4
August 2003 Journal
Chapter
24, page 350 of "Rising Toward the Flame" by Bob Harvey
Skip Spence was a blythe spirit. He knew how to listen - and
watch. The story that is told about the manner in which Skip
joined Jefferson Airplane is most unlikely and very true. I
liked Jerry Peloquin because he was supportive of my bass playing.
He kept telling Kantner that, "Harvey keeps the beat and
that is what's important." But we all knew his days were
numbered. It was simply that he didn't get high - period.
It was the night that Jerry Peloquin and Paul Kantner's mutual
disdain came to a boiling point. Paul had absolutely no concern
for other people's feelings. If you did nothing to aggravate
him, he ignored you. If you irritated him, he would put you
down with comments that could cut to the bone. The band was
having an afternoon rehearsal before the 9 oclock show. Paul
didn't like the drum part in the chorus of "Midnight Hour."
Paul stopped the song right in the middle of the chorus and
said, "stop playing that lame ass polka beat -
go back to Wisconsin with the Kilbasso Kings - that's where
you belong."
Jerry Peloquin was built well and weighed a good 45 lbs more
than Paul Kantner, plus he had been in the Marine Corp. He jumped
up from his drums and said, "Kantner, you wouldn't know
a good beat if somebody clubbed you with it," and he punched
Paul Kantner square in the mouth, Knocking him flat on his ass."
Paul stayed down. Jerry said, fuck all of you pretend musicians.
I've been in jazz and rock and roll. I was making a living at
it when you were still a bunch of snot nosed kids. Take this
stupid shit and stick it up your ass - I'm out of here."
Jerry stomped out the door of the Matrix and we never saw him
again. Marty Balin looked down at John Cippolina (rhythm guitar
for Quicksilver) and said, "Do you know a drummer?"
John shook his head and
said, "No." He looked over at David Freiberg (later
of Jefferson Starship), but David
shrugged his shoulders. Skip Spence was standing by the bar.
That was the first time he had visited the Matrix. He was there
with John Cippolina and his girlfriend Angie. Skip looked like
he belonged in a band for sure. Close to 6 feet tall, handsome,
with dark blond shoulder length hair. Marty looked down from
the stage, spotted Spence and said, "That cat looks like
the quintessential hippy - that's my drummer. He left the stage,
walked up to Skipper and said. "You're my drummer."
Skip who had witnessed the scene with Peloquin, looked at Marty
and said, "Kool, but I'm not a drummer."
Marty's response was, "sure you are - I have a feeling
your the one - your our new drummer. Get up there and lets run
through our set. We're on in a couple of hours."
Surprisingly, Skip held the beat pretty well. Marty and Paul
looked at each other and Paul shrugged as if to say, "whatever
man, it's your call." It wasn't exciting rhythm on the
drums, but it was passable and Matthew Katz said, "Isn't
that some shit, Marty picks 'em with extra sensory perception."
Skip Spence was easy to like, amiable - he was a team player.
He did whatever he was told. He had a good sense of humor and
he was one of those rare people who can pick up practically
any instrument and sound like he knows what he's doing. Within
days, Skip had all the songs down cold and everybody was happy.
Matthew Katz asked Marty how he knew. Marty just shrugged and
said, "I just have a feeling about people."
Skip was basically a street person. He didn't have a car and
he was crashing with one lady or another, mostly over in the
Haight Ashbury. The women were drawn to Skip like moths to the
flame. I liked hanging out with Skipper. We didn't talk all
that much, but he was easy to be around and he always had good
dope. We wrote one song together called "Hurting for People"
Hurting for People
©BobHarvey - Skip Spence
Hurting for people - got no time to wait
Hurting for people - got no time to hate
Don't tell me what love ought to be
Cause it just aint
It's just a need to communicate
Say what you want, I'll give it to you
All I can take - is what your willing to
Take the path you can't resist
Go thru the door it's easiest
Go find someone - you'll learn to see
Go find someone - and learn to be
You'll find that love is just reaching out
While someone else is reaching in
Open your heart - for it's the key
Open your heart - and you'll be free
You'll find that love is just reaching out
While someone else is reaching in
Signe Toly was a little girl with a really big voice. I first
met Signe while visiting her brother John Toly who was the doorman
at the "Drinking Gourd" The Slippery Rock String Band
was appearing at the Gourd on Friday nights.
