So Seventies

Pt. Loma's Body Shop. Strawberry Alarm Clock, encounter groups, ride-sharing, communes on 55th and in Spring Valley

Author

By Various Authors

Publish Date

May 21, 2016

"I'm telling you, everyone in real estate is honest, you have to be, they really watch you. I really help people."

"There are nights when the air is so thick with the men's frustration that we can hardly stand it, and that's when the heavy drinking starts." (Joyce Kitchell)

Body Shop

Nude dancers in Loma Portal.

The place was crowded and smoky. As Heidi started to dance, wearing only a belt of gold coins low on her hips, some of the men at the billiards tables glanced up from their games. She combines the techniques of Indian dancing with belly-dancing, creating a fast-moving style, full of precise exaggerated movements. The dance was so dominant that her nudity became incidental; and Heidi, totally absorbed in the form, was undoubtedly too remote for many of the men's liking.

By Connie Bruck, May 30, 1974 | Read full article

Strawberry Alarm Clock, left to right: Ernie Morgan, Seve Bartek, Randy Seol, Richard Benedon, George Bunnell. "The last time I saw Dennis Wilson we were on Sunset rehearsing during the day at Whiskey."

And You Thought Strawberry Alarm Clock Was Weird

Oh yes, we ran into them in Chicago. They were two fat girls with t-shirts on that said plaster casters. They had a museum in their basement. Mick was there and Hendrix and Davey Jones' was in glass.

Touchy Feely

San Diego is the kind of place where you can't avoid encounter groups.

I begged and pleaded a friend who finally said okay she'd go. But first she'd have to brush her teeth and put on pants and a heavy sweater. (You can never tell what's going to happen in the nonverbal communication part.)

By Frank Harrison, February 15, 1973 | Read full article

Then, the bombshell: Would we mind if her mother, Babs, came too?

Bound for Boston

Ride-sharing: Don't go near a 3x5 card on a bulletin board.

Rosie made her appearance. She was accompanied by a suntanned twenty-two-year-old wearing a headband and short pants. His name was Henry. Behind Henry was an extremely decrepit old woman introduced to us as Granny Babs. Henry was to be the third rider. There were no young girls, voluptuous or otherwise.

By R.W. Bell, Jr., July 3, 1980 | Read full article

There was talk of starting a commune, purchasing a mansion at Sunset Cliffs. Instead our mother moved us to an apartment on University, near 55th. Our apartment filled up with macramé hangers our mother made, incense, candles on brick-and-board shelves.

In the high 70s

The misbegotten children of San Carlos.

The last time I saw Stan was when I was about 20. He said he'd just gotten married, was getting along well with his family, and had quit using drugs, except for a little “harmless” coke once in a while. A few months later, he would be stabbed to death behind a disco not far from the 7-Eleven where we had fought. Rumor was he was killed over a cocaine deal gone bad.

By Mark Stephen Clifton, Oct. 22, 1992 | Read full article

The skeptics among us allowed the group to hold a meeting at our place. The group was a peculiar assortment of scraggly youths, 30ish clerks and salesmen, bookworms of all ages, and pudgy matrons. (J.D. Crowe)

The Giveaway

Some Spring Valley Hippies Hit the Jackpot.

With a preacher's fervor, Ron had enlightened us about the evils, physical and spiritual, of partaking in flesh and blood. The worst thing, he said, it made us fierce, aggressive. There was no way to peace while we insisted upon gobbling creatures. He persuaded so well that eight of his audience gave up the junk immediately. Steve and I held out a couple weeks, devouring all the bacon, minute steaks, and ground chuck they'd left behind.

By Ken Kuhlken, Dec. 23, 1993 | Read full article