“Daniel Rifkin, manager of the Grateful Dead band, important in popularizing San Francisco rock music, complained that the hippie label was manufactured by mass media. He said the name was a way to lump all kinds of unconventional people “in the same bag” with drug-crazed and other nasty connotations. Further, the name is attracting too many phony hippies, said Arthur Lisch, a prime mover in the Diggers, who scrounged for food which they served free daily in Golden Gate Park”
My alleged daughter is not a Hippie, nor was her mother. Indeed, Patrice and Randy DelPiano were the antithesis of the Hippie. They ripped off The Real Hippies – and the Grateful Dead! Bogus Bobbie used the fame of this famous band, to rape and rip-off women who were fans of The Dead, who applied their seal of approval to the Mock Death of Hippie – so he could be reborn without all the parasitical attachments!
In 1988, with a year of sobriety, my first girlfriend, Marilyn Godfrey, insisted I get a reading at the Berkeley Psychic Reading when I went home for a visit. I was not a believer – at the time! I was told this by a young woman around twenty-four…
“People come into your being and take, take, take! You are powerless to stop them. I can’t see why!”
She began my reading by saying…
“You own your creation……You Died!”
“When Heather Delpiano was born, she was put in the arms of a con-artist, and ex-con who was convicted of impersonating Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead. Bogus Bobby appeared on the cover of The Berkeley Bard, he the subject of the only WANTED poster of this underground newspaper. Randall was getting suckers to buy fake Dead bootleg tapes. His wife – had to know what was going on. When I rescued Heahter’s half-brothers, I found her mother to be A AMBITIOUS HIPPIE – who wanted to meet my famous sister! This is 1984. I did not believe in a ‘Successful Hippie’ due to the reasons we buried Hippie. I could not SEE that I was considered a ‘Successful Hippie’ and that people wanted to be like me. They wanted – what I had! They came into my being – and took, took, took! Being a real generous Hippie, I felt I must share! I was wrong. The proof of this, my child was STOLEN from me, and then my grandchildren – by the SAME FAKE HIPPIE and her accomplices!
JAN. 16, 1989 12 AM
A man who looted $4,000 from a woman’s bank account while posing as Grateful Dead guitar player Bob Weir has been sentenced to two years in prison and fined $500. The sentence was imposed by Alameda County Superior Court Judge Stanley Golde on Randall C. Delpiano, 33, described in a Probation Department report as having “achieved moderate fame by impersonating” Weir. Delpiano pleaded guilty in Oakland Municipal Court last month to one count of using a computer system to steal money. Other charges were dropped in a plea agreement. Authorities said Delpiano befriended the victim’s son and then moved into the family home. While the woman was out of town in October, they said, he took the money from her bank account using her automatic teller machine card.
When I found myself pregnant, I felt the father could have been
either John’s or my husband’s, but I had to convince the husband
that it was his baby or life would have been unbearable and the
chances of my baby’s survival would have been slim. I knew this baby
was meant to be, and be with me, and that was important. From there
moment she was born, I could see that she looked like John, but it
was the husband’s name that went on the birth certificate.”
Patrice Hanson falsified a birth certificate by putting Randall Delpiano’s name as the father, instead of me. Heather Hanson is MY daughter. Patrice admits she knew this in a letter she composed to send Oprah Winfrey. Randy is famous! He appears in two books as “Bogus Bobby”. Patrice says she was married to BB, but, I have my doubts. Patrice has never had a grasp on reality. She suffers from mental illness due to her severely mentally ill mother being violently beaten by Patrice’s father. This may have caused this poor mother of three to jump off a cliff, and kill herself. Patrice describes herself as being the surrogate mother to her siblings.
- Chapter Two – California Royalty
Vincent Rosamond Rice
I could tell Seyburne Zorthian sensed I was Californian Royalty, and thus she wanted to go with Nancy and I to meet my mother. Nancy had been to our home on San Sebastian one time, and up in the boys room Bill encouraged us to kiss. We were twelve, and I never kissed a girl before. Bill was very involved in Kathy Moline, but this did not detour Nancy from loving our friend – to death. The three of us looked at the idea Nancy and I would be lovers, she perhaps losing my virginity in that abandoned house on Athol that overlooked Lake Merritt? Such is the brilliance of the erotic light that outshines the light that lit our childhood days
Right away Rosemary has noticed Seyburne is rendering erotic landscapes around me, and surprised me by knowing who her parents were. Ten minutes after we got out of the car on Glendon, Rosemary is whispering in my ear.
“Marry her. She comes from money. You should be supported!”
How do you know, I wanted to ask, but, did the math. My mother spent many evenings up at the Beverly Hills Hotel, partying with that famous crowd. Had she met Jiryl Zorthian, the famous party animal at the Altadena ranch? Did this erotic artist see one of Rosemary’s infamous porno movies that she made for Big Bones Remmer – who knew all the Mafia guys? I was staying in Betty’s home. I dropped acid there, with her three children. Toby and I had this psychedelic gunfight that had everyone in stitches. I was liked, even adored.