Between sets I'd hang out with John and drink my free beer.
John was the first person in my life to ask me about dope. He
said, "Do you get high?"
I told him no. He invited me back to his apartment after the
show and proceeded to turn me on. Signe came over while We were
smoking and she joined in. In the Jefferson Airplane Box set
(Jefferson Airplane Loves You) on page three of the booklet,
there is a picture of
the original line up. Jerry Peloquin is seated on the ground
in front of Signe. I was
squatting down next to Jerry and Signe had her left hand on
my shoulder. She was a very friendly and quiet person, but her
singing voice made up for any quietness. A strong and at times
quite husky contralto that filled the Matrix. I considered her
my friend and for a time we were quite close - then she met
Jerry Anderson. I never liked Jerry. On one level I was jealous.
I would have loved to be with Signe. Jerry was blond and blue
eyed, good looking and told wild stories that made him sound
like someone who loved living on the edge. When Signe was away
from the Apartment, John Toly, Jerry Anderson and I would get
stoned. It was usual that Anderson would pull out something
special, like a tye stick, or a block of
hash - something to show us that he was "really into it
- dope that is. He would regale John and I with stories of his
trips to the far east where he made a contact in Singapore for
opium and heroin. He said, "My dealer was some kind of
commissioner of police. He would take me to his house and invite
some beautiful women to join us. An assistant would get us both
ready for intravenous injection - then the commissioner and
I would mount up on two of the girls, mine was a gorgeous white
Russian by the name of Martina. The goal was to
time the injection and the "Rush" with the moment
that we came in our sex partners. What an unbelievable trip."
After Signe and Jerry moved in together, she became more Distant
and didn't come over to join in like she had before. I felt
like Jerry Anderson was not a positive influence on Signe. I
was afraid he would get her into heroin. Plus I just missed
her friendship.
3 August 2003 Journal
Last
night I took my string bass and a CD to a folk club in Cartersville,
GA. They gave me 15 minutes to do a guest set, but they kept
asking for more until I had done 40 minutes. What a high!!!
I started out with a monologue and just ad libbed.
Hi - my name is Bob Harvey. I was born in 1934. You do the math
- it means I'll be 70 years old in 2004. Actually there's some
bad shit that comes with getting old - but there is a plus side
too. A bad thing is that your prostate enlarges with age - usually
starts getting larger in your late 50s and by the time you're
in your late 60s - what used to be the size of a hard boiled
egg is now the size of a large tomato or a small cantalope.
Now you say - so what - I'll tell you what - the prostate blocks
off the male urinary tract and
suddenly what used to be a 2 minute pee - is now a 10 - 15 minute
dribble/drip/drop - ordeal. I stood at the urinal at a Jorma
Kaukonen concert a couple of months ago. I was dribble dripping
away and the guy behind me was ansey and impatient. He said,
"What the fuck are you doing up there old timer? Are you
taking a piss or just playing with yourself?" I said, "Look
buster, this is what happens when you get old and your prostate
is bigger than
your dick. It just takes time and I can't help it, but you can
bet your sweet ass that you'll find out soon enough - when you
get old - He shut up and let me dribble in peace.
The plus side to old age is that it used to be us old farts
couldn't get it up - hardly ever - but now I throw down a couple
of Viagra and a glass of geritol and I'm Mr Macho Man. I can
go for 30 minutes - that's 1 minute 30 times.
I formed the Slippery Rock String Band in the summer of 1963
in San Mateo CA, a suberb of San Francisco. I was MC for a hootenanney
(open Mike) night at a Coffee House called the Golden Lamp.
