What better way to take in the sights, sounds and aromas of the Summer of Love than to book a reservation on a Greyhound Bus Line “Hippyland Tour” of the famous Haight-Ashbury district.

This San Francisco neighborhood was the epicenter of psychedelia in 1967. Musicians, akin to snake charmers, hypnotized the beautiful flower-children who gyrated like whirling dervishes. India-inspired glad rags and Peter Max posters filled the funky shops. And LSD had everybody seeing white rabbits. Kids were heading to SF with flowers in their hair to obey Jefferson Airplane’s directive: find somebody to love. George Harrison dropped down from the heavens to partake of the scene. The Monterey Pop Festival was the place to be, and the Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper” album (released on June 1) was the LP to smoke dope to. Time magazine’s July 7 cover story was “The Hippies: The Philosophy of a Subculture.” Mainstream society was catching on. TV’s most trusted anchorman, Walter Cronkite, clued the clueless in on the happenings on his nightly network news report.

I, a child of 7 whose favorite “Revolver” song was the hypnotic “Tomorrow Never Knows,” stared at our black-and-white cabinet TV with envy at the scenes of peaceniks putting daisies in the barrels of police rifles, hippies dancing in a hallucinogenic stupor in Golden Gate Park, and pinkos burning draft cards in Chicago. Heck, by the time the Age of Aquarius hit Pennsyltucky it was already the Age of Libra. But I could dream, couldn’t I?

It was cultural voyeurs like me (and profit potential) that no doubt inspired Greyhound to launch a “Hippland Bus Tour” of the Haight district in April of 1967. Imagine, everyone from wanna-be hipsters to well-coiffed housewives to short-haired accountants (as John Lennon described the unhip) gawking through bus windows, in awe of this psychedelic horn-a-plenty! It was a Magical Mystery Tour for those who dreaded what their kiddies might dream of experiencing. The media played up the Greyhound tour, drawing thousands of kids to the Haight to perform like wild zoo-children, while spectators snapped photos with their little Kodaks, safe behind tempered glass.

The youthquake of 1967 was a short-lived diversion from the troubles of the day. It wouldn’t be long before 1968 ushered in some of the worst tragedies of the decade: the mayhem at the Democratic National Convention, student-cop clashes on campuses, mounting Vietnam War horrors, and the assassinations of two leaders who offered us hope: Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. “Blood on the streets runs a river of sadness,” sang Jim Morrison.

Here’s the original Scott McKenzie song that set the mood for 1967. “If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.”

Nearly a year after first publishing this article, I was thrilled to receive an email from the beautiful young lady in the photo at the top of this post. Her name is Kathy Aydelotte Castro, and she was only 16 when photographer Robert W. Klein took this picture of her during a Summer Solstice gathering in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park in 1967. He took the photo for the Associated Press; it was later published in various newspapers and magazines. Klein may or may not have asked for her written permission to publish this photo. Nevertheless, the name “Judy Smith” became attached to it. She’s never received any type of recognition for the picture, so I hope to correct that now!  Thanks, Kathy, for finding my blog and contacting me. It’s great to connect with someone whose photo I chose from the dozens I screened for this article. (Apologies to Mr. Klein for using the photo without his permission.)

© Dana Spiardi, May 6, 2014

Save

Save

If you’re familiar with the darkly funny animated series “South Park,” you know there’s nothing that tubby 9-year-old Eric Cartman hates more than hippies. In the 2005 episode “Die Hippie, Die,” he gallantly waddles from house to house with an exterminator tank, hell-bent on ridding the neighborhood of the bad-smelling, peace-preaching stoners. Well, in my small hometown in the late 1960s, we had but one authentic hippie, and we intended to keep him.

