Andy's Journey: A trip of discovery

By Eric Striedieck

This is a story about a young man in the 1970s who is searching for some meaning in his life. He is confronted with the dilemma of the Vietnam War and the social changes that were taking place during that time. He ventures across the country in his aging VW van, meeting a variety of different people and having numerous experiences both interesting and harrowing. He delves into trying to understand the world and its complexities. His travels take him all the way across the continent and to Europe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639856329

Book preview

Chapter 1

Judge Rodriquez, stark and dominating in his judicial robes, commanded the scene in the courtroom. He pronounced the final sentence upon the defendant. It had been three years since the bust and much had transpired in the meantime.

The defendant was Douglas Adams, who had worked his way into Judge Rodriquez court over a ten-year period of clandestine and outside of the law activity. For Doug, this day was an end and a beginning. It was a day of great relief, and it was a day of deep depression. In those past ten years, Doug had progressed from the sunny beaches of southern California to the world of high stakes, international marijuana dealing.

As Judge Rodriquez read through the procedures, Doug was far away not grasping, really, what the judge was saying. Doug heard the tone of voice, the message in the vibration, but what was being said did not connect with anything that Doug knew. It had taken ten years of living as an outsider for Doug to arrive at the vision he now knew, and that view of the universe was far from anything that the judge would be uttering. There was no life, no juice, and no real message in his sentencing, only a repetition of words that had been directed at countless criminals for countless years. Doug displayed no emotion, no hint of agreement or disagreement. He was physically present, but his soul had escaped forever. Judge Rodriquez had no clue, no avenue to speak directly to Doug. They were inhabitants of separate worlds—worlds that would never meet.

The void that separated Doug and the judge was great. Here stood in unique juxtaposition a man who had set out on a psychedelic journey and found a new universe. Across the bench was a man who had followed a straight and narrow path, never wavering, never questioning, and always obeying the rules. Doug was the man who flouted rules, flowed, and drifted with the forces that were present at any given moment. His lot was to never know any rules, to see with a clarity that that was uncommon. He was truly dangerous to society that set of laws and rules, attitudes, and habits that was administered by the likes of Judge Rodriquez. Doug was a loner—alone, but not lonely. He was adrift in time and space but in touch with the raw and primal forces that dwell within all men. He was a maverick. Rodriquez was entombed in his structure complete in his compliance and totally committed to staying within the confines of the laws created by generations of judges, lawyers, and all of those beings who saw danger in freedom.

Behind the clear blue eyes that Doug held in neutral were dwelling feelings of compassion, love, anger, hurt, and confusion. There had been such great highs and lows in the past years. Now all the adventure, the activity, the joy, the pain, all of the fear and paranoia, and the success and celebration had come to this strange and alien place. What had started as an adventure to a different space was now grounded in Rodriquez’s domain. The songbird had been put in a cage.

Doug Adams, the judge said in heavy pronouncement. I hereby sentence you to seven years’ incarceration in the federal facility, for the crime of violating Federal statutes cc-109, Chapter 2, subsection A through D. Federal law requires that the defendant serve a minimum of three years for violation of each offense and a minimum of one year for violations of Federal statutes pertaining to the violation of the controlled substance act of May 1975. It is the opinion of this court that the defendant is subject to the maximum penalty and the law provides measure to apply this in your case.

However, he continued. In light of the fact that you have three children… A crack appeared. I am allowing that the sentences be served concurrently and that you be eligible for probation after completion of subsection C in the criminal code.

Something of the two worlds had come together in a fleeting instant. Throughout the three years of proceedings, amid the numerous court appearances, there had been a subtle but apparent bond crated between these two wholly different people.

Doug Adams, his voice darkened. You have been in court before, you have ignored the law, and you have been found guilty under the statutes of the United States. I am recommending to the prosecution that your record be made public and that any further transgressions of the law be prosecuted under the provisions of continuing criminal enterprise, which carries an automatic life sentence in prison. I cannot express the gravity of your actions, and I only hope that you will correct your thinking and that you will here forth obey and follow the laws created by the constitution of these United States.