There were a lot of good musicians that came in to play. Pete
Albin who founded Big Brother and the Holding Co and discovered
Janis Joplin, was a regular. Jerry Garcia came in a couple of
times that summer. I found an 18 year old banjo picker named
Chuck McCabe, who played the cleanest 5-string banjo I'd ever
heard. He had teamed up with a flat picker named Lee Cheney.
We used the stage at the Golden Lamp to put a show together.
After about 8 months of rehearsing and playing the Golden Lamp
every week, we began going to hoots at the Tangent in Palo Alto.
That was Garcia's stomping ground. He was a regular on hoot
night and he was building a following for his jug band and the
management was getting ready to offer him his own regular show.
They offered him $10 a man for doing 3 sets and an oncore.
After a year of playing hoots we were hired at Coffee and Confusion
in San Francisco's
North Beach area. A few months later we finally played the best
folk club in SG - the Drinking Gourd on Union St. That's where
I met Marty Balin and became the first bass player in Jefferson
Airplane, but for me it only lasted a few months. We were all
playing accoustic instruments. Me on String Bass. When RCA offered
us a contract - we had to go all electric and I couldn't make
the transition. I remember the night David Crosby of the Byrds
came in to listen. It was my second night on electric bass.
We played Midnight Hour and when I saw David Crosby, I went
blank - I couldn't remember my part and I stumbled through the
song. Afterwards, Crosby called out for all the club to hear
- Nice song, but get rid of the fucking bass Player. That was
my first clue that my days were numbered. The next night I came
in and went back stage and the cartoon drawing that Marty had
drawn on the back wall had been altered. I had been pictured
sitting on the tail. Now I was hanging on to the tail by my
fingers. A word bubble above my head read, "I can't help
it if I smoke Bluegrass".
After they fired me I reformed the SRSB and we went on the road.
for a couple of years. We never had an album, but 40 years later
a reel to reel recording has shown up and we will now have our
first album. All three of the original members have refused
my offer to reform the band - so I'm out looking - if you see
a guitar and banjo player that sound like Lester Flatt and Earl
Scruggs - plus looks like the Dixie Chicks - send them my way.
I played Dixie Breakdown and played with it.
When the applause died down - seriously - a lot of applause.
I said, "I just want to know one thing - after all these
70 summers I need to know - Do women pee in the shower too?
The second song was "Fields have turned Brown" and
I sang a fourth harmony part and it was a killer - two table
of people close to the stage actually stood up to clap. God
I was so high I was floating at that point - I played Amelia
Earhart - Orange Blossom Special and finished it off with "Blue
Moon of KY" and knocked them out of their saddles. Damn
that was nice.
July
30 Journal
Attached
is a snippit from my book, "Rising Toward the Flame."
I have 400 pages and 25 chapters so far and I'm up to 1969.
When all the photography and artwork is added, God only knows
how long this sucker will be. I told Terry Blunk in Sweden that
if the book is published during my lifetime, I may have to come
and live with him in Sweden. He said I couldn't live with him,
but he knows a couple of lovely blond ladies who would put me
up.
Late in August of 1965 the Jefferson Airplane made a trip to
Los Angeles.
Matthew Katz who was acting as manager, arranged for us to make
a demo at Columbia Records. We were also taken to Capitol Records
and introduced to Voyle Gilmore, producer of the Kingston Trio.
Voyle took us to lunch at the Brown Derby where we raised a
few eyebrows. The afternoon got bizarre when we made a trip
to Phil Spector's house. His bodyguards kept us standing in
the hall for close to an hour. We were watched by two armed
guards until Spector finally came down stairs and went into
his study. We were told to set up and play
in the hallway while Spector stayed in the study with the door
ajar. For me the highlight of the day was a visit to a sound
stage where they were shooting a sequence for "Big Valley".
All of us stood along a wall and watched Barbara Stanwick do
a scene. Several actors made snide comments about our long hair.
Charles Bronson was standing next to me waiting for an
appearance in an upcoming scene. He said quietly, "Don't
pay attention to those ass holes.
They're so far down the food chain they have to find someone
to dump on, just to make themselves feel like somebody."
