Anytime the 60’s are discussed, the subject of hippies always comes up. Primarily San Francisan hippies. Why don’t we hear about hippies from other places. I’m there some anywhere teenagers hung out in large groups. I wouldn’t, though, want to have been a hippy in rural America.
Aren’t they, like, dead?
Hmm. I wanna be a hippie! I never was one…presumably because I wasn’t alive yet during the 60s.
Hippie from rural Montana and Idaho checking in. Probably the only good thing about being a big guy!
Peace
So, how did the locals react?
Many of us are now masquerading as the 50-year-old engineers and technical guys who keep your computer/phone networks alive. You’re glad to have us around, but you can’t help wondering why we all seem to be so cheerful working nights, staring at all of the blinking lights…
Mall Rats?
Grew up in Eastern Montana and was the only long haired war protester environmentalist I knew. Frankly folks hated it but weren’t big enough to alter my conciousness or appearance. Found lots of support and company in college in Western Montana.
Moved here to North Idaho while in college. Been here long enough that everyone pretty much accepts me or ignores me. Early on had a few logger types try to give me a free chainsaw tonsorial but they got over it.
I’m representing a hippie in a separation action. His ex is suing him for possession of an old outhouse. He is quite happy to give her the old outhouse (and its “contents” if she insists), but she wants her day in court anyway. The bug in the ointment is that the outhouse is on someone else’s land (they were squatters), and she wants the land too. The owner of the land is being driven round the bend by having to deal with lawyers over this. We lawyers have adjourned the matter sine die because we don’t think we are capable of standing up and arguing it with straight faces before a judge.
All I can say is that my guy has a great sense of perspective, lots of patience, and a fanastic sense of humour. Every time he walks in the door, a big, warm smile grows across my face. We sit back, chat about organic gardening (him), vegetarian recipies (me), and how to deal with his crazy ex. I wish I had more clients like him.
Oh, I go to work five days a week. I don’t even mind that I work for the government. I didn’t die. Not quite. I still don’t think war is a good idea. I don’t much think the government can accomplish anything good, except the sort of thing I do for them. (Taking care of people who can’t take care of themselves.) My efforts to stop them from doing harm are more philosophical, and less political than once upon a time. I did my bit, you know. I got tired of the adversarial position, and infiltrated. I imagine my files are all inactive by now. (Idle hippie fantasy: Somewhere some poor government investigative schmuck still has to check out my activities from time to time, and update my file. Man, does he need a new job.)
It was hard to be a hippie anywhere other than California. Florida was the only other place warm enough, and the social vibes there were . . . disharmonic. You could be a hippie anywhere, in the summer, of course. But by fall you had to be somewhere where you wouldn’t freeze.
The drug thing didn’t turn out all that well. Drugs were no where near as enlightening as they seemed at first. But the addiction thing was way overblown too. Eventually you make a choice, and either do drugs, or do something else. Doing both turns out to be hard to sustain, and drugs are pretty tame, when no one cares.
People still tell me I am weird. No one else answers the daily small talk the way I do. How are you?: Groovy! Joe and Sally are getting married.: Far out! Bill got fired.: Bummer. See you later.: If there is one. How’s it going?: Didn’t know it was gone!
The hair and beard thing has changed. Mostly no one notices out loud much anymore, except little kids, who ask if I am Santa Claus. Every now and then someone with a three week growth of whiskers asks me how long it took to grow. Thing is, I don’t remember, a couple of years, I guess, but that was a long time ago.
Tris
Well, I’m still a Hippie.
I was one in 1968, when I was a mere 10 years old.
Nowadays? I guess theyre running for President, being CEO’s of companies, etc.
Go to Humboldt County, CA. You’ll find plenty there. Think of it as Jurassic Park without the genetic tomfoolery.