A humid dusk blanketed the dusk over Amarillo. The passing semi-trailers dragged diesel fumes on 75 mph slipstreams. AK and Sean stood on the eastbound shoulder of I-40 and a murder of crows clutched the top wire of a barbed wire fence, regarding the two hippies as future carrion.
Off in the distant several dirty fingers funneled from the black clouds.
“Tornadoes?” asked Sean.
“Maybe. If one hits, we hide under the overpass.”
“Let’s hope we’re out of here before then.” Sean crossed his fingers, but catching a ride out of the Panhandle was testing their nerve.
Cowboys hated hippies. They dodged a few beer bottles thrown from pick-ups. The goat-ropers drank Bud. They had lousy aim.
An hour after sunset a dented Ford Fairlane swerved off the asphalt. AK and Sean dove into the weeds. The car swerve on two wheels toward disaster, then the driver regained control and skidded back onto I-40 with a shudder. AK and Sean rose to their feet and gave the fool the finger.
“That was close.”
“More for him than us.”
Their bravado evaporated after a greaser aimed a shotgun out passenger window of a SS Chevelle.
“Fucking shit.”
“This is Easy Rider land.”
The classic hippie film from 1969 had climaxed with the two bikers killed by a toothless redneck.
“Which one of us is Billy?” AK’s hands trembled with fear.
This was no movie.
“Me.” Dennis Hopper had played a goofy sidekick opposite ultra-cool Captain America.
“Then you hitchhike for an hour, because Billy dies first.”
Sean bent over to pick up a stone.
“What’s that for?”
Weariness was painted on AK’s face.
Last night they had only slept a few hours in a forest south of Williams.
“For the next hick that gets out of line.”
“Better find more rocks.”
An oncoming car was filled with teenagers. Their curses were howls at the moon. Sean could have chucked the rock through the windshield, instead he flashed the peace sign with his left hand.
“Commie fags.” Grits hated peace more than long hair.
While the War in Vietnam was coming to an end, the Silent Majority under Nixon was gearing up to purge the country of the revolution and dissent.
“Only one of us, you chicken fuckers.” AK was 100% straight.
“What’s that mean?”
“That I’m 100% straight and you danced with men at the Brass Rail.”
It was the best gay disco in San Diego.
“Is that a crime?”
“We’re in Texas. Even holding hands with a man is a lynching crime here.”
“Then I’ll keep my distance.” Sean hadn’t told AK about Maya in Santa Cruz and she had been twice the woman of anyone in his life until he met Floe, but he wasn’t snitching out the showgirl’s secret.
“Just keep your eyes open.”
Sean let go of the rock and stuck out his thumb. This was not their America. They belonged in cities, on the beaches, and atop mountains. Cars with Texas plates passed them in the hundreds. AK and Sean switched places twice. The New Yorker was no luckier than the New Englander.
Sean pulled back his long hair into a ponytail.
“No one’s picking up hippies.”
“So we go undercover.”
“THE MOD SQUAD routine might work. You can Link and I'll be Peter."
"You certainly aren't Peggie Lipton."
The ruse must have succeeded, because the drunken cowboys passed without any more threats. Traffic died past midnight and Sean had had enough for one day.
“I’m crashing.”
“Where?”
Cars and trucks zoomed up the grimy onramp ten feet away from them.
“Right here.” Sean climbed over the dented guardrail. The ground was free of glass and he pulled out his sleeping bag.
“You can’t sleep there.” AK was horrified by his friend’s choice. He was half-Jewish/half Wasp and washed his hands after pissing in a bar.
“Watch me.” Sean lay down on his sleeping bag. The outer cotton smelled his trip back and forth across the USA.
Estes Park, Reno, Big Sur, LA, Encinitas, and Flagstaff, Arizona.
The interior smelled a little of Floe.
She was in Big Sur.
His eyes shut forever within seconds and he hoped forever lasted until dawn.
AK woke him with a rough shake.
“We have a ride.”
The black wind was thick with electricity. An angry storm was roiling overhead in the WIZARD OF OZ sky and Sean scrambled to his feet. A pick-up truck idled on the shoulder.
Two surfboards were in back.
The license plates were from Oklahoma.
Sean threw his bag in the back and ran to the cab.
Andy sat in the middle.
Sean had the window.
“Where you heading?” The crew-cut driver sounded like he had been driving for days.
“Tulsa.” The Spear Sisters lived within sight of the Arkansas River. Sean had called them from Flagstaff. They were expecting them tomorrow morning.
