Doctor Who_ Wonderland - Mark Chadbourn [2]
There, innocence was important. The true enemy was cynicism, the one thing that held us back and kept all the repressive forces in power. Everyone did all they could to fight that, and for a while it looked like we were going to win.
The Diggers championed a socialist utopia, handing out free meals to hundreds in Golden Gate Park; and when they weren't doing that they were urging local businesses to distribute their profits to the community. Timothy Leary pushed us all to expand our minds with LSD. Ken Kesey challenged authority at every turn with his Merry Pranksters. We had our own cafes, boutiques, newspaper, dancehalls, medical clinic, our own world, run by us, for us.
Back home I was Jess – Jessica to my parents – Willamy, twenty-two years of age with nothing to mark the passing of years apart from a dream of something better. There I was Summer, a new name to mark my reinvention as a poet who could capture those transcendental energies as they transformed the world into a more wonderful place.
It sounds so pretentious now: a poet. But that was how we were back then, when we still had belief, before it was all grubbed out of us by the mean spirits and black hearts, the businessmen and the politicians and the generals.
On the road, Denny and I heard of what was happening in San Francisco with the hippies – though that name didn't really catch on until a month or so later. Like everyone else in America, we were slowly waking up to the fact that a new age was dawning, but unlike most of our parents' generation, we didn't feel threatened. Finally there were people like us, people who had dreams of that better world. There was no doubt in our minds: San Francisco was the place to be, with all that power rising up, ready to rush out across the country, across the world. We wanted to be a part of that; we had to be involved – it was a calling.
Denny didn't need any convincing, though at first glance he wasn't really like all the others who were being drawn to the West Coast. He was a jock, dropped out of college, bummed around for a while until I hooked up with him, but I knew from the moment we met that his heart was in the right place. Denny Glass, boy wonder, the only hippie to have a crew cut.
I'd been searching for a while, on the road since my folks split up. None of us ever got over what we saw that November afternoon in Dealey Plaza. But with Denny, everything felt right. When I gently suggested San Francisco, he came alive.
Denny, a dream, with blue eyes and brown hair. 'Two hearts,' he used to whisper. 'Together, forever.'
And I wake up crying ...
'Excuse me. I'm looking for this guy.' I thrust Denny's picture under another nose. It must have been the hundredth that morning and the snap was starting to look dog-eared and stained, but I tried to keep a smile on my face.
'Oh, I'm sorry my dear, but I don't think we can help you.' This man returned my smile in a distracted way. I could see a gentleness behind his eyes, but he had barely glanced at the picture. He sounded English, and he was a real eccentric in his tall, stove-pipe hat, voluminous black frock coat, white shirt and tiny, spotted bow-tie. Anywhere else he would have looked more than a little weird, but in the Haight he fitted in perfectly.
'His name's Denny Glass,' I persisted. 'He's my boyfriend. He came down here a few weeks ago to find us a place to crash. He was supposed to wire me once he found somewhere, but...' The words trailed away; I didn't want to think about all the possibilities hanging in that emptiness.
'Here, let me have a look.' This guy was a Brit too, kind of good
looking and about my age, but his hair and his clothes were L7-square. He seemed friendly enough, though. 'No, sorry. But then, we've only just arrived here, haven't we, Doctor?'
I looked back to the man, but he didn't answer, and appeared to have lost interest in the conversation altogether. My irritation must have shown in my expression.
'Oh, don't mind the Doctor. He's a sweetie really. He just gets a bit ... distracted