we went over to an embankment and walked up a wide green valley and there we were.
It looked like Newport - a large crowd outside around an improvised bandstand. Such a lot of people. I was glad.
The sound system had just been restored and a voice came over it saying that the Hell's Angels were now guarding it. Applause from the crowd, and near the generator Freewheelin Frank stood atop something and waved his tambourine over the crowd. It looked fine. People were moving thru the crowd with brightly colored banners, talking excitedly to their friends, the Quicksilver Messenger Service was playing and the sound came thru the speakers intermittently, and the whole day felt like a carnival. Most of the crowd was sitting in a wide semi-circle around the speakers platform which was decorated with pine and banners, and everyone was waiting.
This was the third large meeting of the tribes, if you will, that I had been to. Each had a different cast to it, but all of them felt alike really, the International Days of Protest, the Peace March, and now the Be-In. Control of events had moved from politicos to the straight hippies, but the composition of the crowds was nearly the same. While we waited I wondered if the hippies could do any better than the politicos at having a meeting.
It took nothing to assemble the people. A few posters and some talk. Everyone wanted to be assembled. Everyone wanted something to take place, and clearly the assemblers of the tribes had felt this also; it was the reason for the assembly. For all of that, the politicos proved to have been better at it than the hippies. Nothing happened at the Be-In, and the opportunity to gather all of those people was wasted.
A gushing announcement preceded Leary, "one of our brothers who has come to give us something of himself," which embarrassed me and I imagine how it must have sounded to someone who was still pretty connected to society.
He spoke briefly and to no purpose. His text was Turn on, Tune in, and Drop out, but the only part of that he seemed to be forthright about was Drop Out. Turn on evidently is not a phrase meaning take drugs. Sure fooled me, here for years I thought that's what it meant. Instead it means, Become Alert and Aware of what is taking place, or Wake Up, Shake It, and Split. Applause was light.
Lenore Kandel read. The sex poems sounded futile and empty and the sound system cut out a lot a lot of times, but one poem seemed to have some life in it. I began going through the crowd to see how they felt, and they were waiting and impatient, ready for the next speaker. It was Jerry Rubin who tailed into incoherence about jails, I couldn't catch the rest because the people around me were making sarcastic remarks - there is not as great a political tradition in the park as on the campus perhaps, maybe he just sounded incoherent to them also. They were waiting.
When the Dead came and played most of the crowd stood up to dance, but the dancing seemed lifeless and just looked weird in the daylight. Shortly afterwards we left, walking down that long, wide green valley digging the plants and colors. A young Negro walked up and said, "Hey man, why did they do it?" and I said, "They thought it would be a good idea if everyone got together," and he looked puzzled and walked off.
It is very uncomfortable to go and hear the elders and realize that they have very little to say to you as a group. Our generation has not yet learned how to organize on a scale that has 10,000 people anywhere doing anything. Irresponsible.
It was difficult to get in touch with anyone before the event, no one really knew what was going on, obviously no one had thought much about the tone of the event, or else they are simply too out of it to know what those remarks by the m.c. sounded like in sunlight. The crowd was seated uncomfortably close with little chance for motion - a walk to another section of the park would have been really fine, but the worst thing of all was the emptyness of the speakers, the lack of anything going on.
The politicos at former pow-wows presented a broad spectrum of interesting, intelligent speakers who were really into their thing and had a lot to say [ . . . ] - it was an event of national importance and it began a whole series of events, even though in the end they were unable to handle things. The hippies presented an in-group scene for believers with a mostly local cast doing things that hadn't been thought out in a way that showed they weren't ready for that step, and what events will follow?

(by ED Denson, from the Berkeley Barb, 20 January 1967)

Thanks to Dave Davis.

* * *

APOCALYPSE  [excerpt]

