Telegraph Avenue

By Kandice Crusat

In 1969 during her seventeenth summer, Alex discovered the exciting world of artists, musicians, drugs and hippies on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley.
It was there she met Michael, an artist, musician and draft dodger, who like herself came from a dysfunctional home.
Alex desperately escapes the grim home of her alcoholic parents and goes to Telegraph Avenue and to Michael, the only one whom she feels understands her. In the house he shares with his roommate and fellow musician Jonathan, the three of them form a close friendship. Alex and Michael help to heal each others painful pasts, but their relationship becomes a perilous journey through love and danger amid the tumultuous backdrop of social protests and the Vietnam war.
When Michael agrees to hold a stolen package for his childhood friend Tom, a Hells Angel, the three of them are watched by the Secret Service, Tom's brother and a wealthy couple in the printing business, who are all in search of the stolen article.
In a daring act to rid themselves of the package, they set off a chain of events that ends the life of one and changes that of the others forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 11, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469749334

Kandice Crusat

Kandice Crusat grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 1950’s and 60’s, where she collected some of the ideas for this book. She has lived Hawaii for 26 years and works as a full time ceramic artist and writes in her spare time.

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CONTENTS

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER 1

STREET VENDERS

CHAPTER 2

WELCOME HOME

CHAPTER 3

SAIGON

CHAPTER 4

LEAVING HOME

CHAPTER 5

NEW BEGINNINGS

CHAPTER 6

SHOTS IN THE NIGHT

CHAPTER 7

DEMONSTRATIONS

CHAPTER 8

THE CURRENCY PLATES

CHAPTER 9

MAKE LOVE NOT WAR

CHAPTER 10

FALLING LEAVES

CHAPTER 11

CHRISTMAS BLUES

CHAPTER 12

DISTORTED TIDINGS

CHAPTER 13

SPIRALING HEART

CHAPTER 14

STRANGE PEOPLE

CHAPTER 15

SHADES OF PURPLE

CHAPTER 16

FADED HOPES

CHAPTER 17

A WINDING ROAD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This book is dedicated to my late brother Brian,

who was a street vendor on Telegraph Avenue with me.

PREFACE  

The 60’s decade filled the nations streets with love-ins, sit-ins, anti-war demonstrations, rock-n-roll music and hippies. It was the coming of black power where young people decided to cross the racial barriers accepting all races as equals. Young men burned their draft cards in refusal to fight in Vietnam, a war they did not believe in. Rock-N-Roll music set the pace for a new wave of musical freedom, where the words held the meaning of life and the blasting sounds shook the world. Songs played in accompaniment to political marches and the rebellion of America’s youth. The anti-establishment attitude of young people, decided anyone over 30 was not to be trusted, instead they found their own way to live their lives as they choose. Many joined the arts and craft movement that established homemade products from cottage industries. Crafters then sold their wares on city streets, parks and the newborn craft fairs. Flower children wearing blue jeans and love beads, a standard uniform for the love generation, were singing Scott McKenzie’s song San Francisco, Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair.

And that they did, young people from all over the country flocked in great numbers to the San Francisco Bay Area and started a new generation, no longer feeling constricted to be what the establishment wanted them to be.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  

I am grateful to the following people who helped in the writing of this book: Rodney Crusat, April Kozelisky, Gloria Angell, The Hawaii Island Writers Group, Pat and Jack Rodgers, Betty Liza Taylor, David Williams, Shakti Avella, Steven Berry; FBI Headquarters, Mary Currie; Golden Gate Bridge Authorities, [e-mail]., Country Joe McDonald, Rifka Keilson; iUniverse.com, Skip; Mele Kai Music Kailua Kona, Hawaii,

Lyrics to; Bad Moon Rising written by John C. Fogerty, (C) 1969 Jondora Music (BMI). Copyright Renewed. Courtesy of Fantasy, Inc. All rights Reserved. Used by permission.

Lyrics to; I Feel Like I’m Fixin’ To Die Rag words and music written by Joe McDonald (C) 1965 renewed 1993 Alkatraz Corner Music Co. Used by permission.