Bronson was dressed in a worn and sweat stained cowboy hat,
a couple of days stubble on his face - looking the part of a
cowboy just in from taking care of the herd. I thanked him.
I've been a Charles Bronson fan ever since.
July
16, 2003 Journal
During
the spring of 1969 I was going through changes left and right.
My live in girl friend, 16 year old Lorri Palos was turning
out to be a real handful and at times our relationship was as
much like father daughter as it was being the significant other
of a very bright and very beautiful adolescent girl. Then there
was Diane, my ex manager, ex live in girl friend who was in
a committed state at a mental institution - while calling my
friend Sereta to say she is three months pregnant with my child.
I get heavy in my trips on weed - some of them with my kids.
then later trips on acid - also with the kids. Then a girl I
stayed with for a few weeks in late 1968 walks up to me in the
super market, holds up her new baby and says,
"Bob - say hello to your son".
Bob Gover's play "Us-Them" plays a central role in
my life during those months in the spring of 1969. My friend,
stage play producer Bill McIntyre attacks Bob Gover's play.
Frank Mullin, who like me, has a stake in the production, plus
he is the director of photography and multi-media, stays back
from that first reaction to the script. Then later makes his
own attack. At first I support the plays approach towards the
Revolution going on in our society. But slowly I begin to be
swayed by Frank's logic - swayed into the position that we had
to go to Gover and confront him with the problems we have with
the characterization of the protagonists who seem to be waving
the hippy flag, but not getting any deeper than a justification
of our right to disagree with a society buried in its self righteous
ego trip.
Journal
Tuesday, August 28, 2001
Sitting in Doctor Mehesh Patel's office (Cardiology) I haven't
seen doctor Patel since the second week of June after the heart
attack and before bypass surgery.
I don't want to go back to see
Dr. Brooks (surgeon) I don't like they way he or his associates
handled my case and don't ever want to go back to them if I
can help it. Also, I don't ever intend going through another
bypass procedure. The food nausea, inability to take in nourishment,
and subsequent weight loss.
Patel says to be sure and get
back on Lipitor. I explained that I never want to go through
that kind of surgery again. I asked if we could do a heart cath.
every so often to be sure we catch it if there are any more
complications. He said that was not possible. The only test
he says I can have is a stress test every six months. I need
to shop around.
I told him I don't want to see
Dr. Brooks anymore. He said that's fine, but not to burn my
bridges, as Dr. Brooks and his associates are the only heart
surgeons in town and if I had a problem, I could need them.
He didn't seem to be worried about my being off all the medications
that I was on after the heart surgery - ones that my Dr. Fussell
(family doctor) took me off two weeks ago. Dr. Patel is actually
just as blaze about what I went through after the bypass as
Brooks. It's a good thing I have Dr. Fussell.
Dr. Patel didn't even mind that
I wasn't on the Metoprolol any longer. Even though my heart
rate is now higher.
I stopped at Dr.Crosse' office
and saw Barbara. I told her that I'm out of Flomax and have
been for a week and that I'm doing fine with the bladder flow.
She consulted with the doctor and told me that he wants me to
stay on the Flomax for the next few months, until my next visit
and then we'll see.
I went home and had lunch. I talked to daughter in law Janet
Harvey about doing a new insert for the album and then pushing
it to Folk Oriented Radio Stations. She said she could do that.
We'll use the Blue Strip and the San Francisco Blue logo, but
won't use the psychedelic art.
I'm sitting in Dr. Fussel's office
waiting to see him. When I'm ready to leave, I'll call Charleen
and see if she in touch with Woody about my jewelry. I have
to go to WinnDixie and get my new prescription for Metropolol.
Dr Fussell came in - he feels that I am doing great. He is putting
me back on Metropolol to keep my heartbeat in check, plus baby
aspirin once a day. He is very pleased with my progress since
he took me off all the medications that the surgeon and the
cardiologist had me on
I'm having a wonderful time with
the writing binge I'm on and I've had great response from my
friends who I've sent copies to.
