This is in no way an endorsement of TR&RL, particularly as practiced by myself and my many peers; rather, it's just personal history, yes?
A FRIDAY IN AUGUST, 1977, A BIT AFTER SIX PM- The back door at 312 1/2 West 12th Street flies open, and out hurtles me, the sound of "Born to Run" ringing in my ears, long hair streaming behind me. I'm headed to the local Mecca for heads, Lakeview Park, to wallow in the fun, the buzzes, and maybe even (GASP!) some'a that funky stuff.
Through the hole in the back fence, across the tracks, across Tenth, through Library Park, stopping to say what's up to a friend....he's got somethin' por la cabeza, but no papers. No prob, MY papers are always in order. Since children frequent the park, I help him cremate the noxious weed before any show up. Then, suitably medicated, I saunter onward.
As usual, Lakeview is full, welconming any one who comes. Most of us grew up here, dug in its sand, raced in its surf, paddled and swum its water. Tonight, it's the place to consummate a thousand and one social transactions, anything goes.
The park is a sea of youth, people, pot, tunes all
swirled together into a cosmic melange of sight, sound and energy illuminating the soul.
You hadda be there.