Sanskrit Verse Mantra 6, Sri Isopanisad, 1982, (C) 2001 The Bhaktivedanta Book Trust International. Used by permission.

CHAPTER 1  

STREET VENDERS

There was a morning chill that Saturday in July 1969, when Alex opened the door of a blue Lincoln Continental and stepped out on Telegraph Avenue for the first time. Her father, a well-groomed man in his early 50’s, opened the trunk and helped unload her batik paintings onto the curb.

You sure you’ll be OK here today? he asked with a worried expression on his face, not wanting to leave her there alone.

I’ll be fine Dad, really, don’t worry. Alex kissed her father on the cheek reassuringly and quickly glanced around, hoping no one was watching.

But there was someone who noticed her while he was setting out his blown glass sculptures on top of a dark green tapestry cloth. They were arranged by colors, giving them the appearance of a rainbow. The glass blower glanced over at Alex the moment she stepped out of the flashy new car. His eyes devoured the form of her slim youthful figure and long blonde hair. She was wearing faded blue jeans, a tight navy blue sweater and high-heeled boots that made her appear quite tall.

Alex looked slowly up and down the sidewalk, hoping to find an open space to set up her batiks. It was only 7:30 in the morning and she thought she had come early enough to get a good spot. Both sides of the street were already crowded all the way to the University of Berkeley, where the street vendors and Telegraph Avenue ended. Looking across the street by Cody’s Bookstore, she saw an opening next to a guy with long wavy black hair tied in a ponytail. He was wearing a cream colored fisherman’s knit sweater, baggy jeans split open at both knees with a peace sign over the right one. An older woman was talking to him and looked interested in buying his colorful glass sculptures.

Shyly, Alex approached, inquiring about the open space beside his table.

Sure, far-out move right in, he replied, giving her a big smile, showing his clean and straight white teeth.

Quickly laying out her paintings on top a faded pink blanket, Alex felt overjoyed to be on Telegraph Avenue, opening up a new world for herself away from the turmoil of her parent’s home. She felt confident this new extension to her life would be good and help her to escape the existence where she now lived. Growing up in an upper middle class suburb, east of San Francisco, she was bored with life there. She started painting at a young age and was taught Batik by a friend, then quickly discovered that it suited her abilities.

Her parents were big on the social scene in their town and had succumbed to alcoholism as a part of it. Their nightly drinking, then arguing routines, made Alex retreat to the solitude of her bedroom. She was left on her own to find a way out from the war zone she heard down the hallway every evening. It was during these disturbed and lonely times she tried experimenting with various drugs that were easy enough to get at her high school.

***

A loud clunk, from an old wooden window being opened on the second floor above, caught Alex’s attention. Music came blaring out from within the room. It was The Beatles singing, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, broadcast as from a loudspeaker to the street below. Alex smelled something familiar also making its way down from the window above. It was the smell of marijuana sending its intoxicating scent into the streets of Berkeley again.

Alex was amazed at how casual everything seemed. The table on the other side of the glass blower was unattended. It was covered with a black satin cloth, on top were bags filled with herbs, dozens of different kinds that she never heard of. She was fascinated reading the beautiful hand scripted labels with instructions on each bag. Primrose tea: good for calming, Hawthorn tea: good for cheering the spirit, Valerian Root: mild sedative. There were also brightly colored boxes of incense with tiny oriental writing on top. Some were left open to let passerby’s smell their fragrance and an incense holder had a sample burning from within. A thin curl of smoke was slinking its way out through holes in the lid, sending a spicy scent into the summer air. As she breathed in the aroma, Alex wondered what it reminded her of and her grandmother’s musty closet filled with boxes of old and treasured things came to mind.

Good morning! A small oriental woman spoke, bringing Alex out of her dreamy state. I’m Yuri, are you interested in some healing herbs today?

Oh, I was just looking Alex answered. I’ve just set up my batiks over there, she pointed to her paintings. Alex noticed the young woman’s dark and mysterious almond shaped eyes and was immediately enchanted.

Hey they’re really groovy, I like the one of the pot plant. I’m really into herbs you know. Yuri said happily, drawing her long silky black hair around to the front of one shoulder. She was wearing a long turquoise jacket embroidered with red dragons on the front and back. So I guess you’ve met Michael?

