Sic Transit Gloria Sixties

That celebrated summer of sixty-seven. We turned on, tuned in and dropped out. For a few weeks, anyway. We knew it wouldn't last forever, but pretended it would. She drove down from Oregon. I scored a ride from Indiana. We met on a bench across from the Free Store.

The hippie scene was a kaleidoscope of experience, color, and constant motion. A band here, free food there, a crazy guy rambling, beads, hair, impromptu dancing, buskers. The smell of pot hung in the air. Next day, same thing. Day after, same thing. Pleasant but repetitive.

The warmth of June was upon us, even in forever-chilly San Francisco. In a few days we were set to join together with the collective human be-in at the Solstice and usher in another phase of the age of Aquarius. Until then… same thing.

She had a car. Let's do something different. Let's go somewhere. Parking at a premium, we took a bus down to where she had it parked, then she drove back up to the city. You never notice how bad traffic is when you aren't driving through it. Driving was slow. People milled in the streets. We sat still for long periods as the exhaust polluted the world we were there to save. A gal in a flowered summer dress and trademark floppy hat tapped on my window. She had a strange sales pitch, "Ten cents to change your life."

Ten cents, an amount even within my meager budget. Ten cents for a single drop of what at the time was still legal. Ten cents to change our lives. What a deal. LSD. No thanks. That was the moment she and I realized we were just tourists. We were in the scene but not of it.

So what do tourists do? Let's go to a ball game. Are the Giants in town? Don't know. We bought a paper, found out and headed for Candlestick through more heavy traffic. A couple of cheap upper-deck seats and we were set. I headed out to get us some food. We were at a ball park, so what else, I went for a couple of hot dogs. Two dollars. TWO DOLLARS. We should have bought them on the street for 25¢ and smuggled them in. At a buck each they better be some good dogs. Actually, they were.

The Giants lost. I think they played St. Louis. Can't remember the score. The main thing I do remember is those expensive hot dogs. A buck for a hot dog and ten cents for an LSD trip. Sic transit gloria sixties.