Slam! The gavel crashed agains the block. His statement had been made, the sentence was set, and Judge Rodriquez was finished with this case finally. It had dragged on for years, and although it was more or less routine, it was a thorn in the side of the judge. This case would carry an element of unfinished business with it.

Doug turned and started to walk out of the courtroom. For a moment, he hesitated and looked to the stark bench that towered in the room. Still showing no emotion, Doug’s eyes for a moment connected with Rodriquez. Then he turned and walked out the heavy wooden doors that were the portals to justice in America. The year was 1973.

Chapter 2

Hey, Andy, go long for a bomb, the voice crisply directed Andy Davis to the far side of the grassy lawn for a long floating Frisbee toss. The white disk seemed to stay aloft for an unnatural period of time. Andy sprinted barefoot in his shorts to maneuver under the falling Frisbee. With outreached fingers, Andy was just able to make the catch.

What a feeling it was to be running flat-out in the warm spring sun on the green and soft grass of the local war monument. The year was 1979. While others were at work or school, Andy and his friends were enjoying the day as though it were a Sunday. The feeling was of freedom and contentment. Andy’s whole life was represented in that one Frisbee catch. His body was alive with energy. He was high from the running, and his whole focus was on the Frisbee.

Andy was twenty-eight years old and was living in his old VW van. He was the product of a confusing period of time. He had come from an ideal background, raised in a nice small town, had a good education, and had parents who were concerned and involved in his childhood. He was unemployed but earned enough money by working odd jobs and on cars, a skill he learned in order to have a car of his own, without much expense. His lifestyle was so streamlined that his only requirement for money was for food, gas, and occasional car parts. Excess funds bought such items as new Frisbees and allowed longer periods of time between jobs. Winter was less pleasant. He often worked at a variety of jobs at ski resorts in the New England states.

Frisbees and skiing consumed most of Andy’s desire in life. For whatever reasons, his interest in the mainstream of society had collapsed at some point. Exactly when that happened was never really understood by Andy. One summer after returning from the mountains and skiing, the usual school or job no longer seemed appropriate. The society was in turmoil. The Vietnam War was raging, and values long held dear in the society were falling like leaves in autumn.

Andy’s parents had worked hard and steadily all of their lives. They held close to the values of their day. For them, life was predictable, stable, and secure. They had enough money, a decent home, and a regular neighborhood with friends whom they had known for years. It was inconceivable to them why Andy had chosen to reject what they worked so hard to create for their children. They came from an era of hardship and poverty, from times of a bleak economy and a world at war. Andy had an uncle whom he never met who died in France while flying a fighter plane against the Germans. Andy’s father never forgot his brother’s death and never became complacent about the threat of a malevolent world power.

Andy was of a new generation, and try as he might, he simply did not have the same perspective and the same set of values that his parents held. A classic gap existed, and there seemed to be no avenue to bridge that void. Andy saw the military as an evil force in the world, not as the outgrowth of threats of the past. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels did not necessarily agree with the war in Indochina, but they did support the concept that the United States must stay strong and that the United States must maintain a constant vigilance against communism. They had seen what almost happened with Hitler; they had seen their dreams, their aspirations, and their freedom nearly disappear with the Third Reich. America had too much to lose. It could not allow another force in the world to take over. Communism had to be held at bay.

Andy had an idyllic life. He was never hungry, had a nice home, and could always see the doctor if needed. In short, he never saw the struggle his parents did. The hardships were never his. And yet there was an unsettled feeling within him. He had no understanding of what it was about, but it was there, and finally in this year, early in 1968, he finally yielded to this inner discontentment and dropped out of the lifestyle that his parents and the society had created for him. With great unrest and social upheaval, there came from underground a new drummer, a new beat, a different direction to go. The problem was ill defined; it was more of a denial and opposition to what existed.

