It was a dark and stormy day; the rain fell in torrents, and I sat on the couch and read from dawn to dust with my dog by my side, a dog who thought that I could protect her for the thunderous clapping that was going on outside. And this is the book I read.
It was an easy and fun read, and no, it really wasn’t about Nazis and nudists. It was about Dave’s journey in life as a journalist for the Berkeley Barb and then later the LA Times. He interviewed a Nazis group and joined a nudist group for a while, and that was all.
It was also about his college years at Goddard, and seeing the Weatherman that went to the college there. Dave was a radical; now he says he is a conservative. I was apolitical when I met Dave in Berkeley; now I am a liberal, left wing. Think Che. Dave thought about Che, how people in Berkeley loved him in the 60s. I like Che, but not back then as I didn’t know about him when I lived there. I was busy studying for exams and writing term papers. I wondered why Dave only mentioned Che is his book but never traipsed into the jungle to interview him; instead he interviewed many nut cases, even some that were famous.
Dave lived in Channing House, a rooming house in Berkeley, and I had the room across the hall from him. We dated. But he never wrote about the people he knew there. I think about them and wonder what happened to them: Jenny who played the piano. Gary Green the Tibetan Buddhist. Gary Pickler, who I became friends with and remained so even after I had moved away, until one day I called his home, and his phone had been disconnected. I had a friend who knew him too, and she had not heard from him. I will never know what had happened to him. Then there was the pot smoking handsome man named Lon. When he moved out a few of us went into his room to see what he had left. Paraphernalia. One of the roomers took it to their room, but he came back asking for it. It was handed over. Then there was Larry Andrews, who wanted to become a writer. When he moved out, we walked into his room, and on the walls, in big red magic markers, he had scribbled famous and not famous quotes from the authors he had read and who knows where else he got the quotes. I wrote them down and saved them in my journal. One was supposedly a quote from him:
“Men are like dust.
Cowards, as it were;
When the wind blows
they are gone.” ~~Dostoyevsky
“Like a man I weep
Like a god I laugh.” ~~Lawrence Andrews
“Hippy. n. A small projection in which mammary ducts terminate in mammory of either sex.” The Concise Oxford Dictionary
Dave went to Mexico and wrote a couple of stories in this book about his dangerous adventures. I wanted to read more of his adventures about Mexico, but he was in San Miguel de Allende taking writing courses and not there to have adventures of a dangerous nature. When he wrote me letters it was about getting turista from the food he was eating, discriptions of the town, how he met a woman, and how he wanted me to come visit. I never went down to see him.
He came home and married a woman named Dawn. I am not sure how long their marriage lasted, but I remember his writing to me saying after their divorce, “I am now looking for love in all the wrong places.” He then married a woman from the Philippines, but that didn’t go so well; Not giving up, he remarried another woman that he had met online. He took a trip to the Philippines to meet her and her family. I liked this story in the book---another adventure. He married her, and now they plan to live in the Philippines. I wish them the best.
But you never really get Berkeley out of your skin. People move away and return. Dave came back for one last look at Berkeley in 2004. He’ll probably go back in another 10 years I went back in the mid 90s with my husband. We sat in the Med Café on Telegraph Avenue where I used to hang out once in a while. Everything had changed except, as my husband put it, “This is a crazy town.” He should have seen it back in the 60s and 70s.