My friend Robert Gover (Author
of the Best Seller - $100 misunderstanding) got my first segment
of the Harvey-Journals and answered:
"Wow, what a find, those letters! And what a neat project
you've set upon. When I was around 30, I learned my father had
really wanted to become a writer, for he'd written a trunk full
of stories and sketches while he was in college and then medical
school in Philadelphia where he met and married my mother. I
was born around the time he graduated. He had a fellowship to
study surgery at the Mayo clinic, so my mother was reading up
on winters in Minnesota when he was killed in an auto accident.
That incident pulled the rug out from under our budding family.
My mother struggled through the depression as a stenographer
and I grew up in an orphanage. What I heard about him growing
up was how brilliant he was. He could read a page in a medical
textbook and recite it back from instant memory. He was one-quarter
Chickasaw Indian; his mother liked to describe herself as half
southern belle and half heathen pagan savage. Was the community
herb lady and spiritual healer. Those who disliked her called
her "the voodoo lady." She started the first school
in her neighborhood in southern Kentucky and every autumn read
to a gathering of people from Longfellow, her favorite poet.
The Govers were an interesting clan. Came to Kentucky in the
1780s, at the tail end of the Revolutionary War, one Johnny
and Jane Gover, newlyweds, with two or three slave families,
lived in a cave their first winter along the Cumberland river
and almost died from the flu. Indians came along and healed
them. Indians went to this area every autumn to hunt, called
it "the dark and bloody ground." My great grandfather
was 12 when the Civil War swept through in the form of one General
Zollicoffer, leading an army of confederates to attack a Union
army stationed in Somerset, KY. G-g father wrote a thing called
"A Boy's Story of the Battle of Fishing Creek, Kentucky,"
describing that even, a battle that got aborted when General
Z was shot and nobody was sure who'd shot him, reb or fed, because
the fog was so thick and soldiers had come up close to each
other without knowing. Once General Z was dead, they all just
turned around and left, the rebs swimming or boating across
the Cumberland, then walking south back to where they'd come
from. One guy lost all his clothes in the swim, showed up at
a slave lady's house buck naked; she took him in, dressed him
in women's clothes and thus attired he walked back to Mississippi."
Now that is beautiful. I'd give
anything to have that kind of in-depth background on my own
family. By the time I became really interested in the family
history, there was no one left alive to ask. My Great Aunt Sadie
(my paternal grandfather's sister) gave me the family picture
album, which contains a tintype of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
She told me that he was a cousin, many times removed. I have
since dug and searched for any kind of proof of that connection,
but have never proved the connection.
When I ran out of material to
fill the ancient history portion of the family journal, I moved
up to the 1960's and Robert Gover responded:
"Reading your journal from
1969 certainly did bring back memories. J'Nelle, Bryant and
I were settling into Mallorca, Spain that December, where I'd
hoped to concentrate on a novel I owed my publisher. We went
in search of a Christmas tree, almost cut one when an old lady
happened by and told us it was against the law and would have
gotten us put in jail. We had a candle
instead of a tree. We had rented an old, old house that was
very cold, no fireplaces-it was a summerhouse. We got a butano
for warmth but it wasn't enough. Still, we had a mellow time.
A French movie director showed up at the front door in a rainstorm
asking if I had acid to trade for hash. I did. We began to make
friends in the community of American and European artists.
RG
This is a letter I received from
Robert Gover in early 1970:
>From Hotel Fenix, Palma de Mallorca
Dear Bob:
Please pardon the long delay in answering your very welcomed
letter. We've been through some really whacky times these past
three months, but are now at last settled, en casa, in small
Hashbury of a village, Lluch Alcari, near Deya, north side of
island. Gad, your letter is dated Dec. 14th. You must have thought
we'd died or something. Sometimes I thought we almost did myself.
The ups, downs, sudden disappointments and upheavals we've been
subjected to at the hands of Miss Fortune lately are enough
to curl the hair on a bald man's head.