Because of the Vietnam War, many people who were teetering on the edge of the society fell off. It became a standoff between the established order and the new consciousness.

Okay, Doolittle dog, your turn. Doolittle belonged to Hardy’s parents and often spent time with the three. And with that, Andy tossed the Frisbee as hard and as long as he could while Doolittle streaked off in hot pursuit. Hardy and Pete watched. The Frisbee bounced and rolled off in a large arc before the running dog captured it and clamped his powerful jaws down on the plastic.

Goddammit, don’t you bite it, screamed Hardy as he chased after the dog.

Stay, he commanded, and Doolittle did, sort of. The dog knew he was in trouble by the tone of voice, but didn’t know why; he was just doing his thing.

Andy retrieved the Frisbee, examined a couple of punctures, and cast a stern eye at Doolittle who got the gist of the look. As soon as Andy tossed the Frisbee of to Peter, Doolittle perked up and wanted to get involved again. Peter snatched the Frisbee and whipped it off to Hardy who completed the triangle on the War Memorial lawn.

Hey, Homer, Pete yelled at Andy. Homer was a nickname that got used on a variety of people. It came from high school somewhere, perhaps history class. The origin was unclear, but it was a display of chiding and friendship at the same time.

It’s about time to burn one, don’t you think? Peter posited.

O’ sure, may as well. Looks like I’ve got the D of the D, replied Hardy. D of the D translated to dubbie of the day.

Hardie was one in the group of dropouts from the Pennsylvania University town of State College. He was slightly more motivated than Andy or Pete and usually had a stash of marijuana. He didn’t mind sharing with his friends; it was a ritual of religious proportion for these guys.

The three assembled on an old civil war era cannon. It flanked the road to the stone structure that held the plaque commemorating the soldiers who died in service to their county. This park was a favorite hangout of theirs. It was an ideal place to toss the Frisbee, and it seemed like a great place to flaunt their marijuana smoking. They enjoyed blowing smoke in the face of the establishment.

Hardy lit the joint and took a long, deep draw and passed it to Pete who eagerly took the joint and inhaled with a wheeze and grunt. Instantly a change in presence overtook Pete. He settled back, still holding his breath, and passed the joint to Andy, who gingerly took it and slowly put it to his lips. Andy savored the moment while he drew the smoke deep into his lungs. Andy felt the tingle in his body; he felt peace and tranquility settle on his mind. The joint circulated the group for several times until it got too short to handle.

Anyone got a clip? queried Andy.

Not really, stated Hardy.

How about a Jefferson airplane? offered Pete.

Yea, said Andy. I’ve got matches here, somewhere.

And with the suggestion, Andy proceeded to take a paper match and split it lengthwise. Then he inserted the short joint in the middle and clamped the match together. This contraption served to hold the short joint and allowed the trio to smoke it to the very end.

A prolonged period of silence followed the ritual. Andy’s eyes were fixed on the sky. He watched as the clouds floated past and felt an affinity with them. O’ how beautiful, he thought. To live as a cloud, to drift in the sky, to grow with the day and fade in the evening. Clouds, after all, represent a form of freedom that doesn’t exist in the human realm. Clouds have no bounds and no structure, and no two clouds are alike. And yet they are very much alive. Cumulus clouds that grow in the summer sky have a life and drama of their own. They start as a small wisp and frolic for hours. Some days, they grow large and billow in the hot summer sun. Occasionally they have so much energy; they grow and culminate their day in a dazzling display of lightning and thunder.

Today the clouds were small and fluffy. There would be no light show tonight. The clouds and Andy would fade with the sunset and sleep till it was time to see what the next day brought.

Finally the silence was broken by Peter, I got to hit it, fellows, Betsy’s folks are in town, and we’re supposed to go out to dinner.

Hey, not too shabby, stated Hardy. I certainly wouldn’t pass on a free meal.

Well, Hardy replied. I’m not sure the meal is worth the BS that I have to endure with Betsy’s dad. He can’t seem to handle my haircut.