Nancy and her family moved to Pasadena where she befriend Barry Zorthian, who became my friend Keith’s lover at the Idol Hands commune in San Francisco, where I brought the Royal Brass Lantern. Bill, Nancy, myself, and Angel played at being Beatniks. Angel took ballet lessons in SF, and hung out at the City Lights Bookstore. She was the thirteen year old mascot of the Ferlinghetti crowd. Angel wore black, and was the next generation. She was extremely mature for her age. We loved her Barret. She would give birth to Bill’s baby. She offered to fuck me so I would not lag behind. But, her boyfriend Tony showed up that almost fateful night. They got married. I was thirteen. We could not count our close encounters that would have made us fully adult. We could not wait to enact – our better way! We founded our coffee shop where we smoked pipes and talked about Beah Writers and their books. I was assigned Neil Cassidy’s identity. Then I was George Sterling to Bill’s London.
And so it went, as I followed the brilliance of my best friend, who was six foot three, blonde with blues eyes, and a IQ of 180. Bill was an Adonis, and he knew he was doomed due to the jealousy of others. Bill was Royalty of another kind. He went where no one could go. He lost his virginity to his French maid in Paris when he was eleven, When Bill went to jail for over a year. He shut Nancy and I out of his life. Something had gone terribly wrong, and his promise to alleyway tell us the truth, was a promise broken, Bill’s favorite book and movie was ‘Of Mice And Men’.
When speed came the Height Ashbury, it came to the Idol Hands, first. There was no greater tragedy. I fled the small maids room I lived in near the huge boiler in the basement. I left my belongings behind. I had gone to visit Brian Purvis in Oakland. I meant to go back. But Barry showed me the shooting kit her lover hid under their bed, and in tears, asked me to intervene.
This is the winter of 66. We buried Hippie on October, 6, 1967. I lost the brass lantern. I left it behind. A light had gone out that many still talk about. I saw it go. Goodbye my dear fantastic friends1
DEATH OF HIPPIES Hippy
‘Elders7 Gather To Proclaim End Of Era
DEATH OF HIPPIES Hippy ‘Elders 7 Gather To Proclaim End Of Era
SAN FRANCISCO (UPI) Elders of San Francisco’s hippie community gathered today atop Buena Vista Hill to proclaim “the death of he hippie” with pomp and dramatics. As dawn brightened the splendid view, they ceremoniously complained that their famed Haight-Ashbury district has gone wrong. ‘ Then they moved down Haight Street, cleaning up trash, common since the summer invasion of tourists and thrill-seekers. Outside of some hippie shops, closed for the three-day funeral observance, were scrubbed with flourishes. Skirl) emblems tvere placed on windows. Later, a solemn funeral procession circled the district symbolically purging it of evil. Hippies were asked to drop things meaningful to them, feuch as their beads, in a huge coffin.
The only trouble is that the performance was some sort of a “put-on,” typical of the irreverent youth. Not all hip-pie-oriented shops closed and not all hippies participated. As the “day of death” plan was developed in lengthly meetings of Haight-Ashbury patriarchs, as the observance vas turned into more of a death of labels event than anything else. “We need a new image,” they said. “The hippies want to kill their world – known name, F rom death comes rebirth, they said. They now wish to be known as “free men.” Daniel Rifkin, manager of the Grateful Dead band, important in popularizing San Francisco rock music, complained that the hippie label was manufactured by mass media. He said the name was a way to lump all kinds of unconventional people “in the same bag” with drug-crazed and other nasty connotations. Further, the name is attracting too many phony hippies, said Arthur Lisch, a prime mover in the Diggers, who scrounged for food which they served free daily in Golden Gate Park.
“Many of the creative people are leaving,” he said. “At this point, the Haight-Ashbury is a box,” and estimated Unit San Francisco hippies are now operating about 20 different communes, each with more than a dozen in California. Lisch was saddened because Haight Street has been flooded with teeny hoppers, liquorswilling college students and hostility ridden motorcyclists. Violence, including murder and rape, have been on the upsurge. Relentless police raids now net 20 or 30 hippies a night on drug charges. On Monday night, the Crateful Dead’s residence, center for several hippie organizations, was busted by police and two performers were among 10 arrested because of a pound of marijuana found. The band held a news conference Thursday to state defiantly they were objects of police harrassment and that marijuana laws, “are seriously out of touch with reality.” “All we wish is to be free Americans endowed with ceratin unalienable rights among which somebody once said, are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” they said. “Is that so frightening?”
I lived just around the corner from where the procession of ‘The Death of the Hippie’ passed by. I was away and missed it. However, I will not miss the ‘Second Death of the Hippie’ event, because I will star in it. Due to being buried under a mountain of evil slander by wanna-be pretend hippies, I will be crucified by devil-wiccans whom I invite to attend so they can curse me and spread their demonic vile – for the last time!
I am going to ask my artistic friend, Stefan Eins to see if Herman Nitsch would come to Ken Kesey Square and perform another masterpiece. I want the Hell’s Angels to attend as they did the first burial. I am pretty sure that is Free Wheelen Frank, who poet Michael McClure made famous in his book. I am going to ask McClure to write a eulogy. Ken was close with the Angels.
This great cultural event will say goodbye to Ken Kesey with a funeral pyre that will free his hippie spirit. It will be a freebie. If anyone knows any Angels, let me know. All real hippies will have another procession and parade down Broadway. There will be a ceremonial washing of store fronts to drive away the evil ones and purify the whole downtowm. I want trumpets to sound out on Skinner Butte, and the horns of the Zulu Nazarite to take us to the Square. I will invite the Hell Angels to lead the parade on their bikes. I want Wavey Gravey to be the MC.
Jon Presco ‘Freebie’
Presdient: Royal Rosamond Press