Marten Eden would have taken LSD.
I just wrote that when Mr. Noodles called with the BIG NEWS. I started composing my post on the return of the Embodiment of Jack London, to Belmont, where another statue of Jack would be commissioned. Below is my painting of a schooner that toured the world in a Red Cross show. That book case is full of rare books collected by Broderick and Stuttmeister that were into philosophy. My uncle, Fred Broderick, came into our house after school without knocking and started emptying our books into boxes. Par for the course!
“Why didn’t you stop him?” Rosemary asked.
I was fourteen. If I called the police I would say – what?
“We have a rare book thief over here at 5649 San Sebastian Ave.”
“I am ordering you out of the house. Lay prone on the ground until a squad car arrives. Prank calls are against the law. You are going to jail – young man!
I got this suds – made in the shade!
John (Jack) Presco
EXTRA! This is one of the blogs I posted on the Belmont Historical Society – that I took down myself – wondering if they are racists. They did not tell me a Jack London group met there.
Then there were Rosemary’s sons who were entering their pubescence. Holy shit! What is that going to be like – without a father! Our mother was scared! Would we hate her for getting rid of our Father Figure? What father figure? A year before he died I asked Vic why he was so mean to his sons.
“Who was your role model, if he didn’t have one?”
“Wolf Larsen. He was my role model when I was a teenager. I wanted you and Mark to grow up tough.”
Mark and I were tough. Our peers did not fuck with us. We were very strong, and not just in a muscular way. We were Lumpers in Oakland’s Produce Market. See these hand carts? A grown Lumper will stack crates and boxes, to the top. Vic would let us get away with one box less. He got dirty looks from the Italian produce guys – and their grown sons – as my brother and I struggled with our load at eight and nine. It was an insane scene! Grown men wanted to punch Vic’s lights out. Now if this was a movie set?
“Cut! You boys need a rest. Help yourself to all the donuts and soft drinks!”
Mark and I raised our sisters with the help of our best friends, Bill Arnold, and Rick Young. We hardly saw Rosemary, even on the weekend. On Saturday morning The Children woke up and we made pancakes. Here is a list of The Children and our friends who often spent the night. Our home was a safe and creative haven for children. It was a Commune.
Michael McClure died last week. For three days I have been considering what I have to say about his Death Thing. Haven’t poets – said enough? McClure did the most important thing we can do – after being born. While in our mother’s wombs – we don’t have a clue what is about to happen! BANG!
Michael knew he was going to die. Did he wonder what other writers were going to write about him – now that the restraints are removed?
Yesterday I wrote a poem about Michael in the form of a question:
‘Did You Fuck Amber’.
Amber was my Lover. We lived together. I suspect one of her Johns paid her way to go to California College of Arts and Crafts that was founded on the ideas of my hero, William Morris. She was a high-class prostitute in San Francisco. She told me she saved money to go to college. She invited me to sit in on McClure’s poetry class held in this building. This crosswalk is famous in my book. This is the Mecca of the Hippie-Beat-Acid-Rock scene.
I was going to shit-can Michael until I read his poem about working in a produce market as a lumper. ‘The Breech’ goes with my memory of working as a lumper in the Oakland produce market. Then I found this video of the Living Theatre who are inspired by Antonin Artaud who wrote ‘The Theatre as the Plague’. These actors are taking themselves – real seriously. This is what we all did – back then! McClure is heading the Oaks Motel, as is Jim Morrison and the group – Love.
Obituaries are claiming Michael McClure and other Beat Poets began the Summer of Love. They were the invited guests of the owners of The Oracle. Michael Bowen appears to be the creator of this vision – that did not elect leaders of our Hippie Movement! We were not in need of leaders. McClure has been guilty of feathering his own nest. That the College of Arts and Crafts was founded by Frederick Meyer who was inspired by the Pre-Raphaelite artist and writer, William Morris, changes the Genesis of the Hippie and Bohemian scene in the Bay Area, and is more inclusive of Artists. J.R. Tolkien was inspired by Morris as was Joaquin Miller who I have depicted as Gandalf. The Hobbits inspired the lifestyle of the Hippies – who I renamed. The establishment newspaper put that name on us, and put their own ignorant spin on our new cultural movement.
McClure was of the previous era as was Ginsberg and Leary. Bowan had to know he too was on the way out, and thus he did not protest. He had to know of BEAF that held shows around the corner of McClure’s classroom. I lived down the street on Broadway. Up Broadway were camped the Temescal Group of Artists and writers, including George Sterling, the ‘King of the Bohemians’ and co-founder of the Bohemian Club. The Great White Brotherhood proceeds the Beat poets – who should have know about seventeen year old Thelma Reid. My late friend was a good friend of McClure, Jim Morrison, and the Stackpole family. He went to CCAC.
