Meeting, face-to-face, a Hero of mine back in 1969.
Sure
Since I met him face to face that day in 1969…these are my memories of him, knowing how faulty these are at my advanced age of 74 and a survivor of two strokes etc. etc.
This is how it happened:
Back in 1968, a lot of things were happening and swirling around the country, as a Junior in high school, I was and always have been a reader. This goes back to my early adolescence growing up in NYC where I haunted the 96th Street Public Library and of course, I also frequented often the Public Library on 42nd Street AKA The New York Public Library.
Therefore, I was in the library of my school in a suburb of St. Louis which was a private, college prep day school and is to this day. (I am going to my 55th reunion in October of this year.)
The library had a subscription to “ Ramparts” magazine which I idly picked up since I had not seen it before.
(As an aside, I would love to find a copy of this one particular edition. I have searched high and low for this copy/edition since I would pay any money within reason to obtain it.)
Anywhoo, it was only later that I learned that Ira Sandpearl was raised in St. Louis.
Getting on with it:
So as I am paging through this particular edition, I came across a long form article (I cannot remember the author or title) about what was happening in the BA at the time. I parked my happy ass down and read it straight through. The long form article was a complete revelation to me. The article talked about the anti-war sentiment and actions taking place there, it talked about psychedelics, it talked about how these “drugs” had opened people’s minds to other possibilities, it talked about the Grateful Dead (more on that later on), it talked about how there was this guy named Ira Sandpearl who encouraged and was influential with the early rise of the GD, it talked about Ira Sandpearl who was a mover and shaker within the Peace Movement in the BA, it talked about what other things were happening in the music scene (The Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Big Brother and the Holding Company) in the BA, it talked about shit that was going on there that I had no idea about in my little bubble in St. Louis in high school, it talked about actions that groups and individuals were taking every day to fight against the machine, it talked about how all this was going down and I knew right then and there that I wanted a piece of that action, to be involved with protesting the War, it talked about Hunter S. Thompson and the Hells Angels, it talked about the Beats and how they had a direct influence on what was going on there at the moment, it talked City Lights bookstore, it talked about Joan Baez and David Harris and how they were protesting against the War, it talked about…it all.
(It should be noted here that I was invited by a female classmate to go with her to the Democratic Party’s convention in Chicago in 1968. Now she was somebody I did not usually have any truck with so this came as a surprise to me. I thought about for a moment and I did not go on that trip with her. As far as I know she went and I never followed up with her to find out how her experience was of the 1968 DNC and subsequent police riot or if she even went.)
So after reading this long form article, a couple of things simultaneously happened which cracked open my brain and soul.
- I knew then that I wanted to move to the BA so I could get to experience the Revolution the article talked, first-hand.
- I knew I wanted to experience the music Revolution that this “Ramparts” article talked about first-hand.
- And if I ever did manage to get there, I wanted to meet Ira Sandpearl and participate in the anti-War movement that it talked about, first-hand.
- I wanted to become “experienced” as Jimi Hendrix had said, first-hand.
But I had a problem with doing all of that since I had already decided, at that point, that I was going to move to the Bahamas upon graduation and work as a deckhand on a bill-fishing charter boat out of Freeport Harbor working with a guy named Captain WhiteTrash who my family had met on a previous earlier trip my family took there. I had even gone so far as to tell Mom and Dad that in spite of the all the college-prep schooling they had done, I was still going to the Bahamas and live out my present adolescent dreams of catching bill-fish. This was not as far-fetched as it seems on the surface since Mom and Dad owned 26 acres with 400’ of beachfront on Grand Bahama Island. So I told them that I would pitch a tent on the land and somehow, someway would get a position on Captain WhiteTrash’s charter boat and live happily ever after.
But after having that experience of reading the article in “Ramparts” magazine and the subsequent mind and soul cracking opening experience of reading it and seeing what was also possible and available in the BA, I was in a pickle, to say the least. So I was torn between my dreams of the Bahamas and the new dreams created by reading that article and I saw in my mind and soul, an opening to the possibilities available in BA, right after graduation in 1969. So I was at a true crossroads of what I previously told my parents and maybe, now, as new direction I could take that involved a new previously unheard or conceived idea of moving to the BA upon graduation.
So what was a poor boy to do with these two choices. So I chose to cogitate and digest this new opening to a alternative future in the BA and maybe, just maybe, I could make it happen.
But how?
It should be noted that since my high school was a private, college preparatory institution, the school hosted various college recruiters to come through and make presentations to our soon-to-be graduating class. I had assiduously avoided all these presentations since I was moving to Bahamas anyway and these would be a waste of time. I had not told Mom and Dad about how the Ramparts article had potentially changed my mind so I kept silent while I gave this other option some serous consideration.