By the time the Age of Aquarius hit Pennsyltucky, it was already the Age of Libra. For years we stared at our cabinet TVs with envy at the scenes of flower-children burning draft cards in Chicago, marching for peace in D.C., and dancing in a hallucinogenic stupor in Golden Gate Park. Just when we’d nearly given up hope that we’d ever be hip, God answered our prayers and gave us something to break the monotony of our boring, bourgeois lives: a bearded, long-haired, blurry-eyed, sandaled dude whom the town elders affectionately called “The Dirty Hippie.” So touched was he by this moniker that he actually painted the nom de freak on the side of his psychedelically embellished pickup truck. You bet your bippy! What a treat to see him whiz by — “Sunshine of your Love” and fragrant smoke wafting from his windows — as we walked home from school. “Hey look! It’s the Dirty Hippie!” we’d cry out as we waved. I have no idea whether our token tokin’ rebel embraced the make-love-not-war ideology of the times, but he looked like he stepped right out of central casting for “Easy Rider.” And that was good enough for us. We didn’t want any trouble-making pinko types, anyway. We weren’t ready for our small hamlet to become infested with the city-bred rodent variety of hippie — like those personified by David Peel.

I was 12 years old, watching The David Frost show on TV after school, when I discovered Mr. Peel. As the veddy, veddy British talk show host introduced a musical number, I was delighted to see John Lennon on stage with an assortment of musicians I didn’t recognize. But why was John (and the ubiquitous Yoko) standing in the back, banging away on a homemade stringed instrument, and not in the spotlight? Who was the wire-haired dude with Lennonesque granny glasses shouting into the microphone? And why was he singing funny lyrics to Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee” song? This was too much!

I’m proud to be a New York City hippie / I’m proud of dirty feet and dirty hair.
I’m proud of living with the cock-a-roaches / I’m proud of living in a garbage can.
We want to warn you squares and all you rednecks: If you hate the hippies from New York,
We’ll unify the hippies from the country /We’ll fight until the South becomes the North.

Wow! The high literature of Mad magazine set to music!  This truly appealed to my 7th grade brain. I would never forget this TV performance, or the name of the singer, David Peel. And I vowed that one day I would learn all about this dirty hippie.

Born David Michael Rosario in Brooklyn, Peel was, and remains, a singer, songwriter, musician, activist, street performer, and self-described radical. In 1968, he and his band, The Lower East Side, landed a contract with Elektra Records and subsequently released two albums that were groundbreaking in theme and content: “Have a Marijuana” and “The American Revolution.” Kudos to Elektra for releasing LPs with song titles like “I’ve Got Some Grass,” “Hey Mr. Draft Board,” “I Want To Get High,” “Show Me the Way to Get Stoned,” and the police-hating “Oink, Oink.” Smells like early punk rock to me.

Peel has been described as the Woodie Guthrie of Yippie politics.  He prided himself on being a street musician – of the people, by the people, for the people – and gained most of his notoriety shouting out his satirical ditties in Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village. Still, outside of New York counter-culture society, Peel remained very much an underground novelty. Until another radically minded singer-songwriter happened upon his act.

One day in 1971, two newly-minted New Yorkers, John and Yoko Ono Lennon, wandered into Washington Square Park with their friend, rock journalist and producer Howard Smith. There, John saw Peel for the first time. The street singer shouted out something like, “Why do you have to pay to see stars?” John thought that Peel was referring to him, and his interest was piqued. It wouldn’t be long before Yippie leaders Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman would lead John back to the park and introduce him to Peel. They hit it off immediately. “He’s such a great guy,” said Lennon in 1972. “We loved his music and his spirit and everything — his whole philosophy of the street.”

The next thing you know, John signs Peel to The Beatles’ Apple Records (against the objections of some of his former bandmates) and is producing his infamous LP, “The Pope Smokes Dope.” Its title song, along with such tunes as “F is Not a Dirty Word,” “I’m Gonna Start Another Riot,” and “The Birth Control Blues” ensured that the LP would be banned in nearly every country except the United States and Canada. Now, with John’s blessing and a banned record, Peel not only was the new darling of the anti-establishment, he had a free pass to enter the living rooms of Middle America by way of the David Frost show. With his round, wire-rimmed sunglasses and prominent nose, he looked so much like John that the FBI mistakenly used his photo in a fact sheet they produced for Nixon’s “deport Lennon” campaign.

While John went on to produce Peel’s single, “America,” for the soundtrack of the film “Please Stand By,” Apple records did not renew his contract. Wary of censorship battles with established record labels, he formed an independent company, Orange Records, to release his own material and that of other artists.  His 1976 LP, “An Evening With David Peel,” has been praised for perfectly capturing the sound and spirit of the chaotic early ’70s underground movement. He’s been recording, without fanfare, for decades. You can download his songs from iTunes and Amazon.com.