“We disliked each other enormously at first,” Mr. McClure told the Victoria (B.C.) Times Colonist in 2011. “We both had long hair to our shoulders and leather pants on. And then we started drinking Johnnie Walker and talking about poetry. We become very deep friends.”
Mr. McClure appeared in a film directed by novelist Norman Mailer, was friends with actors Dennis Hopper and Peter Coyote and drew praise for his poem “Peyote Poem” from Francis Crick, the co-discoverer of DNA.
When I was a boy, I thought a thousand times I’d be a man
I’d sit inside a bottle and pretend that I was in a can
In my lonely room, I’d set my mind on an ice cream cone
You can throw me if you wanna ’cause I’m a bone and I’ll go
Boom, bang, bang, boom, bang, bang, yeah
If I don’t start cryin’, it’s because that I have got no eyes
My bum’s in the fireplace, my dog lies hypnotized
Through the crack of light, I was unable to find my way
Trapped inside a night but I’m a day and I go
Boom, bang, bang, boom, bang, bang, yeah
Kerouac based a character in his novel “Big Sur” on Mr. McClure — “the handsome young poet who’s just written the most fantastic poem in America, called ‘Dark Brown,’ which is every detail of his and his wife’s body described in ecstatic union and communion . . . and not only that he insists on reading it to us.”
Mr. McClure’s early poetry was often descriptive and drawn from everyday experience. One of the poems he read at the Six Gallery, “The Breech,” was drawn from his job unloading trucks at a produce market:
In anticipation of Michael McClure’s book, “Mysteriosos and Other Poems”, (published in April by New Directions), Steven Fama wrote a blog post called “17 Reasons Why…I Love the Work of Michael McClure!”.
Number one on the list was the October 7, 1955 reading at the Six Gallery in San Francisco. It was McClure’s first poetry reading, and the first time Allen Ginsberg read “Howl” in public. Philip Lamantia, Philip Whalen, and Gary Snyder also read that night, and Jack Kerouac brought the wine.
Organized by Kenneth Rexroth and billed as a “a remarkable collection of angels on one stage reading their poetry”, the Six Gallery reading was pivotal at a time when San Francisco poets were stirring up something new and exciting, and resurrecting the art of poetry from what McClure describes in Scratching the Beat Surface as “the gray, chill, militaristic silence”.
In his 1956 New York Times review of these new, radical West Coast poets, Richard Eberhart wrote: “They have exuberance and a young will to kick down the doors of older consciousness and established practice in favor of what they think is vital and new.” Half a century later, Jonah Raskin, author of American Scream, wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle that “All Americans might look back at the Six Gallery reading for inspiration.”
At a 2008 reading at UC Berkeley, McClure recalled the Six Gallery and read three of his poems from that night: “Mystery of the Hunt”, “For the Death of 100 Whales”, and “The Breech”.
When he wrote “The Breech”, McClure had a night job in a produce market. Working in the dark streets made him think of Rimbaud, he says, and inspired the poem:
—A barricade — a wall — a stronghold,
Sinister and joyous, of indigo and saffron —
To hurl myself against!
To crush or
To be a part of the wall…
Spattered brains or the imprint
of a violent foot —
To crumble loose some brilliant masonry
Or knock it down —
To send pieces flying
To be the chalice of the hunt,
Through a barrier of white trees!
At work — 3:00 in the morning — In the produce market
Moving crates of lettuce and cauliflower — Predawn
A vision — The rats become chinchillas — I stand
At the base of a cliff — sweating — flaming — in terror and joy
Surrounded in the mist — by whirling circles of dark
Chattering animals — a black lynx stares from the hole
In the cliff.
Rotten lettuce — perfume — The damp carroty street.
It is my head — These are my hands.
I don’t will it.
Out in the light — Noon — the City.
A Wall — a stronghold.
CCA was founded in 1907 by Frederick Meyer in Berkeley as the School of the California Guild of Arts and Crafts during the height of the Arts and Crafts movement. The Arts and Crafts movement originated in Europe during the late 19th century as a response to the industrial aesthetics of the machine age. Followers of the movement advocated an integrated approach to art, design, and craft. Today, Frederick Meyer’s “practical art school” is an internationally known and respected institution, drawing students from around the world.
In 1908 the school was renamed California School of Arts and Crafts, and in 1936 it became the California College of Arts and Crafts (CCAC).