So my college advisor (we all as soon-to-be graduating seniors had them) had previously been advised by me that these college recruiters did not need to be bothered with me and I was not interested in hearing their pitches since I was moving to the Bahamas upon graduation.
Just for context, our 1969 graduating class consisted of 75 students. And out of that class me and another buddy of mine were only ones that had semi-publicly stated we were not going to college. His name was _____ and he and I had long discussions about our decisions to not attend college, He had already stated this to his parents and to a few of us his knew about his intention to join the Coast Guard which he ultimately did. But I was on the fence since reading that article. So I continued to wrestle with these two potential life paths upon graduating. My college advisor had known about my decision to move to the Bahamas and had already discussed my decision with my parents so it was settled in their minds even though, in retrospect, I know this decision was unnerving and unsettling to my parents who had always expected me to attend college upon graduation but Mom and Dad were supportive of me and my decision in spite of their misgivings.
So it came to pass, that in May of 1968, the Grateful Dead were going to play a concert in downtown St. Louis at the National Guard Armory so since the article had mentioned them prominently, I asked a gal I was dating from another school in the area to go with me on a date. (I have previously documented this first experience many times elsewhere and on the Well so it is available from me if you want)
Suffice it to say, that concert is where my dreams of the Bahamas evaporated instantly upon witnessing this concert and reinforced my idea about the moving to the BA but at the time I read that article, I was still torn between my Bahamas dreams and my new dreams of moving out West to get in on all the action and I did not have a plan on how to get there. But now b/4 the concert, IIRC I had already met with the college recruiter and had the seeds of a plan, percolating in my brain.
I wrote the following piece for the Well so when asked by my author buddy, to write about this encounter with Ira Sandpearl, I did and added in to it this little snippet about my first Grateful Dead show.
My first and Peak Grateful Dead show was either May 24 or May 25 at the National Guard Armory in St. Louis in 1968…My Peak becos I completely and permanently altered the arc of my life based on that experience, that night…so somehow, I found out that the Grateful Dead were playing in downtown St. Louis…not even sure how I found out about these shows but I was into music in a big way…during this time, I was a roadie in my best friend’s Rock band…they played covers of Spirit’s music and other bands so I was eagerly absorbing all kinds of new music…I knew about these shows far enough in advance that I was able ask my girlfriend to go with me as a date…to this day, I do not remember whether we went to the first night or second night but I do not remember an opening act so I’m led to believe that we went to the second night show…we walked in and there could not have been more than a hundred people people standing watching the band…the place was cavernous…no seating so everybody stood or sat on the floor…I remember watching the band and was clueless as to who everybody in the band was but the music was coming out of these guys was fantastic to me…I remember that I was transported by the music so much so that I kinda forgot I was on date…so all the songs they played were unfamiliar to me but the music that night immediately entered my soul and permeated my being and I knew that this was the music I wanted more of…the peak of this peak show was Morning Dew which was the show-ender…this is where my memory of that show comes back loud and strong…as long I live, I will never forget that Morning Dew because as they came out of a long jam somebody in the band grabbed a mic and took it off the mic stand and jumped over to a five-foot tall vertical gong on stage right and smashed the mic into the gong repeatedly…then he took the mic and rotated it around and around on the face of the gong, making some incredible sounds as he did so…meanwhile, the band kept playing on, mixing their sound with the sounds coming from the mic which was still working, amazingly enough…that was it for me…at that moment, I decided that I would do whatever it took see more of these guys making music…at that moment, I knew I needed to move to SFO to see these guys and hear their music as many times as I could…and I did…how I did it is another story but suffice it to say, I chose a college in the Bay Area to go to and never looked back
So that is how it happened for me.
Back to it:
So my path was set out b/4 me but how was I going to get to the BA to experience the Grateful Dead and all that the BA was offering to me by just being there during these tumultuous times.
As these college recruiters came to school, my college advisor mentioned to me that a recruiter was coming by to recruit for a college that was known “as a backdoor into Stanford.” His college was Menlo College in Menlo Park, California. It should be noted here that my scores on the SATs were sky high for the time while my grades in high school were ok but not spectacular or special. So I told my advisor and my parents that I would meet with this cat from Menlo College only because of the geography and proximity and access this location would give me to the BA and no other reason. I kept my ulterior motives hidden from Mom and Dad and my college advisor which were get to the BA, with all due haste and leave my dreams of the Bahamas behind and get out there and start finding out about the happenings the Ramparts article talked about. I did not give a shit about Menlo College, itself, just it’s proximity to San Francisco and location in the BA.
