Hippie Culture Deep Dive

What IS hippie culture?

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The Howard House in Old Ellicott City was once a hotel offering luxury accommodations for travels arriving at the train station. Ellicott City in fact boasts the first and oldest railway station in the United States. In the late 70s I rents rooms at the Howard House. Rent was a whopping 140.00 a month. The place was pretty much a dump back then. Old Man Caplan was my landlord, and though he never put a lot into the place while he was alive, at least it offered rooms at a reasonable rate for young people and some of the down and out locals. Old E. C . was a quaint and mysterious place in the 60s and 70s. Plagued by fires, floods, riots, and social upheavals, E.C. still holds a magical place in the hearts of many of us who survived those wild times. Old Ellicott City is sometimes called “The most haunted town in America for good reason. Tim Lodite,editor.

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Well, we all know about the so-called “27 Club”. Quite a few famous characters in the entertainment world died at 27. Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, and Jimi Hendrix among them. Perhaps amazingly a far greater number of celebrities, particularly rock musicians have made it to the age of 80. The iconic singer and actor Cher is a prime example of the power of staying slim and active despite all the other vices Rock Celebrities have faced. I recall 25 years ago that two of my co-workers had purchased tickets to Cher’s “retirement tour”. Well, Cher is still out there making music and performing on stage all these years later. The story is she’s about to marry again and this time to a man less than half her age. As Cher explains the situation, all the men her age are dead! One thing that can certainly be said about Cher is that NOBODY else sounds like her. Love it or hate it her vocals are absolutely unique.

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By 1976 Playboy Magazine had pretty much given up on the whole hippie scene. The cartoon below was featured in one of the 76 issues, but it was the only one to appear in the entire publication. Hippy Culture was a “has been” as far as the media and the fashion world was concerned. If the world couldn’t make money off your ideals they apparently didn’t matter.

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Actor, comedian Rodney Dangerfield (born Jacob Cohen. Nov. 22, 1921 - Oct. 5, 2004) was a favorite personality with the hippy set. Outwardly straitlaced, ultra conservative with his dark suits and narrow black neckties, Dangerfield’s favorite line was “I don’t get no respect!” Dangerfield’s character as an unhappy, possibly half drunk, family man in America reflected the failure of the “establishment”. This was the very epitome of what our parents were striving so hard to achieve, but were so dissatisfied with the trip to get there. Dangerfield’s character seemed like a lovable, but pathetic symbol of post-WW2 America. He was swept up in the waves of middle class society but was unable to see any alternative. Dangerfield was a guest act on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson 70 times. There he was famous for cracking Carson up at each appearance. Now Rodney Dangerfield’s comedy show was the last act I had tickets for at the Painters Mill Music Fair in Owings Mills, Maryland. My wife and I actually drove all the way to the venue when we were informed by people in the parking lot that the building had suffered a sudden flood and had to shut down. Well, I never got to see Rodney Dangerfield in person, and this was the last time I ever traveled to Owings Mills for a concert. Dangerfield died at 80 after a long and successful career. By the way, we never got a refund for the tickets we had ordered that night.

Dangerfield’s went on to star in the movie Caddyshack (1980). Caddyshack would of course co-star SNL cast members Chevy Chase and Bill Murray, and Brian Doyle Murray, Bill’s brother. The flick was particularly popular with the Running Brook Crowd.

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If it was bizarre, eccentric, fantastical, or just plain weird, the 1960s had it! Primal Scream Therapy was a psychotherapy developed in the late 60s by psychologist Arthur Janov. By screaming at the top of one’s lungs patients could supposedly reach deep, primal layers of emotional pain buried in the psyche and begging for release. OK? Well, I met more than a few crazy frat boys and ‘stone drunks’ who accessed these hidden depths of hidden lunacy quite by accident!

Tim Lodite,editor.