Not really, Alex looked over at Michael who was wrapping up a sculpture for his lady customer.

When Michael finished his sale he came over to the two girls. Soon the three of them were talking like old friends.

A big, tall man approached, wearing a long orange and green striped robe. He had a beaded headband on that was barely visible through his immense Afro hairdo. Hey what’s happenin’ bruthas? he boomed in a deep voice. A broad smile revealed huge horse-like teeth.

Alex was introduced and found out that Kahlid was a candle maker as well as a street vendor. His candles were unique because he embedded driftwood collected from nearby beaches along the outside of the candles.

I’m looking for Doc, you guys seen him? Kahlid asked.

They said no and Kahlid walked on down the street, his raven eyes searching the crowds that were gathering quickly.

Michael and Yuri told Alex about Doc. It seemed he was previously a Doctor, but had lost his license years ago after botching up a patient. He now was known as Doc The Pillman and could get you just about any type of drug you wanted. They described him as an older man in his 50’s with a short gray beard and gray hair. He always wore a long black overcoat, even on a hot day. Alex scanned the sidewalks as she listened and expected to see him pass by.

***

It was the kind of lazy summer Saturday in the Bay Area for sleeping in late, mowing the lawn or tinkering in flower beds, then relax in the shade with a cold bottle of soda pop. Many residents chose to stroll through the cities in search of superb shopping bargains. Casual walkers meandered among the Telegraph Avenue street vendors looking for a new wave of art almost as a ritual. Those with a good eye for artistry hoped to discover something new and exciting. The atmosphere on the Avenue was both interesting and exciting and people felt connected spiritually just being there and participating. Whether they were buyers, sellers or just lookers, everyone seemed to flow in unison.

***

For Alex the day had held excitement beyond her wildest imagination. And with each new person she met, she was more captivated than the last. The peaceful harmony on the Avenue was also pulsing with the undeniable beat of Rock-n-Roll. By the end of the day she had happily sold almost half of the paintings she had brought. The ones of marijuana plants and peace signs painted in flowers sold first.

It was cool and foggy by 4 o’clock when a large woman with flaming red hair came by to talk to Yuri. She wore a bright purple gauze dress and long layers of brightly colored beads further enlarged her enormous breasts. Large silver hoop earrings with amethyst bangles at the bottom stood out boldly from inside her wavy hair.

Yuri introduced her to Alex as Esmeralda; she made silver jewelry and did Tarot Card Readings on Telegraph. They talked about the Jimi Hendrix concert that night at the Filmore in San Francisco, which they were attending together. Alex was wishing she was going too, but knew her parents would never let her go to the Filmore. It was known for its wild party like atmosphere with drugs circulating like popcorn and candy.

While they were packing up their things, Michael told Alex that he played guitar with a friend at the White Horse over on Shattuck Avenue on weekends.

Why don’t you come on by, he suggested.

Oh that sounds great, maybe I will, Alex replied, knowing well she couldn’t get in even if she could go. She was only 17 and had told Michael she was 18 when he asked.

An old faded yellow VW Bus pulled up along side of the curb in front of them with music exploding from inside. Jimi Hendrix was bellowing out his hit tune; Hey Joe.

A skinny guy with long stringy dark blonde hair came around from the driver’s side, singing along with the music.

Hey you ready to go? he called out as he walked up to Michael.

Michael quickly introduced Alex to his roommate Jonathan.

We gotta’ go man, we gotta’ set up by 6 o’clock tonight, Jonathan said quickly.

Alex gathered Jonathan was playing at the White Horse with Michael. She peered inside the open back door of the van, which was fixed up like a bedroom. There was green shag carpet on the floor and bright yellow curtains covering all the rear windows. A mattress on the floor had a flowery printed bedspread over it and on top of the bed were big yellow pillows.

The two guys quickly loaded Michael’s boxes into the van and Alex watched as it noisily rambled off down the street, music still blaring from inside. A few minutes later her father’s shiny Continental pulled into the vacant spot left by Jonathan’s van.