Quite early last Saturday afternoon about 30,000 has-been beatniks, hippies, Berkeleyites, plainclothesmen, Hell's Angels and I tromped up, down, around, and through umpteen miles of Golden Gate Park to plop ourselves in various catatonic positions on the Polo Fields, listen to some sounds by the Grateful Dead, hear his eminence Timothy Leary, and generally be nice to one another. Now I didn't read Ralph Gleason's column the following day but I'd guess he probably had one of his glowing weekly cows about how we all had the answer to Viet Nam and all the world should be like us. Well, maybe he's right but mostly what happened onstage was a giant turnoff because somebody cut the electric cord which stopped the music for about forty-five minutes in which everybody was patient and I didn't mind cause I played with this 13-month old girl named Jessica [ . . . . ].
When they did get the sound back it wasn't that good and then Leary got up and told us all where he was and then Jerry Rubin got up and told us all where he was going to be before long and would we please start raising bail now and then somebody else got up but the sound went out again which was just as well because nobody was that psyched anyway except for Jessica who had this real big thing about my eyebrows by that time. Anyway, by that time my fanny was asleep which in the main is not really that satisfying a state of affairs.
I stood up for a few minutes and was pretty impressed by all of us being there the way I get at the football games in Buck Shaw when everybody gets psyched and sings the Star Spangled Banner and there were skyrockets going off in my heart and I got to wishing Nancy was there awful bad. About then the Dead came out and everybody stood up and got very psyched again especially in their last number when this guy came floating out of the sky in a parachute.
Now I'm not saying Gary Snyder isn't a better poet than Ginsberg (who by the way you've got to admit is funny looking) or Ferlinghetti but he didn't say anything, which tells me he has a poet's healthy disrespect for words and talk which is why I think Gleason's a lousy critic and the Airplane was right to play an instrument and why babies don't talk - they know better.

(by Kevin McCarthy, from the Santa Clara, 19 January 1967)

Thanks to Ron Fritts  (tracks 2-3)

Some videos: - color - b&w

See also:

Mar 10, 2017

October 6, 1966: The Panhandle, San Francisco


The visitor from Omaha craned his neck and tried to observe precisely what was occurring in the Panhandle section of Golden Gate Park.
Yesterday's "Love Pageant Rally" held in that area of San Francisco was truly one of the year's prime tourist attractions - even if it was a nearly spontaneous outburst initiated by members of the Haight-Ashbury community for purposes of "celebrating" the first anniversary of making LSD illegal and of giving San Francisco Mayor John Shelley a chance to "turn on."
The group sent a delegation to City Hall to give the mayor a token of affection, but he was at his home.
About 500 of the wildly clad advocates of love, freedom, trust and other assorted causes gathered in the sun-speckled glades of the park to hear the throbbing rock sounds of such groups as "The Grateful Dead," "Big Brother and the Holding Company," and others, and also to let loose their spontaneous feelings of joy and love for everything and everybody.
Under the magnificent trees of the park near the corner of Masonic and Fell streets, the ever-changing group participated in a massive attempt to "communicate," as one disheveled youth put it.
Even the Ken Kesey bus was there. Kesey, the one-time author and resident of La Honda who is being sought by San Mateo County authorities for jumping bail on a narcotics charge, could not be found, but word at the "Happening" was that he was indeed there and "incognito." The Omaha visitor, camera in hand, took a picture of Kesey's multi-colored bus and hurried into the crowd.
A mammoth traffic jam developed along Masonic as the curious flocked to the wooded area to see and hear what was occurring. The police, both curious and a bit annoyed by the sudden end of tranquility in the region, watched the goings-on with a jaundiced eye.
Businessmen, nurses, students, tourists, and the elderly strolled through the park and gawked at the fantastic scene. One nurse, hearing the pulsating sounds of the music, was unable to control herself and threw off her crepe-soled shoes and danced away on the lawn and was engulfed by the weaving, chanting crowd of demonstrators.
The Kesey bus, one of the focal points of the affair, was filled with long-haired children, animals of a variety of sizes, shapes and forms, glassy-eyed adults, and a bundle of equipment and supplies calculated for living in when duty called.
A rumor that Kesey spoke to a creative writing class at Stanford University has been confirmed by university authorities. According to an official at the school, Kesey spoke on Wednesday to the class for about 45 minutes. The visit was unannounced.
The order of the day was boots, beards, bards, and beads. Even the animals of the group were arrayed in psychedelic gear. One monstrous but amiable dog (of undetermined origin and pedigree) was outfitted in a beautiful set of beads and participated fully in the day's events over the course of the afternoon.
As the day wore on, a small Negro boy dribbled a basketball towards a lone basket located about 100 yards from the main entertainment area. He paused, took one last look at the scene to his rear, and fired a jump shot. The visitor from Omaha smiled and snapped his picture.
He was back to reality.

(by John Horgan, from the San Mateo Times, 7 October 1966)

Thanks to Dave Davis.



