Tag Archives: counterculture

The Tribe-Rolling Stone Interview

From The Tribe, a soon to be published novel…   At a quarter to three, my phone rang. It was Jenner Doyle, down at the highway with his photographer and wanting final directions. “Drive straight up until you see a large meadow and gravel parking area. I’ll be waiting for you there.” A few minutes later, the car appeared out of the forest. I climbed out of the golf cart to greet them. “Jenner Doyle,” he said with a shake of my hand. “This is Read More +

The Trip Into the Milky Way-Five Chapter Sample

One Eric and I stood side by side on the sidewalk that frosty, harvest evening, watching Chris march up the darkened street of old Craftsman homes alone. Sycamores towered over us and him and the entire block, their crooked old limbs mostly barren of leaves in late autumn. “He looks like a Roman legion,” I said of Chris. Eric chuckled with his hands in his pockets. “He does, doesn’t he? Like Marc Anthony, off to conquer Gaul. All that sucker needs is a sword and Read More +

The Tribe-Chapter One

From a novel in progress…   One It had turned out to be one of those days along the far northern California coast—damp and dreary with a steady drizzle falling and a thick gray sky hugging down closely to the forested hills. If you have ever been up to that part of the country, you know what I mean. There are days when it rains in buckets and the air is scrubbed clean and it seems as if all that is defiled in this world Read More +

Mexican Prison Breakout

An excerpt from The Trip Into Milky Way… Stan circled around the base of the hill, positioned the chopper in line with the parking lot and began his ascent along the slope of the hill. Bart had the tear gas loaded. At the last second, Stan punched the throttle open full and we popped up like a balloon, looking at the main gate from across the parking lot. Bart got off two rounds of tear gas and hit both adjacent turrets with precision. The guards Read More +

Americans in Mexican Prisons

In the months immediately preceding our incarceration in a Mexican prison for bush, my buddy Win and I had successfully smuggled a few hundred pounds of it across the border into Arizona without a hitch. The trip down into Mexico was supposed to be a time out. We boarded a train down to Mazatlán, caught a ride home with three young Americans and got busted by the Mexican feds on our way back. Go figure. At the time, the American Feds were working hand in Read More +

A Bit of Sea and Sand Cupped in Your Hands

It was a Saturday morning, two days after Christmas when Tara called to see if I wanted to drive down to Laguna Beach with her. I said sure. There was nothing to stop me. My mother was at the mall with my sister. My father was off working in his plumbing business and I was just hanging around the house feeling lost. Tara said something about visiting these two older guys she knew and rang off. Nothing else in the way of a plan had Read More +

The Last Day in Milan

It was a backstreet flat only the young and the down and out could have loved. There was a single bed in one corner, a sink with no cabinet in the other one, old wooden floors thick with varnish and a dresser between the entry and closet doors. The toilet was down the hall. A single window looked out over some tenements in back. The sounds of the Milano streets echoed up night and day and never left you alone. You accessed the flat by Read More +

Weekend Revolutionary

It was June, 1967 and word had gone out that LBJ was coming to LA, only the counterculture movement in LA had no political credentials. There had been protests in Berkeley, New York, Washington, all over the country, but nothing to speak of in LA. We had the rock music scene on Sunset Strip. The movies. Good dope. Otherwise, the area was known for mowing down orange groves and turning them into tract houses. A liberal enclave it was not, but well before the Prez Read More +

Going North

During spring break that year, my brother Denny drove down from UCSC to visit the family. He was off to vacation with his wife in Hawaii. Her father was a shipping magnate out of Honolulu and the family owned a big spread up on the North Shore. Denny planned to fly there and meet with his wife, fly back and drive up to Santa Cruz in two weeks. My mother was taking my brother up to the airport in the morning. Denny had driven down Read More +

The Stuff of Dreams

Robin Glen was a backwoods kind of place for those few, fleeting years. Educators were drawn there, executive types, blue collar folks and engineers, a disparate cast of eclectic characters who had found their way to that bucolic end of the world. Probably they shared one common denominator, a memory of pastoral surroundings as a child, or a longing for such origins—like an old farmhouse you came to driving down a country road—and were collectively drawn to Robin Glen as a way to hold onto Read More +