Sunday, January 02, 2011
The people who owned the place were nice. They knew things about me not many people knew, not all in a line at once.
They knew I had been shot at and wounded after a small civil rights demonstration in the summer of 1963.
They knew I had literally been kidnapped by armed, dangerous, and uniformed members of the American Nazi Party on my way back home from the UCLA Folk Festival in 1964 and I had managed to wriggle free.
They knew I had been temporarily detained in the Tijuana jail while I was trying to get a cello player for Frank Zappa.
They knew I wasn't making it on my own.
They said sure, you can use the cabin.
(As the New Lost City Ramblers sang, "Take me home, rock of ages, cleft for me") ¶ 1/02/2011 08:34:00 PM
They knew I had been shot at and wounded after a small civil rights demonstration in the summer of 1963.
They knew I had literally been kidnapped by armed, dangerous, and uniformed members of the American Nazi Party on my way back home from the UCLA Folk Festival in 1964 and I had managed to wriggle free.
They knew I had been temporarily detained in the Tijuana jail while I was trying to get a cello player for Frank Zappa.
They knew I wasn't making it on my own.
They said sure, you can use the cabin.
(As the New Lost City Ramblers sang, "Take me home, rock of ages, cleft for me") ¶ 1/02/2011 08:34:00 PM