“Me too.”
“A little more than 300 miles from here.” The twenty-year old stepped on the gas and they left behind Amarillo. Sean gave the on-ramp the finger. The driver checked the mirror.
“Been there long?”
“Long enough. What you doing in Tulsa?”
“I’m visiting my family before driving up to Fort Sill. I surfed all the breaks between Seal Beach and Huntington. A big wave is my God. The ocean is my church. If it weren’t for my family, I would have gone Surfer Joe AWOL.”
“The Surfaris.” The 45 had been a big hit for the trio from California coupled with WIPEOUT on the B-side.
“May 1963. I was living in Huntington Beach. My father was stationed in Vietnam. I surfed that entire summer. A real gremlin, but joining the army was a family tradition.”
“How you like the Army?”
“Not much choice to do anything else in Oklahoma other than drilling oil.” He was my age and asked, “Either of you serve in the military?”
“My father and uncles fought in WW2 and the Korean War, but no male in my generation has worn any uniform other than that of the Boy Scouts.”
“Me neither.” AK shook his head. “I protested against the War.”
“Me too.”
The ruthlessness My Lai massacre had been matched by repression of the Watts riots. Che Guevara’s assassination had been mirrored by the murder of the Black Panther Fred Hampton. Their fight had been with the Pentagon and White House, but Sean had never called a soldier a ‘baby killer’.
“Nothing wrong with that. It’s a free country.”
“I enlisted in the Marines at the age of 17. My mother wouldn’t sign the papers.”
“Probably for the better you didn’t go in. A lot of Marines were killed for nothing.” The War was almost over. The troops were coming home. It was up to South Vietnam to win or lose its own battles.
“What about you?”
“I did my time stateside. Not bad, but in two days I’ll be grunting for my CO. We’re training for deployment to the fucking Sai-gon embassy, but tonight I’m a rocker.” His 8-track played the Amboy Dukes. “I love Ted Nugent.”
“He’s a solid guitarist.” Sean played no instruments other than the kazoo. “My friend here is in a band.”
“That right? What kind?”
“R&B and soul. I play keyboards.” Electric piano in a ten-piece band. The only white.
“I love soul music.” Chuck pulled out the Amboy Dukes and slipped in Otis Redding’s SATISFACTION with a fat rhythm section. “You guys like weed?”
“You’re holding?”
“Does the bear shit on the pope?”
They smoked a joint of Acapulco Gold. The weed dragged AK into slumber. Chuck spoke about the California. He had surfed big waves up and down the coast. His accent might have been pure Okie, but his heart belonged to the sea.
“And California Girls.”
Sean told about sleeping with two lesbians in Big Sur.
Chuck had one-nighted with several beach girls.
Sean spoke at length about Floe.
“She dumped you flat?”
“She wasn’t into violence.”
“Sound like you gave Bill what he deserved.”
“I thought so too, but Floe ran away.”
“You met her by chance once. Maybe you’ll run into her again.”
He handed Sean a joint.
It had no effect on his broken heart, but they outran the storms without escaping the relentless heat and the dawn burned red nearing Oklahoma City. Out on the plains buzzards floated on the thermals.
“Not far from home now.”
“You want to go AWOL? You can hang with us in Boston.”
“My family would never forgive me.”
“At least you won’t have to be the last man killed in Viet-Nam.”
“I’d hate that.”
They swung onto I-44 and reached Tulsa before 8. The thermometer on a bank read 92. Chuck left them at Riverview Drive and South Indian. The Spear sisters lived two doors away. A light tan Impala convertible was in the driveway.
“Good luck with your tour.” Sean wished the soldier.
“And you with the trip east.”
Chuck beeped the horn and drove north.
The two hippies stopped on the sidewalk. The newspaper boy biked his route. Long-tailed birds flitted between the trees. The quiet neighborhood smelled of cut grass.
“Are they’re awake?” AK rubbed his eyes, as if he had been dreaming of a bed.
“Only one way to find out.” Sean went to the door, while AK waited on the lawn.
Sean rang the bell once. If they didn’t answer, then the backyard was their crash pad. He had slept in worst places. Last night between the guardrails had been one of them.
Several seconds passed before footsteps approached the door. Sean waved for AK to join him. He pushed his long black hair back to become a modern-day Ben-Hur. The door opened and Vickie greeted Sean with a hug.