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Back in the day, the 70s that is, I met a beautiful young woman whom we shall call Jackie Oh! We were attending a party in one of the more sleazy townhouses of “Cannibal Grove” at the time. Jackie Oh! was a woman you could not fail to notice. Slim, tall, shapely, and stylish to a fault, Jackie Oh! resembled a sort of Jewish Princess version of Rock Icon Cher. The woman had a big head of Coal black hair, beautiful Dark eyes, and exuded “Vamp” in her every movement. At the time she was wearing skin tight black jeans that clung to every curve of her legs and hips. Her 6 inch heels made her look even more intimidating. For some reason this incredibly elegant woman took a shine to me at the party. As we danced close together to one of the slow songs being cranked from record player Jackie gave me a French Kiss that was more like the tongue probe of a bison on crack! Frankly this move was shocking and almost disgusting. I mean I’m a “dude” after all and should have welcomed this aggressive action, but a bit of sensual tongue for-play would have been a little more enjoyable! Anyway, after the two of us shared a couple dances, my buddies Nickel-Man and FireChief B pulled me aside and demanded that if I didn’t “Ball” this chick before the night was through I’d be known ever more as a “Stump-Dick Faggot!” Well, that was a politically incorrect term even in those days, but I’m trying to be truthful here. Anyway, the townhouse was crawling with guests from foyer to every bedroom. In fact there was barely room to turn around in the place. Jackie Oh! had her arms around two other guys at the party before she left. If my dumb-ass friends hadn’t pulled me aside to encourage me to get down with this glamorous chick, well? Anyway Jackie Oh! Left the party hand and hand with a long-haired blonde guy. Well, about 2 weeks later I met Jackie Oh! again. She was working at the Victoria’s Secret shop in the Columbia Mall. “Vickie’s” was a little too up scale for an 18 year old kid who sported t-shits and blue jeans nearly every day. By blind outhouse luck-or maybe not? I ran into Jackie as she was walking to her car in the Mall parking lot. She asked me if I need a ride and I wasn’t about to say No. Jackie Oh! drove me to her home neighborhood in Ellicott City. She pulled over on a side street and I figured things were going to get interesting! Jackie had changed out of the long evening gown that was required Victoria’s Secret company attire and was once again in a pair of skintight black jeans and a black top. She might have qualified as a “Goth Girl” except for the restrained makeup and earrings. Jackie Oh! was really an incredible looking woman. Her perfume was pleasing and not overpowering, her movements were graceful and she was more quiet as we sat in the car talking. I liked this new sober version of her and thought we might make a romantic connection when she suddenly started telling me about her adventures as a groupie. Jackie Oh! and some of her smoking hot girl friends regularly made it backstage at some of the local Merriweather Post Pavilion concerts. She went on to inform me that she and her friends tried to “fuck Judy Collin’s” but Ms. Collins wasn’t going for it. Wait, “how does a woman “fuck” another woman” I thought. This dark and mysterious chick was a type I had never previously (or since) had experience with. Now some potential readers today might ask, “Are you even sure that this Jackie Oh! Chick was a woman? I can guarantee you she was! The photos below of the woman in black is of course a portrait of Rock Icon CHER. Jackie Oh! resembled this image remarkably. To the right is a Judy Collin’s album. Tim Lodite, editor.

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You know when Jim Morrison is the least stoned person at your party you might be in serious trouble! Morrison was one of the members of Rock Royalty, or in his case Rock Infamy who dwelt for a time in Laurel Canyon.

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One of the most dangerous things an experienced drug user could do would be to serve someone LSD without their knowledge. Unfortunately this very thing happened far too many times to people I knew. In at least two cases young women associated with the Running Brook Gang were dosed with acid without being forwarned. In the most severe case the woman was effected for years as a result. She told me that she believed she was utterly alone in the world, possibly the only true human being on planet earth. All other humans were dolls or automatons. She didn’t even believe her parents were “real” for almost a year. This girl, a high school senior when it happened, was given no warning or guidance regarding the trip that was coming. Perhaps the young man who slipped the acid in her beer hoped to have sex with her when the effects of the drug manifested. Fortunately, some other females took a hand and made sure this never occurred. LSD in the 60s and 70s was not a joke. Depending on the dose - and that was always a matter of luck more than science - taking LSD could almost always guarantee an evolving state of hallucination than could last up to 12 hours. At the ‘peak’ of the effects one could hardly function on any normal level. Driving a car, was highly dangerous, interacting with aggressive people could result in serious violent behavior. No two people reacted in the same way to an acid trip. The possibility of doing oneself or others bodily harm was always something to consider. A “bad trip” could put you in a hospital or a mental ward. Tripping on acid was an adventure, but it was a potentially dangerous one. In the best case senerios you had a plan ahead of time. Preferably you were given some idea of what to expect by someone who had experienced the drug themselves. You chose your surroundings, any companions who might share the experience with you and hopefully these were people you could trust if it all got hairy!

