At the end of the Summer of Love there was a beginning for a street in San Francisco that would put it forever in the history books. Over the years I have come to Haight Street to quietly walk along and gather in my memories of a time gone by.
I remember the crowded street full of tour buses of midwestern tourists with their cameras clicking out the windows of the buses. They rarely got out of the buses. They just pointed and chuckled at the 'freaks' walking on the street. Then there were the people handing out the free press.
I used to love to see the Krishna’s in their orange robes and spiritual markings painted on their foreheads, dancing down the street chanting and handing out the world's best strawberry incense. They had a good chant. I don’t know how many times I would be chanting along with my handful of incense for the next couple blocks. The colorful psychedelic art was everywhere, and you couldn’t pass by a light post without seeing a “Bill Graham Presents” poster on it.
Most of the time I would find myself walking to Golden Gate Park and sitting down on the grass opening my guitar case and singing a song. It was magical how you could sit down and play a song and then look up and see a whole group of musicians playing along with you. There would be the conga players and the girl with the flute and another guitar player. In a couple minutes there would be a whole band jamming away to your song and a whole audience swaying along to the tune. This is the purest form of entertainment for everyone: no egos, no limits. Only playing what you feel.