“I was wondering if you were lost.” The tall blonde Tulsan wore a light white gown.
“Maybe a little lost, but now we’re found.” AK’s eyes sparkled with the vision of a fair-skinned woman of the West. She was pure shitza appealing to his father’s bloodline.
“How spiritual for a Friday morning.”
“Where are your parents?” Her father taught Divinity at a local college and their mother worked in a bank.
“Gone to school already.”
“C’mon in.” Vickie embodied the girl next-door just like Pam. She wrinkled her nose. “Off with those rags. You smell a little___”
“Gamey.”
She nodded yes.
“You two are showering. Now.”
Vickie showed them the guestroom. Sean showered first. The Spear Sisters were his friends. He soaped Amarillo off his skin and shampooed New Mexico out of his hair. Her Lady Bic gave a close shave and he emerged from the steamy room as clean as the day they set out from Encinitas.
“Your turn.” Sean held open the door for AK.
Vickie had laid out gym shorts and a white shirt on the bed. They were his size.
After dressing Sean followed the aroma of bacon into the kitchen. She had changed into jeans and a white men’s shirt knotted above her midriff. Bad Company’s CAN’T GET ENOUGH was on the radio. He sat at the table and Vickie cracked eggs into the frying pan without emptying the bacon grease.
“It’s nice to feel clean, but now I understand why the crackers call us ‘dirty hippies’. Not many places to clean up on the road and the only rivers between LA and Tulsa were the Colorado, the Pecos and the Rio Grande.”
“We can go swimming later. I know a great place out of the city.”
She flipped the eggs and buttered the toast. Coffee brewed on the stove.
“I loved swimming holes.”
“This one is very special.”
AK entered the kitchen and stared Vickie’s back. Sean wasn’t gifted with ESP, but could read his friend’s mind as easily as a comic book. He knew Vickie through his friend and asked, “You heard from Nick?”
“I received a letter from the Philippines this week. He’s settled into Dagupan City and med school starts next month.” Vickie loaded two plates with breakfast and recounted Nick’s letter in detail.
Her sister Sharlene joined them. She was a younger version of her older sister. All of 18. Either of them could have won a spot on the Dallas Cowboy cheerleading squad.
“Tell us about your summer.”
Tulsa was cut off from the world. AK and Sean told about driving a station wagon through the Rockies, seeing a fight between cowboys and farmers in Idaho, hitching in Big Sur, hanging with hippies in Southern California, and being stuck in Needles.
“The temperature was 135,” AK said the number, as if they had survived Hell.
“Not really 135. The thermometer was broken. It was 117.”
“Never gets that hot here.” Vickie had the windows open. It was warm outside, but not close to a 100. “How about you finish eating and we’ll show your friend the sights.”
“What about your job?”
“What’s is it?” AK knew nothing of Vickie.
“This summer I’ve been working as a private detective. Once I graduated I will join the State Police. My uncle runs the barracks in the west of the state. School begins next week. I’m off the next two days. My sister is also out of school. We’re free as birds.”
Sean had nowhere to be for the rest of his life and said, “I’m about that free too.”
“Eat breakfast. We’ll go after that.”
Breakfast was delicious.
Once Vickie packed a lunch, they left the house. Vickie and her sister sat in the front. AK and Sean were in back. The 8-track played GIMME SHELTER by Grand Funk Railroad.
There wasn’t much to see on the tour; Oral Roberts University and its Space Age Prayer Tower, the statue of an Indian in Woodward Park, and the cutout of the Golden Driller at the Tulsa County Fairgrounds.
The morning sun warmed their skin. The girls’ skin glowed golden. AK and Sean had California beach tans. They passed through a residential neighborhood south of the County Courthouse. The people on the street were black.
“You know we haven’t seen a black person since LA.”
“This is Greenwood. In 1921 the white people burned it to the ground, because someone accused a young black boy of touching a white girl.” Vickie was embarrassed by this speck on history. “Vigilantes marched into this neighborhood with guns. The blacks fought back. Nobody knows for sure how many died in the riots.”
“I never heard about that.” The Tulsa Riots were not taught in American History 101 even in the North.
“No problems like that now.” Vickie waved to a couple on the sidewalk and they waved back with a smile.
60 years was enough time to forget the past.
Forgiving would take longer.
“Enough sightseeing. I’m hot as a snake on a rock.”
They crossed a bridge.
“Are we swimming in the Arkansas?” asked AK, looking at the sand bars protruded from the slow flowing river.