The following is being published by Rosamond Press Co. a newspaper I founded in Lane County Oregon in 1997. Thanks to the Vincent Rice Family Trust, I have been able to upgrade my computer and purchase a scanner which allows me to publish family photographs such as the one above of Wanda Harkins home in the Oakland Hills were Bruce Perlowin lived for five months.
Wanda Harkins was my surrogate mother, and since 1968, she always gave me sanctuary from the storm, if just for one night sleeping on the couch, or staying a month or two down in the basement where the King of Pot had his headquarters. I was a good friend of Wanda’s three sons, James, Michael, and Jeffrey Harkins since 1965. I visited the Harkins home up on Skyline in 1966 with my friend, Nancy Hamren, who became a Merry Prankster. Doctor James Harkins was a well known pediatrician who experimented with LSD with his older son, James Junior. In 1969 Wanda’as home was raided by the Oakland Police, the Oakland Tribune newspaper reporting; “Wild Bongo Party Raided In Oakland Hills”. Wanda’s three sons were put in a paddy wagon and hauled off to jail.
We used to call Wanda Mr’s Cleaver, because she was stuck in 50s. She was the consummate housewife long after she and Jim were divorced. Wanda never failed to invite me to Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, she knowing my natal family were not hospitable. Some stoners of renown walked in her door, such as, Abbie Hoffman, who was in the jewelry business with Bruce Perlowin whose ex-wife was now Michael’s wife, and Bruces’ son, like a grandson to Wanda whose three sons never sired children. Bruce was married to a famous Russian Spy who was still in prison for seducing an FBI agent. Bruce put her picture on the wall. Wanda was a Republican right-winger whose boyfriend attened the hijinks at Bohemian Grove. Wanda would come down into the basement to do a load of laundry, and ask Bruce about the photo;
“That’s my wife. We got married in prison.”
“Oh, how sweet!” Wanda said, she signing parole papers that made her home a halfway house for the drug smuggler who said the rewards arent worth the risk to Junior Highschoo lkids in Oakland’s Ghetto, where Bruce had gone at my suggestion, I trying to do a 12th. Step on him, I having four years of sobriety. I challenged Bruce to give a anti-drug-profit message. Bruce saw a chance to garnish some publicity. I was angry, and called the Tribune reproter who wrote the article. Turns out he had eleven years sobriety, and, he felt guilty for getting Bruce busted because of an article he wrote that he was not aware would crack open the case that put Bruce in the Fed lockup.
“Are you kidding me!”
Bruce is the world expert on getting Sympathy for Devil. There is a third world flavor in feeling sorry for the benevolent dictator, or the Mafia chief who throws huge Columbus Day celebrations in New York. Meanwhile we addicts and drunks in recovery must remain anonymous. To go against my peers after my fall and death at McClure’s Beach, was extremely difficult – to this very day! I just revealed some information I was forbidden to reveal. Why stop now? We are doomed, we getting older and taking drugs for medical problem, and not to trip the lights fantastic, or, exchange Bohemian ideas.
Here is a video of Bruce with Reverend Doug Van Dyke “Doctor of Divinity” I doubt the Doc can quote me one verse from the Bible, but, he is next to Bruce in oder to prove he has a spritual program of some kind – that might heal you! Doug is a secular Jesus pot-head. In many ways he is – me – the me I used to be, that hippie who grew up in Oakland, and who was adopted by the Robert Hamilton, the man behind Owsely, who with his brother Tim Hamilton, sold LSD all over the world.
Below is a vdio of Buzzy Linhart who had a legal marijuana orginization years before Bruce. Buzzy is a friend of Chris Wandel, and went to this show with Joe Marra who owned the Night Owl Cafe in the village. Chris dated Peter Shapiro of the Loading Zone.
Michael became friends with Bruce when he went with his wife and Bruces son to visit The King in prison. Michael was good friends with the beat poet Michael MacClure, and Jim Morrison. He was approached by Stone’s people and asked Michael about his friendship with Jim. They wanted material for the movie The Doors.
Michael told them their movie will suck, and they can go fuck themselves. The movie sucked, as will Bruces movie, as will the movie about my famous sister, will suck, because, Rosamond’s biography sucks, and the people who want to make money – suck the most!
Michael worked as a Private Investigator, and went with me to Carmel to attend the funeral of Christine Rosamond Benton. It was Michael who alerted me to things that were – fishy! If you put Rosamond’s, Bruces’s and Jim’s story-movie together, then you might have an interesting story about folks who like money, sex, drugs, and power!