I've had some good days of writing since we got settled here
a couple of weeks ago, and when I get to a good place to stop
for awhile, we plan to go to Paris for a look-see. Later, Germany,
probably in late spring or early summer, so please send all
the info. You can about exact camera you want-I'll buy it and
then roust you for the money. Okay? (I wanted a German made
Rollei-flex, 2-1/4x2-1/4) and was hoping Robert could get it
for me cheaper in Europe)
I hope we are over the rough times now and very much together.
We still have more to work out, of course, but astrology is
helping a lot and so is a more openness to each other. I've
been so long with chicks I could never ever get really honest
with, and JN is, damn it, a natural actress who often gets to
running routines she doesn't really want to run, and I am much
to proud and jealous when it comes to women and sex, and that
period of our relationship just about tore me to shreds before
I brought it under control.
I'm into I'm into a novel that may take years and will be too
dense for a popular readership, so it's a little like Russian
roulette. I mean it sure 'ain't' how to make a living. Otherwise
I'd be into something else.
Mr. Boo (son Bryant) and JN (wife J'Nelle) are shopping at the
moment, with the Spanish lady from next door. J'Nelle's Spanish
is improving daily and Mr. Boo is a delight. Refuses to crawl
and demands to be walked about, someone holding his hands for
balance. Dr. says he's exceptionally bright. He's very animated
and alert to whoever and whatever is going on around him, chatters
at everybody he sees, sleeps most all the night through, takes
short naps during the day, loves to go shopping and grok the
Mallorquenes, who flip for him. Mr. Boo wakes up every morning
full of joy, laughter, and chatter, between us in bed or with
J'Nelle the middle of our sandwich.
Our little casa-three bedrooms, two of which we use as workroom-is
nice. The landlord put in a fireplace for us, which helps, for
it gets damn chilly at night, even now, and last winter, Dec.-Jan.,
we all got sick in another place that had no fireplace. J'Nelle's
temp went up to 104, so I packed her and baby in rented car
and put us into a very expensive hotel to recuperate. Then we
had an apt. In town, but when we arrived to move in, the manager
said he'd had a mix-up with the owner, who had rented it to
someone else. Which I felt was bullshit but JN believed, and
anyhow we ended up taking another apt. In that building just
to get out of the hotel. But that place was fantastically noisy,
couldn't sleep in the bedroom for all the hell-raising tourists
in wee hours, couldn't work there, so we searched some more,
thought of moving to Morocco, London, Paris, etc., of going
back to Calif., and finally landed here. Big drug scene in this
tiny village. Which the local peasantry frowns on, and the guardian
civil came marching through the other day and kicked out 20
or so people. Robert Graves run this as his own little kingdom
and if he or any of his clan does not like your looks, you're
liable to be ousted in the wee hours by Franco's finest and
booted out of the country. But the locals seem to dig us-they
hear my typewriter going a lot so they categorize me as a worker,
and Jn's Spanish enchants them and Mr. Boo caps it, for they
are nuts about babies. In fact, Mr. Boo is becoming quite famous
hereabouts-already his Pluto conjunct Venus rising is working
for him. (A. Hitler had that same conjunction rising.) A crowd
pleaser.
Hope all is fine with you and please let us hear from you-We'll
respond quicker now that we're settled.
Love RG
In my answer to RG's letter I
sent the following poem:
HORNEY
By Bob Harvey ; 1969
Take a trip with me - I hurt
With glee you burn in me
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Rising towards the flame's
Part of the game
If there is beauty in the pain
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
My throat is dry - my belly aches
From daydream trippin' which wishing takes
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Each time that we meet we stare
Like we're saving each other for another time
You may stare or taste
Sweet blindness as you like
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Walkin' all alone the shadows fall
I know your voice - I hear your call
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Makes no difference now
What you put me thru
What you say or do
I'm in love with you
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Every night I pace the floor
Just hopin' and a prayin' you'll come thru my door
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Each time that we meet we stare
Like we're savin' each other for another time
You may stare or taste
Sweet blindness as you like
Take a trip with me
Take a trip and see
Letter from Mallorca
Dear Bob, Nancy, Rob, Wes
Wow, what a letter! And what a poem-beautiful. The whole letter-poem
is like a shot of joyful air here. Sounds like you're getting
to your own thing at last, your own way. It makes me feel sure
that one of these days you won't have to sweat for bread and
can devote yourself and your energies where you want to put
them.