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There are people from Columbia’s early days who might not like this claim, but The New City, born in the late 60s ran on illegal drugs. People in their 40s dealt drugs to their friends to bolster their incomes. The vast majority of Columbia’s youth - all transplants from other parts of the country - were absorbed into this suburban drug culture in short order. Columbia people were hated by the original citizens of Howard County because they brought liberal politics, racial tolerance, a higher tax base, drug use, long hair (in males), a greater acceptance of sexual deviants, and traffic congestion at a level never seen in the county previously. At one point an African American man wearing a dark suit and driving a Cadillac stopped my friends and I as we were walking along Little Patuxent Parkway. We were only 15-17 year old teenagers at the time. The gent inquired where he could purchase some weed. He added that he was hosting a party and requests for more than booze had him in a quandary. Well, we told the old man that we were sorry but we couldn’t help him. He then said that he couldn’t risk getting in trouble for his efforts. “I’m prominent!” He said several times, “I’m prominent!” We later discovered that this fellow was the manager of the newly opened Columbia Mall.

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An interesting aspect of tripping on acid or mescaline was the tendency for some user to become fixated on common things. Nature was filled with intricate tangles of leaves, multi-colored stones,cloud formations and animal life. On acid the most erratic movements of a snail or a moth alighted on a leaf could become a subject of fascination for hours. Beyond nature’s wonders there were the “manmade” structures often ignored in an everyday state of mind that might become the subject of intense study when absorbed in an acid trip.

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One prominent element of hippie culture was the use of words and phrases derived from Black American origins. Being able to “talk the jive” (Black slang) was absolutely essential if you wanted to be considered “cool” or “with it”. Nearly all the jive lingo phrases were of a sexual nature. Few of us recognized that fact or even wondered about it at the time. Let’s consider just a few common examples: “I’m down with it”. “Hang loose”. “A groovy chick” “far out” “get down”. “Up tight” or “up tight and outta sight” “‘Jamming”. “Can you dig it?”. The very term, “Rock and Roll” was taken from Black culture as a euphemism for “having sex.” Though Eastern philosophy had an important influence on hippy ideals of religion and mysticism, Black culture had an even greater influence on hippy music, language, and sex, or “free love”. Tim Lodite, editor.

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A phenomenon that swept the counterculture era was the rise of conspiracy theories. Starting it all was the assignation of John F. Kennedy in 1963. I was ten years old when it happened and I will never forget that day. We were told that the assassin was at first identified as Lee Harvey Oswald, but almost nobody believed he acted alone. After Oswald was arrested he was killed by Jack Ruby. This was shown live on public television as Oswald was being transported to prison by police. The entire assassination incident could hardly have been more poorly handled. As time went on rumors and false reports from a myriad of sources began to percolate. Adults all around me discussed the murder with my parents at parties, picnics, and other social gatherings. Everybody had a theory of who was REALLY behind the assassination. Some blamed Jackie Kennedy herself claiming that she had her husband targeted for his constant cheating. Some claimed the C.I.A. Had JFK killed because he was threatening to pull the U.S. military out of the Vietnam Conflict. Some claimed that the Mafia had Kennedy killed because he and his brother Robert were working to breakup their criminal organization. Vice president Johnson was cited as a potential suspect/mastermind because he wanted JFK out of the way so he could reign as president without having to face an election. Fidel Castro was suggested because he wanted revenge for the “Bay of Pigs” failed invasion. The survivors of the Bay of Pigs themselves were suspected because they believed Kennedy had abandoned them in their attempt to overthrow Castro. In the most recent review of the surviving files it has once more been concluded that there had been more than one shooter in Kennedy’s murder. Over the years several individuals have come forward claiming that they themselves were the second shooter and that it was their shot that tore through JF K’s head killing him instantly. The whole mess might have been a grotesque bit of entertaining speculation for older adults, but the trauma Kennedy’s assassination engendered in us of the Baby Boomer generation cannot be overestimated. This was the beginning, the first assault on our faith in the American Spirit, our faith in the American Dream, and our lack of trust in our elders, with their obsession with material wealth, the need to succeed, to compete, to claw their way to the top. Pictured below is a photo from “Jack and Jackie’s” wedding. Tim Lodite,editor.