“No one swims in that.” Vickie stepped on the gas.
“Is it too polluted?” The Neponset River ran through his hometown south of Boston. No one had ever gone swimming in it.
“A little, but a worse danger is the quicksand.”
“Quicksand?”
“The Arkansas is a prairie river and carries a lot of sediment. What looks like sand can be quicksand, so we’re going to the Blue Whale out on Old 66.”
“The Blue Whale?” His family had hunted whales in the 19th Century. Oklahoma was known for oil from the ground, not blubber.
“You’ll see when you get there.”
Vickie sped east out of Tulsa on Route 66. The land was flat farmland with long lines of trees acting as windbreaks. The houses dated back to the Dustbowl. The wind tugged at their hair.
The Le Mans was the fastest car on the road.
After twenty minutes at 80 mph Vickie pulled into a dirt parking lot bordering a pond on which floated a large concrete whale painted blue.
“The Blue Whale?”
“One and the same.” Vickie left the car.
Teenagers dove from the whale’s head. Young girls basked in the sun. It wasn’t Moonlight Beach, but this spring-fed pond was America at its best. Families gathered around the pool. The benches and tables were crowded with hungry kids eating hot dogs and burgers.
“Nice place.” Sean took off his sneakers. The grass was lush under his feet.
“Everyone in Tulsa loves it.” Vickie unbuttoned her shirt.
All the swimmers there were white.
“And no one seems to mind our longhair.” AK tugged off his shirt.
“Maybe in 1969, but also this isn’t Muskogee.” Her one-piece bathing suit complimented her long slender body. “
“A place where even squares can have a ball.” Merle Haggard had immortalized the small town in his 1969 country bit OKIE FROM MUSKOGEE.
“There’s no college there, but there are some hippies.”
“Wearing sandals and beads.”
“More cowboy boots and hats.” Vickie slathered on suntan lotion.
AK was dying to do her back.
“I’ve performed school plays at Muskogee.” Sharlene was cute enough to be on the silver screen. “Daddy considers acting is unholy, but he loves me and puts up with it.”
“She was Juliette last spring.”
“And you probably had plenty of Romeos.”
“Not even one. I’m saving myself for my wedding night.” The teenager regarded her older sister. Vickie had slept with Nick. The med student from Staten Island had been her first beau.
“Nothing wrong with that as long as you don’t wait until you’re a hundred,” joked AK and the Spear girls laughed at the prospect of Sharlene ending up a spinster.
“I’m sure we can marry her off before then.”
“Enough talk about marriage. Let’s go swimming.” AK ran into the pond. Vickie, Sharlene, and Sean followed closely behind. They dove under the cool water and surfaced in the middle.
“This is great.” Sean hadn’t been in fresh water all summer.
The water comes from springs,” explained Vickie.
“Just like the quarries near my house south of Boston.”
“Are you a good swimmer?” Marilyn asked AK.
“Good enough.” He had spent three hours a day in the ocean throughout the summer.
“What about a race?”
“Sure.”
Vickie counted out the start.
“One, two, three, go.”
Sharlene and AK swam the crawl. She won the race by several body lengths.
“I’m also on the swimming team.”
“You tricked me.”
“You tricked yourself like most men.”
Vickie and Sean returned to the sandy beach and blew up rafts. They floated in the sun. Her blonde hair hung in the water like a mermaid stranded far from sea and she asked, “You graduated from college this year, didn’t you?”
“Yes. A degree in economics without any honors.
“What are you planning to do when you get back home?”
“I had several interviews with banks and a hotel chain. Nobody hired me other than as a substitute-teaching job at South Boston High School. It’s one the worst in the school system.”
“Nothing wrong with teaching school, but if you want a real job, you might want to cut your hair. Only women wear ponytails in banks.” The blonde detective laughed and stroked into the center on the pond.
Sean trailed her.
“One bank said I had a stutter.” His speech impediment was a small one. Therapists had taught him how to control the repetition of syllables in grammar school.
“And do you?” Vickie glided a hand over her flat belly.
“Only when I’m nervous.
“And were you?’
“The interviewer had been a bald man in a pin-striped suit. I was scared that I would end up like him.” The man had also informed him that he wasn’t sure that Sean was ready for a 9 to 5 job.
“Everyone has to work, unless you’re rich, and maybe I’m wrong, but no one hitching across America is rich.”
“No, I’m not rich, but I don’t want to work for a bank.”
