On one of these afternoons while sitting on a Haight street sidewalk an acquaintance passed by. I knew him from my hometown. He was older than me and he had his own car. He told me this story of how he had buried a pound of pot in front of a suburban dentist's office in Sacramento. He asked if I would like to come along on this adventure and dig up his treasure, sounded good to me. We left that day and arrived like thieves in the night. It was a dark, well-to-do, suburban neighborhood. He stopped in front of a white house with a Dentist's shingle. He got a shovel from the trunk and started digging amongst the bushes next the house, while I waited in the car. He quickly produced the treasure.
Lodi is just south of Sacramento so I suggested we stop there and sell off some of the bounty. When we arrived it was night. I directed him to a parking lot where the local youth hung out. We had good luck and made some sales. As we drove away we were pulled over by police. On the side of the road along the railroad tracks we were frisked and the car was searched. They found the grass and some pills that my partner had. He was sent to jail and I was off to the Stockton Juvenile Detention Ctr. That night I was put in a cell with others. We were abruptly woken in the morning for general assembly. The others left and I stayed behind in the cell. It was a sunny day and there were flowering trees and sunlight outside the barred windows. I began to cry and then sobbed uncontrollably. One of the guards came looking for me. He brought me to someone in charge that asked me some questions. Within a short period I was handed over to a nice young man. He escorted me into a dark panaled room with a fold-up table, two chairs and two other doors. He informed me that my Father was sitting in the next room and refused to take me or see me, I never saw him again. He then took me to a diner and bought me lunch before taking me to the bus station. We had an exceptionally nice talk on that sunny day. He made me promise to go straight home once I got off the bus, I didn't.
Chapter 6, Back Home
Like a bandit looking for a score I began my search for adolescent adventure and I found it in a little suburban apartment complex, painted pink. She was a delightful woman with a young son. He built these massive cities with construction toys, they filled the living room. I started staying with her and our time together was fun and carefree. I would invite a few friends and we would hang out in her bedroom, get high and watch her black and white TV. Me in bed with her and friends gathered around.
She needed to go into the hospital for a while and left me with the keys, a place to stay. While she was gone word got out and her home became overrun with the local youth. Then older, scary locals also found out and it got dangerously out of control, hard drugs and fights. The police came and I was gone in the cover of night, I finally headed home.
Sometime later I saw her pass by while I sat outside the Gorilla Record Store on San Francisco's Grant Street. Sitting alongside numerous other hippie youth, listening to the new rock group, Led Zeppelin blasting onto the street. She graciously forgave me then we embraced. We danced at the Fillmore West then said goodbye outside. It was a chili San Francisco night, I never saw her again.
Back home now with my terribly unhappy Mother and my insanely angry Orvel. The police came but I managed to stay at home, with Mothers pleading. Except now I had a probation officer. My habits didn't change and the police stopped and frisked me more than usual. About the second time I met with the probation officer he had an ultimatum. Leave El Monte and never come back or we'll find a way to lock you up. Hallelujah! Free at last! I got back on a bus for the Golden Gates
San Francisco, Again
I'm 16 and back living with my Brother and his boyfriend, Stephen. There were always a pliffery of drag queens, fag hags, chickenhawks, and gay porno film makers coming around the flat. I found it all very amusing. I didn't see much at all of my brother and spent most my time on the streets. I'd go down to Market street where the darker side of people roamed. Where I found myself in a couple of hotel rooms I shouldn't have been in and safely got out of. Up into North beach with the strip clubs and Grant street shops. The Haight was going down a dark path. Junkies, dealers and criminals were taking over. But the tour buses still made the trek.
One of my brother's friends, a gay porn film maker offered me $20 to cut all the clothes off my body with scissors while he and a friend filmed it. Hell I needed the money and liked the attention. I had learned early on that sex and sexuality was a commodity for me, it gave me value. It was screened privately in a movie theatre and everyone that knew my brother and Stephen went, including my brother.
An acquaintance of Stephen"s had a head shop across the bay in Sausalito and he needed another clerk. It was my first real job and it was perfect. I took my breaks across the street in a little park in the square, when you could still use it. The town had not yet been overrun with tourists and it was beautiful. Working in a head shop was like a kid in the candy store. You had your black lights, mandala's, hookahs, lava lamps, beads galore, incense and tie dye. After some time the owner offered me work around his home, odd jobs and such. He was an older fellow with a big beautiful home. One day he contacted me on the intercom to ask if I could bring him towels, to the sauna. When I opened the door I finally understood what I was doing there. I lost the job.