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In the early 70s I took a part-time job working as a laborer for Locke’s stepfather. Locke,Jelli and I were tasked with stocking the women’s dress store that Locke’s step dad managed. The Columbia Mall had just opened and there were beautiful women everywhere. Among the salespersons of this new store was an 18 year old woman whom we shall call Lenore. Lenore was slim, shapely, well spoken and beautiful. She was friendly enough but obviously not interested in long-hairs like us. Our time moving fixtures and stock soon came to an end. I have to admit that my companions spent more time smoking cigarettes and dope than they did working. Locke’s stepdad kept me on for an extra 2 weeks to act as a sort of “stealth security guard”. I wasn’t expected to interact with shoplifters, just report any suspicious activity to the manager. When I eventually left the store as a sort of unofficial employee, I never saw Lenore again. Two years later, however my girlfriend, who had attended high school with Lenore informed me that she had killed herself. I would not hear the particulars of the incident before almost another decade had passed. In the early 80s I was doing construction work for a young woman who owned her own beauty salon. Somehow we got into a conversation where Lenore’s name came up. The beauty shop owner had been a close friend of Lenore for many years. As she told the tragic tale, Lenore, who had been straight as an arrow when I knew her, married a guy with a serious cocaine habit. As months went by his coke use became more all-consuming. One night when the husband came home wired to the max and acting abusive, Lenore told him to get the hell out. The husband got in his sports car and sped off. Lenore got a call from the police later that night informing her that her husband had crashed the car. He was dead on the scene. Lenore blamed herself for the guy’s death. Her mental condition deteriorated so far that she was eventually institutionalized. Lenore had a close friend who was studying to be a psychiatrist. Somehow this woman got the family of Lenore to agree to release her into this friend’s care. As it turned out this was a tragic mistake. Lenore snuck out of the psychiatric student’s house and travelled to her family home. Her parents were both at work at the time. Lenore broke into her father’s gun cabinet, took out a shotgun, loaded it, and put it up to the side of her head. She pulled the trigger and blew a hole through the side of her head. When her father came home to find his once beautiful daughter’s brains splattered all over his den he himself had to be put in an asylum. Lenore’s mother, left with a heavy mortgage and no means to pay it, was soon herself homeless. The Beauty salon owner then informed me that Lenore’s remains were released to herself and a few other girls. The only funeral home willing to handle the burial charged the friend group 400 dollars to stuff Lenore’s head in sawdust,wrap it in bandages so that only her face was showing. According to to the friend Lenore’s corpse was poorly preserved and had turned 5 different colors. Lenore was buried after a quick viewing ceremony in a “potters field”. Shown below is a still from the 1962 sci-fi/ horror flick, The Brain that Wouldn’t Die. Virginia Leith was the actor shown here. According to Lenore’s friend,this image must have resembled a far less horrible likeness to Lenore herself As she lay in her pine coffin. Tim Lodite, editor.

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My 1st experience of attending a Sun Ra concert in Baltimore was at the “Famous Ballroom”. I travelled to the famed jazz club with 5 other males. Locke had made friends with a co-worker and his buddy’s who were also jazz buffs. We somehow crammed into one vehicle and made it to the Famous Ballroom where we were the only white people attending the show. We all sat around a large round table very close to the stage. Sun Ra and his “Arkestra” consisted of a fairly large group of musicians, dancers, and vocalists. Most of he members played horns, saxophones, trumpets, and clarinets. At times some of them switched up and blew on weird little contraptions such as I’ve never seen before. Almost the entire band was decked out in costumes resembling flashy versions of ancient Egyptian garb. Sun Ra himself wore a cape and sequined skullcap, while some of the dancer’s headgear included little pyramids that swiveled as they gyrated. Sun Ra was a strong promoter of the idea that the ancient Egyptians were a black race. During the break Sun Ra himself came to our table of all white males and held a rain stick up to each of our ears. After this he hugged each one of us! When he got to Locke’s friend and hugged him from behind, the guy grimaced and cringed. When I asked him about his reaction he admitted that he didn’t care for black people generally, but appreciated their music. That attitude held by some white people was not uncommon back in the day. After the show my buddy Locke went back stage and actually had a fairly lengthy conversation with with Sun Ra himself. I’ll relate the essence of that conversation as Locke told it in a future post. Tim Lodite, editor.