Well, guess it’s back to the lonely grind, she thought with a sigh. But I’m comin’ back next week!

On the ride home Alex immediately told her father about some of the new friends she met that day and how different they were from her friends at school.

The kids at school are so phony, she explained. They talk about everyone as soon as they turn their back. They try to act like someone they’re not. I just don’t fit in with any of them.

You do the best you can Lexie, just be your sweet self, he reassured her.

They each drifted off into their own thoughts the rest of the way home.

CHAPTER 2  

WELCOME HOME

The Vietnam war was now at its height and the families of America were pulled in many different directions. There were those that favored war, wanting it at any cost. The overthrow of the communist government in North Vietnam was the goal of many war hungry Americans. Some families had members who refused to go to war, instead serving jail time or fleeing the country for refuge to another. So many families were torn and unable to decide unanimously which was the right thing. For the first time the atrocities of war were broadcast on the nightly news. Families gathered together to watch live coverage of war protests, bombing and killing and innocent lives and a country being shattered to pieces. Many could not admit they were possibly watching their own sons and daughters being displayed like it was a movie. It was surreal and yet horribly true.

***

Alex sat at the kitchen table trying to study for a test. Unable to concentrate, she stared down at the vinyl tablecloth, her fingers tracing its red and white checked pattern back and forth. Her mother, father and her father’s brother, Uncle Frank were in the family room watching the news coverage of the war. Uncle Frank was a decorated hero of WW2, a Captain in the Army. They were talking about her brother Charlie who was coming home on a three-day leave before shipping out to Saigon. Charlie was now a Lance Corporal in the Marines who had studied mechanics in school and was going to be a driver for important military commanders in Saigon. He would be getting a big pay increase for his new position and her father was proud of him, so was their Uncle Frank. Her mother was only worried, which led to the nightly drinking and their fighting. The talk in the next room became louder and Alex tried to block it out, but Uncle Frank’s booming voice was hard to ignore.

Franny, you should be proud of Charlie, let him know he is doing the right thing. We gotta’ show those commies we can whip ’em every time.

That’s right dear, you really can’t worry yourself sick about this. The boy is going to be fine, you’ll see, Alex’s father Richard said in a comforting voice.

With a horrified look on her rapidly aging face, Francine sat starring at the TV screen; a newscaster was showing the recent bombing of a village. There were bodies of men, women and children lying exposed on the ground in the center of the camera’s view.

How can you men act so calm about all of this. Look at the television. Don’t you hear and see what’s happening over there. Innocent people are dying for no reason. Even our own military are killing each other. She drained the last of her gin and tonic; her hand shaking as she lowered it from her thin pursed lips. Francine had always been a well-manicured lady in good social standing. As a pretty debutante her own mother had molded her into a proper and refined young woman who expected life to give her everything she desired. But then Francine fell in love with Richard Price who came from a poor family and she was shunned from the upper class society world in San Francisco that she had been groomed for. Francine thought of the life that her mother had wanted for her as she went to the kitchen for another drink.

Watching his wife sway out of the room, Richard turned to Frank, blowing out smoke from the last drag of his cigarette. His voice now a whisper, he said, Look Frank, I know Saigon is still far from most of the heavy fighting, but Charlie is probably going to be out on some dangerous missions. I can see why Frannies upset and she has a right to be.

Richard this is just part of being an American and how you do your country proud. We served our country in Europe remember? We have to fight for democracy. Frank stood up, his tall husky frame seeming to dwarf the small room. I have to go, Connie’s expecting me to barbecue tonight. We’ll come over tomorrow to see Charlie before he goes.

***

The next day after school, Alex walked up the street to her house. She saw her brother’s 1947 Woody station wagon parked in the driveway. Its faded green paint and dusty brown wood paneling melted into the late afternoon dusk. She picked up her pace and ran into the house, her heart bursting.

Tall and slender, his khaki uniform looked good on him. Her brother Charlie was deep in a discussion with their father at the kitchen table with a bottle of Coors beer in front of each of them. Charlie turned around as she hurriedly closed the screen door behind her. Rushing towards each other, they embraced tenderly.

