It was a clear San Francisco day. We were near the Cliff House, wandering down a lane or sidewalk where a variety of stalls and booths were arranged with folks schlepping homemade things: jellies, and whatnot. The goal, as I recall, was to visit the remains of the salubrious salt water baths . . .
Anyway, I happened by a stall where a long-haired couple were shaping and stringing dulcimers. I picked one up and played "My Old Kentucky Home", singing along in a doleful melancholy sure to please Stephen Foster. The young hippies were astonished! He knows what it is! He can play it! They offered me a job on the spot.
At once, and maybe for the first time in my life, I had that strange lust to be rid of all family, friends, acquaintances . . . of everything that had been me. I would simply "drop out" and begin anew as a hippie in San Francisco, making dulcimers and playing them . . .
But I didn't.
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2 comments:
I was just thiinking of our day at the Cliff House! I don't remember the tale you relate, but I do remember staring in through a doorway at arcades full of fascinating-looking, long defunct, mechanical games of chance & skill.
you in SF in the hippy days.....i can see that....glad you decided to continue with us...and i think i do remember a 'tomb' of old arcades games somewhere in the catacombs of the Cliff House.
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