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The Kama Sutra is a large volume of advice supposedly related specifically to sexual relations. The Kama Sutra was often cited by individuals of the hippie and counterculture type. However, I wonder in hindsight how many of the people ever even read it? The idea was that this ancient book was akin to being the original “Joy of Sex”. After reviewing several translations of the work I have to say that I was disappointed in the extreme to find that it was NOTHING like the hype. The author gives advice on having relations with a married partner, entering into a relationship with a young or virgin woman versus an older partner, etc. if one is looking for a manual of how to make love in different positions, reach some level of nirvana through sex, get an explanation of Tantra, chakra sex energy, or some other mystical sexual awareness, this book, like so much of the whole hippie era propaganda is absolute hype. Tim Lodite, editor.

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One day 5 members of the Running Brook Gang got together and travelled to the Hobbits Glen golf course. We weren’t really sure what we were going to do there. It was a pretty good hike as Hobbits Glen was probably 4 miles away. We could have made it faster if we traveled on foot beside Route 108, but 108 was just a 2 lane country road and the farmers who sometimes drove it weren’t all concerned about running over a bunch of hippies. Anyway we began crossing one of the greens when some middle-aged golfers in checkered pants and white golf caps stated yelling at us to get off the property. Ooh, our sandals and flip flops were really gonna mess us their precious turf! Well, we crossed into the woods that ringed the course and disappeared like deer. Crossing a creek and stumbling along a “game trail”, we finally made it to a rise covered in lush undergrowth. The 5 of us consisted of 3 girls, myself and my buddy Weasel. One of the chicks pulled out a couple reefers and we lit them up. As we smoked and listened to THE WHO on a little radio we brought along I noticed a small house in the wooded valley just below the rise. As we all got higher I saw that there was smoke rising from the chimney of the house. This was strange because the house was totally surrounded by on all sides by thick undergrowth. There was no sidewalk, no car, no driveway, no road of any kind giving access. No fencing was present, no movement in the area around the house. None of the plants surrounding the house were beaten down either. Whoever was inside never left if the scene was real? My friends were too engrossed in conversation to notice or care about this. During the hours that we sat on that green-velvet rise nothing moved around the little house below. Was it really even there? To this day I don’t know. Tim Lodite,editor.

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The second time I attended a Sun Ra and his Myth/Science “Arkestra”concert, was as at a Black Muslim festival. “Eyes”, Locke, Huber and I had crammed into a beat up sedan and traveled to D.C. for the event. The 4 of us were the only white people at the outdoor gathering except for one other longhaired dude we saw in the crowd. The Arkestra began playing and the gig included some of their wildest numbers. SPACE IS THE PLACE rang out as Sun Ra himself played the keyboards behind his back. Despite what most people would have described as horrendous noise, the crowd cheered each number. There were probably several thousand people in attendance and my buddies and I engaged with some of the older males in the crowd. The folks we met between songs were welcoming enough and probably amazed that 4 young white boys were at such a gathering. As Sun Ra took a break an underling of Louis Farakan took the stage. My buddies and I returned to “Eyes’” beater to smoke cigarettes. As we smoked the guy on stage started getting more militant in his speech. When this gentleman told the crowd, “What we gotta do is start killin’ Whitey” I looked around at the folks milling about near us and noticed some pretty hateful expressions. As the man on stage got more agitated, I told the guys with me “Dudes, we gotta get the fuck outta D. C. !”

At first my pals didn’t recognize what was happening. When they got a load of the frowns and building aggression in the crowd though they agreed. Well, we missed Sun Ra’s second set, but at least we got home to Columbia,MD in one piece! This experience introduced me to the power of “mob frenzy” and how quickly a “leader” could take complete control of a crowd. Tim Lodite, editor.