It’s been awhile Sis, you’ve grown up since I last saw you, Charlie said softly as he wrapped his strong arms around her.

I’ve missed you Charlie, Alex whispered, as tears mixed with joy and sorrow stained her face.

Hey now, we’ve got a lot to talk about Sis.

Charlie, so much has changed around here since you joined up, and the war, well every thing is different, everywhere. Alex’s eyes filled with tears as she lowered her head, causing her long silky hair to cover her face and eyes.

Shh, Alex, let’s not talk about that kind of stuff. Come outside to the Woody, I want to tell you something.

Charlie led Alex to his car and opened the driver’s door, then gestured for her to get inside.

Madam, please get in. He bowed gallantly, easing her into the seat and closing the door. Charlie always had an easy going way about him, which put people immediately at ease. His soft brown eyes were gentle and his continuous smile was charming.

With a puzzled look on her face Alex smiled as Charlie got into the passenger seat beside her. What’s up? What are we doing Big Brother?

Dad tells me you’re really getting serious about your paintings and selling them in Berkeley. I’m proud of you Lex and I want to see some of them later, but for now I want to give you some tips on driving your car.

My car? Alex questioned.

Yea, this one, he patted the old weathered dashboard. I won’t have much use for it the next couple years. Rather than just letting it sit around and I know how well you take care of your stuff. This way you won’t have to borrow Dad’s car or have him drop you off in Berkeley.

What does Daddy say, will he let me have it? Her eyes were bright with excitement as she ran her hands softly around the steering wheel.

It took a bit of doing, but I think I’ve convinced him. How about taking it out for a trial run?

Just then their father walked into the driveway. He leaned down and rested his arms in the open window next to Alex.

So Lexie, are you up to being a car owner? This is a big responsibility you know. His voice was serious, but a gentle smile lightened his face.

I think so Dad.

We’re going for a short drive before dinner Dad, want to go along? Charlie asked.

Alex’s eyes opened wide, looking back and forth between them.

No, you two kids go ahead, I’m sure you have things to talk about. Don’t be too long though, your Uncle Frank and Aunt Connie will be here soon.

OK, Charlie nodded.

Alex nervously started the old wagon and backed slowly out the driveway. They talked freely about everything on their minds as they cruised the familiar neighborhood. Charlie reassured her his post in Vietnam was an easy one, with not much danger in the area that he was going to be stationed. She felt more at ease with this news and they were soon laughing about old times at home.

The radio still works good I think, he turned up the volume and spun the dial, listening for a better station. The Beach Boys came on playing one of their popular songs, The Little Old Lady From Pasadena. Both of them laughed and sang along together.

Throughout dinner that night Alex was quiet. She listened, as everyone seemed to avoid talking about the war. Her mother didn’t have too much to drink, which was a good sign she thought. Her father brought another round of beers for the guys halfway through dinner as they talked about the Bay Area sports teams. The talk was mostly about how the Oakland Raider football team was doing and how they might get to the super bowl.

As Alex lay in bed that night wild and crazy thoughts raced through her mind. Tossing and turning, sleep failed to come until half way through the night. In the morning she was awakened early by the voices of her parents and Charlie in the kitchen.

More coffee Charlie sweetie? His mother touched him gently on the shoulder, pouring the steaming hot liquid into his cup before he could answer. I’ve got more pancakes ready if you want some.

OK Mom thanks, I sure miss your cooking, Charlie answered happily, as he wolfed down a heaping forkful of pancakes dripping in maple syrup.

His mother smiled an angelic smile to herself as she opened the oven to take out another plateful.

Alex entered the kitchen saying sleepily, I was thinking Mom, maybe I’ll stay home a couple days while Charlie’s home.

I suppose that’s a good enough reason, as long as you won’t miss anything important at school. What do you think Daddy? she said, turning to her husband as she poured him more coffee.

Sounds all right to me, her father added.

The next few days streaked by like a jet through the clouds. Charlie spent most of it at home visiting the family, occasionally going out to reconnect with a few friends, then he was gone. The house seemed so quiet without his presence and the sound of his voice. Each of them inwardly hoped to somehow see him still there, sitting