So I sit down with this cat from Menlo and he said something which I will never forget. He said: “Reviewing your grades and your SAT scores, I can tell that you are an “underachiever” but if you apply, we can get you into Menlo.”
I walked away from that meeting and strolled around campus, cogitating on what he said and began to see that I could go there and still fulfill my new dreams of living in the BA and the only price of admission would be that I would have to attend college. Going to Menlo in the Fall of 1969 was a new plan that allowed me to experience the BA and be able to see the Grateful Dead on their home turf, as I saw it, at the time.
So after thinking about it for a couple of days, I told my parents that I had changed my mind and would not be going to the Bahamas and instead would apply for college at Menlo and no other college. Needless to say, my parents were overjoyed but downplayed their enthusiasm for my decision to me since they trusted me and would not interfere and support me either way I chose: Bahamas or Menlo.
So it was settled. I applied and got in, just as the recruiter had promised.
So it came to pass that it was time in 1969 to get to Menlo and the dorms for the opening of college at Menlo. Somehow, some way, Mom and Dad knew that there were these three kids driving to the BA so they could start college in the BA. I did not know them, at all but they were cool with me going along with them in a land yacht out to California.
As a an aside, it should be noted that earlier that year, I shaved my head and subsequently, looked like a “jock.” Grandma and Grandpa had come for a visit and Grandpa made a comment about my long hair so I promptly went my barber shop and said shave it all off which they did. So I went home, sporting a bald head and told my Grandpa: “See Grandpa, hair is not important to me.” Grandpa did not get it but I did.
So with a newly-shaved head and the promise of all things magical and wonderful, I loaded my stuff into the trunk of the land yacht and we lit out for our long drive to BA from St.Louis (much like On The Road by Kerouac which I just recently read, cover to cover).
Pretty uneventful trip with one exception:
As we’re driving through Arizona, these cats said why don’t we go see the Meteor Crater? So we did, made a detour and soon drove up on the visitor center which appeared to be closed. So we did what any young, red-blooded, bulletproof and invincible boys would do in that situation. We found a dirt road surrounding the Crater, parked the car and all four of us hiked down to the floor of the Crater and back out again.
Soon, we were California and the cats dropped me off at the dorms and I never saw them again.
So I got my dorm room assignment from the Resident Advisor and settled in with another student and began the process of being a new student in a new school with all that that entails. So I got my schedule of classes and found I had a day off, early on and resolved to make my pilgrimage to see and greet Ira Sandpearl.
I remember it was a hot and sunny day in the BA, that day. So I set out to walk down the El Camino Real to Kepler’s bookstore. Menlo College’s entrance faced the El Camino Real so I made a right and staring walking down the sidewalk towards Keplers. This section of the BA was fascinating to me and I absorbed all the new sight and sounds of this area. El Camino Real was one long strip mall, filled with shops, gas stations and stores. I see now that Keplers was about four miles from Menlo but back then, I only knew it was straight down the street. So it came to pass that Keplers appeared before me. I had arrived. I remember being hot and sweaty from the walk so I decided to enter and browse while I cooled down inside.
It looked small from the outside as I stared in at the display window. So I entered and saw somebody behind the register who I thought must be Ira Sandpearl. So I passed by the register where Ira was helping checkout another customer and I walked around, perusing the shelves and displays of books while I waited for Ira to free up at the register and I cooled down out of the hot sun. Finally, he was free so strolled up and said words to the effect that I had first read about him in the Ramparts article and I was enrolled in Menlo College and how this article and how his support encouraged the nascent and growing Jerry Garcia. I said that his opposition to the war in Vietnam and all wars was inspiring to me and then thanked him. This was all said in gush of admiration and humbleness as I was standing, right then and there, among giants, as I saw it. His reaction was a bit of surprise that morphed into a kind and gracious acceptance of what I was saying to him. He humbly welcomed to me California and accepted my thankfulness for getting to meet him in person.
Based on the article, I accepted Ira Sandpearl into my list of Heroes. Other Heroes that had previously made my list were Ayn Rand, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jack Kerouac, Albert Camus and others who had formed me up as an young kid in NYC who read their works in full at the libraries previously mentioned above.
So we chit-chatted a bit about books and he may or may not have made suggestions but I do not remember if he did or not. I retreated from the cash register since there was a line forming as I did I shook his hand with both of my hands grasping his hand and faded back in to the bookstore and found some books that intrigued me. So I got in line with my purchases, approached Ira again, paid for them, shook his hand warmly again and walked back in to the warm California sun.