The passing of LSD as a legal drug was "mourned" in the Panhandle yesterday by the psychedelic set. 
Last Thursday the state law banning the use and sale of the mind-manifesting drug went into effect, and mourners gathered from the nearby Haight-Ashbury district to mark the occasion with what hippies might consider sobriety. 
Big Brother and the Holding Company played a rock-dirge, as couples funereally frugged, or wake-fully gobbled sandwiches and swilled beer. 
A march on City Hall was scheduled for after the rally, but failure to secure a permit prevented the LSD-for-Lunch bunch from raising its voice outside the park. 
Nine delegates, however, tripped down to see Mayor Shelley, Police Chief Thomas Cahill, and Attorney General Cecil Poole. 
Since the rally was billed as "Love and LSD," no speakers filled the air with ranting over the loss of the mind-expanding chemical to hippy travelers. 
In fact, nobody seemed particularly concerned about procuring LSD in the future. 
Holding Company musician Bob Collins [sic] predicted the law would cause police as much trouble as Prohibition did. 
"People will start making their own LSD at home," Collins said. "It might not be as good as the old stuff, but still..." 
He also predicted home made LSD, not being pure, might be hazardous to the users' health. 
An SF State student said that instead of prohibiting LSD, the government should control its use.

(from the Daily Gater, SF State College, October 7, 1966)

I refer you to "Happy Half Acid Happening" in Friday's paper. A clever combination of snide misinformation, bad journalism, and space filling. [. . . ] 
You start off this article by setting forth an obvious and definite bias against the event. I'm neither for it nor against it. I think in the interest of good journalism you haven't the right to be either. 
There is a definite error in reporting. There is no member of Big Brother and the Holding Company named Bobby Collins. (I refer you to the I.D. Band Book.) 
Also the reporting was incomplete. No mention that either the Grateful Dead or members of the Electric Symphony played. One got the impression that the reporter went for 10 minutes and then split. . . .  
If you are going to expand the scope of a school newspaper then do it right. No one expects that a school newspaper would necessarily report off-campus events that are of interest to the student community at large. But then that is why so many school newspapers are simply school newspapers. So how 'bout it? In a town where the Crumicle is King (and other related tabloids) let us keep a small banner of hope raised. . . .  
Rod Brooks

(Letter to the Editor, Daily Gater, October 18, 1966)

Mar 4, 2017

June 21, 1967: Golden Gate Park, San Francisco


The Flower Children climbed a mountain, swarmed a polo field, and crowded a beach to welcome the arrival of their "summer of love."
"A solstice happening," one bearded hippie termed the turnout for the first day of a season which the non-conformist disciples of love predict will bring 100,000 hippies to San Francisco.
In the chilly predawn Wednesday, scores gathered on Twin Peaks - 900-foot mountains in the city's center - where they chanted and meditated until the sun rose.
"It was a sort of Buddhist yogi," explained bearded Bill Thomas, his arm crushing a red-haired girl in filmy gown against his suede jacket.
Wailing electric guitars and booming drums assaulted the ears of upwards of a thousand at the "happening" at Golden Gate Park's polo field.
Tribal groups clustered about small combo bands - the Grateful Dead, Quicksilver Messenger Service, the Mad River, the Phoenix, Big Brother and the Holding Company.
One tribe squatted under fluttering flags with the Star of David and the Cross, keeping time with a tabla - a bongo-like drum - a tambourine and a portable reed organ.
"This is a krishna, an Indian ceremony," one explained.
"This draws energy by clearing one's state of mind."
Nearby, a youth with hair hanging over his face ardently kissed a blonde.
The gathering ran the gamut of garb - miniskirts, shawls, black leather jackets, even a male wrapped in the royal purple of a Chinese Mandarin coat. Most of the males dangled bead necklaces. And everywhere were the paper flowers.
One squatting couple shielded a flickering candle from the wind with a sack, while they sipped wine from a silver chalice. Grownups blew bubbles, while their children romped.
At the beach Wednesday night the moonlight ceremony focused on a 63-year-old witch.
"She's freaking out a few people," a hippie told a bystander.
"Freak out?"
"Well," replied the hippie, fumbling for words, "that means blow out a few minds."
That's how summer came to Twin Peaks.

The picture caption of a smiling, face-painted blonde:
Judy Smith, who calls herself a "Summer Flower Child," enjoyed the first day of summer in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park Wednesday. Large crowds of hippies gathered in the park to observe the longest day of the year. A cook-in was scheduled later in the day.

(by Harold Streeter, AP report, 22 June 1967) 

This ran in newspapers across the country, with varying headlines - for instance the Santa Fe New Mexican, the Avalanche-Journal in Lubbock, TX, the Indiana Gazette in Indiana, PA, the Portsmouth Herald in Portsmouth, NH, etc.

Thanks to Dave Davis.

See also:

For some footage of the day, see the film "The Way It Was," particularly the last ten minutes.