Friday,
December 19, 1969
Got up and went with Nancy. We dropped Rob off at school, and
then I dropped Nancy off at Capitol Records where we ran into
Leslie (receptionist for LA Free Press). Wes and I went to meet
my new permanent social worker. I got a one-week food order.
Note - When I left Paul Williams
and the "Holy Mackerel" in December of 1968, I went
on unemployment for 26 weeks and then I was given an extension
for another 26 weeks. That has now run out and I've applied
for welfare. I'm in the same category as a single mom with dependent
children.
Jinny Mullin is in the hospital
having a DNC. She won't be balling for a while. I wonder if
she prefers it that way. I tried to call her room at the hospital,
but they said she couldn't have calls right now.
I stopped at Pioneer Market on
the way home and we filled the food order. We came home and
I crashed for a couple of hours. Someone banging on the front
door awakened me. It was Cathy from next door.
Note - Cathy is a 28-year-old
runaway from San Antonio, Texas. She was sick of being stuck
with her three children and a husband who never helped. He would
stay out all night and then come home drunk and abusive. So
she got a baby sitter to come to the house and take care of
the kids. She gave the sitter her husbands work phone number
and told her to call and tell him he had to come straight home
because his wife had left town and the kids were all alone.
She hitch hiked to Los Angeles
and her last ride was with a Chicano cat that was moving from
El Paso to look for a job in Los Angeles. He took Cathy with
him to his aunt's home where she stayed for a couple of weeks.
While staying there she met Mrs. Rodriguez, my next-door neighbor
who had a room to rent and took Cathy in.
Cathy never did find a job, but
she began a lesbian relationship with Mrs. Rodriguez' eighteen
year old daughter Tina, plus she began baby-sitting with Mrs.
R's two younger children plus she took on the job of fixing
dinner when the younger kids got home from school.
When David and Fran (hitch-hikers)
were staying at my house, Fran got to know Cathy and Tina and
scored some weed through Tina. Cathy began coming over to listen
to music and to get high.
At that point we began having
sex. She liked having a lesbian relationship but also missed
sleeping with a man, so she would come over a couple of times
a week to get high and have sex. I also used her as a nude model.
I tried to sell the photos to "The Editor" at Golden
State News but he turned them down. I mentioned that Cathy was
a lesbian, having a relationship with a pretty
eighteen-year-old Chicano girl. "The Editor" perked
right up and said, "I'll give you $400.00 for a good 20
picture layout - all simulated sex - nothing explicit".
I used Cathy and Tina for a total of four simulated "lesbian
love" shoots and made close to $2,000. I paid Cathy and
Tina a total for $400.00.
When Cathy came to the door she
said, "I've got some Acapulco gold". I said "Well
come on in." We got high and Cathy gave me head - right
in the middle of which the phone rang - damn. It was Nancy,
calling with a bummer. She is being taken to court for doing
a body painting job in a bar. Her manager, Irish, got her the
job. She was crying and on a real bad trip. I promised
to go with her to see Irish, to find out if he is going to cover
her.
Cathy watched the kids so I could
take Linda Schaffer to a party at Terry Allen's house. Terry
is an artist who lives in the house next to Terry O'Shea. Linda
was exquisite - soft, smooth and foxy. She really turned me
on.
Terry Allen played piano and I
played guitar. We really had a good time. Terry O'Shea and Debbie
Spanton also attended. Terry, Debbie and I are going to the
desert to take pictures of Debbie in the nude for a book on
LA artists. Linda was asleep when we finished playing.
It was time to go and I massaged
her awake - touching her hair, neck, back & arms. It was
so fucking sensuous. It felt like silk & fire, sand &
silver. What a turn on. It aches in my belly. Linda and I came
to my place. I started coming on to her, but she pulled up tight
and closed off to me. She ran a number about physical and psychological
problems.I don't need that shit.
More daily journal and journal
form 1969 to come.
Bob