Peter’s haircut was in fact no haircut. He hadn’t cut it since returning from Vietnam nearly a year and a half before. It was in style with the other dropouts who sported long hair. It was a symbol of protest at the time. For Pete, it was a statement about the last time that he had his haircut. That time was when he entered the military. That haircut was more of a shave designed to make all of the government issues (GIs) look alike. It was a statement by the military that no expression of individuality would be tolerated. One was not to think, or to act, nor to look unique. That shaving was something that Pete would never forget.

Peter was a sensitive and kind person. He had led a quiet childhood and was considered to be very bright by his teachers in school. He didn’t belong to a large circle of friends, but those he had were loyal and true. His demeanor was soft and quiet, but he was not weak. His strength was his clear understanding of what was going on around him.

That is why Pete was not excited about the impending dinner date with Betsy’s parents. Pete saw through the facade of success that covered the inner being of Dale Lockhart. He was from all appearances quite well to do. He had a career with a large paper company and had worked himself into the boardroom. He had abundant money, a nice home in the country, and all of the trappings of success. There was little to suggest that Dale Lockhart was not having a good time in life. One thing bothered him deeply, and that was Pete. Why would his daughter hook up with this individual who was seemingly headed nowhere? Dale had no understanding about his daughter. He knew that success came from persistent hard effort and perseverance. He knew people who had stopped trying. They were all derelict. They were the true failures, the ones who were unable to compete in the make-it-or-break-it world.

His vision for his oldest daughter was far from what she was living. She had always been his little girl, and now he had to watch in utter confusion as she seemingly made a disastrous choice with Pete. She had shown such promise. In school, she excelled and was popular. She had gone to the State University and graduated easily. She could have a career of her own. Deep down, he wanted to see her married to a dynamic and successful man. He wanted to see her in a comfortable home visiting the children and being a part of the community. All his life, Dale had dreamed of what his daughter’s life would be like. He made every effort to provide her with the skills and education that she would need to be able to live happily and well-adjusted to the life that he knew so well.

Dale was a supporter of the Vietnam War. He saw great danger in the spread of communism, and beside that, his company had a large contract with the military. Though he would never admit it, that contract was his bread and butter. He would swear that his firm would have no difficulty in surviving without the government’s help. Even though the paper industry was in deep trouble, Dale was convinced that the prosperity of his company was due to its efficient operation. Being a member of the board of directors, he felt he knew exactly what was going on. His confidence flowed over into the world of politics where he also was convinced that the US policy was correct and appropriate.

Betsy had always loved her father. He was generous. He was always there for her as a child. He protected and consoled her; he was a pillar of strength for her as she grew from a small child through her teens and off to college. Betsy never felt a betrayal, as her father did. She loved him and didn’t confuse her own separate life with her feeling for her father.

It was a quiet confrontation when dinner came. Dale would like to have wrung Pete’s neck. Pete represented all that Dale saw as negative and wrong. Pete didn’t harbor any violent thoughts; he would have chosen to avoid this setting altogether. But it was really Betsy who brought these two worlds together, and both men knew they had to live with what Betsy had chosen for them. They both loved her, Dale as her father, the man who rocked her to sleep at night for so many years. This was the man who comforted the teenager who wasn’t voted Valentine Queen. He lived through her anxiety over the prom, and he watched the boys in the neighborhood vie for her attention. Pete was her lover; he was the man who touched the very core of her being. He was the man who resonated in romantic harmony with her; he was the one who made her see stars when he touched and caressed her. Pete and Betsy were united on a very deep level, a place that defies interrogation or logic or a father’s attempt to understand.

The restaurant that Dale chose was a semiposh, elegant place featuring French and American cuisine. It was really a statement on his part, an attempt to shower his daughter with an expensive treat and to make a statement to Pete. This was success. This is why one works and perseveres, so that life can be enjoyed. Here, for Dale, was