Thanks to Lennon’s association, Peel went from playing parks to stadiums, alongside such artists as Rod Stewart, B.B. King, Alice Cooper, Dr. John, Frank Zappa, Iggy Pop, MC5, John Lee Hooker, Roger McGuinn, Richie Havens, Odetta, Arlo Guthrie, Stevie Wonder, Joan Baez, Cypress Hill, and The Ramones.

But despite his high profile gigs, Peel’s always felt most comfortable on the streets of New York, performing gratis for everyday people. At age 70, he’s still a bachelor, sans children, and lives in a rent-controlled apartment on Avenue B in the East Village.  He gets by on songwriting royalties, sales of old records, and the occasional gig.  He’s made a comeback in recent years, writing songs for the Occupy Wall Street movement and singing and strumming his way into the hearts of a new generation of rabble rousers. He told a New York Times reporter in 2012 that he plans to continue to sing on the streets and in the parks “until the day I drop dead and go to rock ’n’ roll heaven.”

Let’s just hope there’s plenty of weed behind those pearly gates — if the popes haven’t smoked it all up, that is.

UPDATE: I just leaned that Mr. Peel died on April 6, 2017, following a heart attack. Wherever you are, David, keep stirring the pot!

Here’s David Peel and The Lower East Side, along with John, Yoko, and Jerry Rubin, performing “Hippie from New York City” on David Frost’s show in 1972. It’s a biting parody of  Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee.”

Here are audio clips of John, discussing David’s appeal: “People say, ‘Oh, you know Peel – he can’t sing, or he can’t really play and that,’ but he writes beautiful songs, you know, and even sort of as simple as his basic chord structures are, supposedly. Well you know, Picasso spent 40 years trying to get as simple as that.”

This South Park clip is from the episode called “Die Hippie, Die,” which shows Eric Cartman trying to rid the town of hippies.

© Dana Spiardi, March 6, 2013

Save

Save

Save

Speaking to an Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences panel on October 26, 2006, Mr. Lang said, “I had this inner dream. I grew up listening to Roy Rogers sing ‘Happy Trails’ on the radio and I thought, ‘What a perfect way to end the show.’ He was the only artist who turned us down. He didn’t get it at all.”

Actually, I think Roy did get it, and that’s why he had the good sense to decline Lang’s invitation. I can’t imagine the crowd’s reaction to the crooning cowboy, who was 59 at that time and probably not a fan of counter-culture. They might have thought they were hallucinating (well, they probably were) seeing him on stage, especially if horse Trigger was anywhere nearby. I guess some festival goers might have found his performance a bit quaint — the Cowboy as a symbol of America. Or, they could have seen it as a joke. Whatever the case, a Roy roundup at the end of the show would have been anti-climactic, to say the least.

So, the best was saved for last. Jimi performed 16 songs between 9:00 am – 11:10 am on August 17, 1969. The 13th was his legendary version of “The Star Spangled Banner,” played on a Fender Stratocaster. He wrapped up the 3 days of peace and love with “Hey Joe,” a song about a man heading out to shoot his old lady down. So much for happy trails! I’m glad Jimi chose to go out that way. It was a bold move. “Hey Joe” had been performed in different styles by all kinds of artists, including folk performers in Scotland, going back to the mid-1950s. But it’s his rendition that still haunts the mind.

When I think about all the photos and film footage I’ve seen of Woodstock through the years, the one image that burns brightest in my eye is that of Mr. Hendrix in that gorgeous white fringed shirt adorned with blue beads.

Oh, say can you hear?

© Dana Spiardi, August 17, 2015

Keith Reid, who co-wrote the song with bandmates Gary Brooker and Matthew Fisher, said its title was based on a comment he overheard at a party: someone told a woman she’d “turned a whiter shade of pale.”

And just how did the band get that weird, hard-to-spell name? Their original manager, Guy Stevens, named the group after a friend’s Burmese cat: Procul Harun (Procul was the breeder’s prefix).