“You should join the Peace Corps.” She lay face up to the sun. Her future brightened by her desire to be a state trooper. Vickie would look great in a uniform. On the other hand Sean was not cop material. They were anti-pot and he had no intention of busting people for weed.
“I wanted to do that, but I have to pay off my college loans.” I owed about $5000 or the price of a Cadillac. Starting salary at the bank was $300/week. At a $100/month the loan would be paid off in 1980.
“Too bad, you seem perfect for that job.”
“You might be right.”
AK and Sharlene swam to them and hung off the rafts. The younger Spear looked at Sean and made a face.
“Why so sad?”
“Your sister and I were talking about my future and I realized that I don’t have one.”
“You mean a future of a house in the suburbs, a wife, kids, two cars, TVs, and credit cards?”
“Yes.”
“That’s so 1950s and this is the 1970s. We all have a future. Yours will come to you.”
“In California he almost joined a hippie street band to play kazoo quarters,” joked AK.
The girls laughed.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Sean had been high on LSD.
“Everything sounds good when we’re young.” Vickie lifted her head.
Storm clouds towered on the northern horizon.
The families were decamping from the Blue Whale.
“We better go.” Vickie wasted no time leaving the water.
They packed up in less than a minute and pulled up the ragtop of the convertible.
The swirling black mass loomed closer.
“Tornado?” asked AK.
“Let’s hope not.” Vickie peeled from the Blue Whale’s parking lot.
Hail the size of frozen peas racketed the Le Mans on the way back to Tulsa. The car shuddered from the gale-force wind. Lightning crackled from dragon-tailed clouds and rain deluged the interstate.
Vickie wanted to be driving 100. She kept the speed to 50. The road condition was safe for 20. The storm broke at the city limits and the blue sky flailed the clouds to shreds.
“And like that everything goes back to normal,” sighed Vickie.
“So that wasn’t a tornado?” It felt like one to him.
“If that had been a tornado, we would have taken shelter someplace safe like under a bridge.” Vickie pulled into her driveway.
“I don’t recall seeing any bridges,” AK opened the door.
“We must have passed forty irrigation ditches in the last two miles.” Sharlene left the car. “I hid in one once during a twister. The smell stuck on me for days, but I was safe.”
“Better stinking than being sucked into a tornado for a trip to Oz,” he joked walking to the lawn.
Tree branches were scattered across the grass and Sean picked them up.
“Or even worse Texas.”
Vickie read a note stuck in the door.
“My father’s having a BBQ at 6. My uncle is bringing real beer.”
“The cop?” asked Sean.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t Tulsa a dry town?” The state license shop sold only 3.2 beers.
“It is, but Uncle Dan confiscated the beer from a bootlegger.”
“How lucky for us.”
“So dressed nice. My father like his guests neat.
AK and Sean retreated to the guest bedroom. He picked out a newly laundered white shirt and ironed jeans. The Spear girls were promising homemakers. He sat on the bed and AK asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sean sat on the bed with his sneakers in hand.
“You don’t look like it’s nothing.” AK and Sean knew each other a year. It wasn’t a long time, but the summer had tightened the friendship. “Let me guess. You’re freaked out by that talk with Vickie about your future.”
“You have a job teaching. Vickie has a job. Chuck, the soldier, has a job. I have a job, but it feels like I have nothing.”
“You could enlist in the Marines. Tulsa has to have a recruiting center.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You wanted to do it when you were 17.”
“To leave my hometown.”
“You’re not there, but you’re going there now.”
“I know.” Sean was lost.
“But no one knows what path their lives will take. I graduated with an English degree and I’m teaching math. I don’t want to being doing that and most people end up doing what they don’t want to do. They end up having to do what they have to do and so will you until you figure it out, so get dressed and we’ll drink some beer. That’s something you do well.”
“I guess you’re right.” Sean pulled on his sneakers.
Even they smelled clean.
“Of course I’m right. We’re on the road. Our goal in life is to reach Boston. Until then screw jobs. We’re free as the birds.”
“Like the song.” Lynard Skynard had released FREE BIRD in 1973. It hadn’t been a hit for the Southern band, but something told him that it would be a hit one day.
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“It’s only something I would have told myself.”
“And you would believe it?”
“No, but the best lies are the ones you tell yourself.” AK put his arm over his friend’s shoulder and led him from the bedroom.
Sean was free. He was 22. The entire world lay before Sean and that was the beauty of the road.
Anything was possible.
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