Above is the price list mu ex-brpther-in-law sent out to steady customers of Rosamond images – a week after she drowned. The probate would ot get under way until a year later due to the huge legal battle over – money – because most folks who surrounded Christine believed the price of dead artist’s work would skyrocket! Instead of the Drunken Rosemary prints being worth $250,000 dollars, they might bring in a cool million. Then there are the book and movie sales. Carrie Fisher did one screenplay.
I am good to go if the outsider get a movie contract, I already acted when it came to one of Bruce’s most famous investors in Rain Crips ceral bars. I’m talking about Victoria from Chicago, the queen of the Blue Meanies, who after a couple of freakouts at the airport and motel, became convinced the Mafia was behind Bruce, and, she would be snuffed out because she got too close to Mr. Big. That’s when I got a urgent call from Michael;
“Get up to Wandas and meet me in the backyard. I’m bringing this woman to meet you. Pretend you are the Godfather. Reasure her I am not a hit man for the Mafia.”
I got in my gold Cadillac and headed for Wanda’s Hideaway. In the backyard I found a coffee cup, and prentended it was full of coffee. There was a newspaper I pretended to read, as she came through the gate. I could hear her gentle whimpering, she believing she had minutes to live. Then she saw me.
Before I could stand up to shake her hand, she has fallen to one knee, and is grasping my hand hard. I spoke gently to her, my blues eyes, bathing her in wisdom and understanding, that, told her things do not have to go badly, and, putting my hand on her shoulder I said;
“You’re under my protection now. (and Wanda’s) You need no longer worry! Michael, make sure no harm comes to Victoria.”
Vicki broke out in tears and cried;
“Oh! You are not what I expected at all. You are a gentle giant!”
Victoria was too hysterical to get on the plane. But, after one session with the Godfather, she was good to go. She reassured Bruce there would be a check in the mail as she waved goodbye. It never arrived. However, I – Mr. Big – received an envelope, which I never told Bruce about. I purtchased a Brother word processor to work on my novel The Gideon Computer which is about the last hippie in the future who gets busted and sent to the first privately owned prison. My friend Nancy suggested I write the history of the hippies, but, how boring!
“Alls well, that ends well!”
These understandings have led him to an entire “GREEN” philosophy that he shares with the world! Nothing held back, Rev. Van Dyke is motivated to bring his unique perspective on cannabis, and how to fully potentiate all aspects of the processes involved, to the world. The ever changing cannabis industry has many, many sides, which will you choose?
At the Alameda County Superior Court in Oakland yesterday, prosecutors spent the day cross-examining defense witnesses and leaders of the First Hemp Bank and its subsidiary, the Buzzy Linhart Medical Foundation.
Both organizations are licensed by the city of Oakland to issue medical marijuana to their members.
Buzzy Linhart, a founding member of the Buzzy Linhart Medical Foundation, said in his testimony that the confiscated marijuana actually belongs to him and not to the defendants.
Linhart said Felini worked for the organization as a “compassionate caregiver” who stored the drug for later distribution among the group’s 48 patients, who are suffering from cancer, AIDS and other illnesses that cause chronic pain
His prowess on the vibraphone found him performing as a session musician on recordings by Buffy Sainte-Marie, Richie Havens, Carly Simon, Cat Mother & the All Night Newsboys, and even Jimi Hendrix (on the Cry of Love album).
It was a very unique room, a long and narrow storefront. The stage faced straight at a wall in the center with one church pew at the foot (the “crotch watchers bench”), an aisle, and then another pew against the wall. All the other seating was to the left and right of the stage, giving a side view. The PA was very trebly and faced to the sides. The music crashed into the wall and died, leaving the vocals very bare to the bulk of the crowd to each side. You had better sing on key or else it was a disaster. Good harmony went a long way at the Night Owl! The cast of characters: “Jack the Rat” at the door, a frightening cat with teeth missing and dirty clothes; Joe Marra, the owner; Annie, head waitress (very bossy)…The waitresses all used four letter words that we had never heard from girls before…shocking to four straight, naive, suburban rockers! There was Pepe, the openly gay cook (we had never seen anyone “openly gay”); and of course, all of the great bands! An interesting and happy family indeed…Joe Marra would blink the stage lights on and off, kind of a poor man’s strobe light effect…Waitress Shelly Plimpton appeared in the original cast of “Hair.” [And later had a daughter with Keith Carradine–peerlessly cool actress Martha Plimpton. -Ed.] Every Thanksgiving the Night Owl had a huge feast. Everyone was there past and present–even The Spoonful…and The Mothers of Invention served the food! Yes, we “believed in magic”!