Here’s the original video of the song:

© Dana Spiardi, Feb 17, 2014

In the fall on 1967 the Beatles were literally and figuratively riding high following the success of the groundbreaking “Sgt. Pepper” album, their introduction to transcendental meditation by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and the completion of their second psychedelic LP, “Magical Mystery Tour,” and the absurdist film that accompanied it. On September 29, 1967, within weeks of wrapping the film, John Lennon and George Harrison appeared as guests on David Frost’s BBC television show, waxing spiritually about their new-found Eastern philosophies.

Harrison: “I believe in reincarnation. Life and death are still only relative to thought. I believe in rebirth. You keep coming back until you have got it straight. The ultimate thing is to manifest divinity, and become one with The Creator.”

Lennon: “Buddha was a groove, Jesus was all right, Krishna is wonderful. ”

What’s that? Centuries of British subjects prayed “God Save the Queen,” and now these hippies are throwing Buddha and Krishna into the mix! The Beatles were turning funny, indeed, and even the Queen took notice.

You can understand Her Majesty’s baffle-dom. A mere four years earlier the fresh-faced lads had delighted the Royal Family (sans the Queen, who was in late-stage pregnancy) during a Royal Variety Command Performance. John cracked up the normally staid crowd with his ballsy remark: “Would the people in the cheaper seats clap your hands? And the rest of you, if you’ll just rattle your jewelry.” (Backstage before the show, John had threatened to say f**king jewelry, but wimped out. The Beatles later joked that they smoked reefer in the Buckingham Palace john after the gig. Just another rock myth.)

In 1965 the Queen awarded medals to the four individuals of England’s hottest commodity, honoring them as Members of the Excellent Order of the British Empire. The gesture drew protests from former recipients of the medal, most of whom were staunch conservatives who had earned the accolade for wartime bravery. In response, John Lennon stated, “Lots of people who complained about us receiving the MBE received theirs for heroism in the war – for killing people…We received ours for entertaining other people. I’d say we deserve ours more.”

The ever evolving Lennon returned his MBE in November 1969 during his peace-monger phase, with a note that read, Your Majesty, I am returning this MBE in protest against Britain’s involvement in the Nigeria-Biafra thing, against our support of America in Vietnam and against “Cold Turkey” slipping down the charts. With love, John Lennon. (Medal or no medal, MBE status cannot be renounced. Sorry, John, you’re still part of a club that had the audacity to invite you as a member.)

But even as late as 1968 the Beatles remained respectful of protocol, sending offerings to the Queen as if needing her approval. Upon forming Apple Records they sent a box set of the first four singles issued on the new label to Her Majesty and members of the Royal Family. It was reported that the records were appreciated and enjoyed.

It turns out the Queen is pretty forgiving and even a bit nostalgic. On March 11, 1997, she knighted Paul McCartney for his “service to music,” turning a blind eye to his admitted LSD use in the 1960s and his four arrests for marijuana possession. And, in July 2007, Queen Liz commemorated the 50th anniversary of the Beatles’ formation, which is widely recognized as July 7, 1957: the day 15-year-old Paul McCartney auditioned for 16-year old John Lennon following a Liverpool church festival. She expressed “much pleasure” in her recognition of Britain’s finest (musical) hour, and sent best wishes to all concerned for a most enjoyable and successful occasion.

On June 5, 2012, Sir Paul joined other knighted British musicians, including Sir Elton John, Sir Tom Jones and Sir Cliff Richard, at a Diamond Jubilee celebration to honor the 86-year-old monarch for her 60-year reign. He sang “All My Loving” to his Queen, who appeared to be wearing ear plugs.

So, as the song goes, “Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl,” after all. Now, did Paul need a “belly full of wine” to come up with that Beatles’ lyric — or was it a bowl full of pot?

Here’s a clip of the Beatles being interviewed after receiving their MBEs. They don’t quite know what to make of it.

Here’s a nicely illustrated video of “Her Majesty,” a song written by Paul. It is the closing song on the final Beatles’ album, “Abbey Road.”

The illustration of the Beatles having tea with Queen Elizabeth is by Guy Peellaert, from the book “Rock Dreams,” by Nik Cohn and Guy Peellaert.

By Dana Spiardi, Nov 25, 2013