THE DAILY NEBRASKAN
Editorials
Commentary
Friday, May 5, 1967
Page 2
Haight Hippies Profess Lpve
(EDITOR'S NOTE) The following
article by Sue Hutchison is a description
of the hippies of the famous Haight dis
trict of San Francisco. Miss Hutchison is
a contributor to the University of Wash
ington Daily.
We boarded the bus on Market St.
and felt just like any other two people
boarding a bus. But when we got off 15
minutes later on Haight St. (pronounced
"hate") something was different.
Haight St. was busy that noon. The
cars and busses passed in the street,
.: shoppers walked past stores and women
passed with children in their arms. The '
usual tall Victorian houses were quiet.
Love Society
But Haight is the hippies' district,
therefore different Some call it a zoo,
others a commune and the hippies call it
a love society. There cars do not whiz
they creep and cameras poke through
their open windows. There shoppers may
beg for their money. Children may ride
papoose boards.
All this left us feeling foreign in our
typical college clothes. We knew we
looked like tourists when a cold-looking
young man with curly brown hair brist
ling from under a yellow cap approached
us and asked for change.
On one corner we stopped to talk to
a group of cameramen from the British
Broadcasting Company. They had been
in the Haight area for a month making a
documentary in color to show to British
audiences. This particular morning they
were set up on the corner by the Drug
store cafe the main gathering place for
the hippies.
Being God is Groovy
As we talked with the crew, a man
wearing a leather vest, but no shirt,
walked up and looked over my shoulder.
His hair was thin and straight and falling
in his eyes. A large medallion lay just
above his protruding stomach.
We asked him where he was from.
"I'm down from heaven. I'm God,"
was the reply.
"How long wil i be here"
"IH be here as umg as I can continue
being me. Being God is the grooviest part
of being."
It was a cold gray day and occasional
raindrops made splotches on the sidewalk.
But the man said he didn't mind the cold.
Then he returned to the group of 10
or 12 hippies sitting on the sidewalk by
the cafe. One was playing a guitar and a
harmonica at the same time. He wore a
blanket and his hair reminded me of
Phyllis Diller. A green cape kept out the
cold.
Near him a dark-haired girl, wearing
an Indian headband, clapped her hands.
Another squatter raised a half gallon of
milk to his mouth. His neighbor hugged a
Meal
Soon someone came from the group
and began to line up coins. They said they
wanted to buy Haight St. and asked for
more coins. Where was the line going?
"AH the way to Market St." Later we
learned it was probably going to buy the
next community meal.
This is the life of Haight St. during
the day. What motivates it depends on
the people you talk to. They don't all
share every philosophy, but Love is an
important word in their vocabulary.
One man dressed all in corduroy with
three tiny bells dangling from his belt,
talked about his life. He had been a
printer in North Carolina, he said, and
then be had worked for the government
in Washington. D.C. That was the im
moral part of his life, he said.
Moral Dope Pusher
Now that be is a dope pusher, he con
siders himself a moral man and is con
cerned about his civil liberties. Asked
about his civil responsibilties, he said,
"I fulfill them, I pay taxes. I vote. I
don't lie, steal, or even play complicated
social games." -
He has a philosophy of government,
too. A former Communist, be sow be
lieves democracy to be the best system,
but says, "People have to be able to trust
one another and love one another be
fore any system will work."
Nearby stood Gary, a curly haired
man from Detroit who wore a button that
said, "AH I want is Love."
Lover Hates Lyndoa
But be bates Lyndon Johnson. He says
America is dead and "out of its mind."
He pointed to hippies who came up and
introduced themselves and said, "You see,
they love. They don't hate."
He disagrees with the printer's pol
itics, believing that Communism is a good
system. "Communists are the most beau
tiful people in the world," be said.
But be thinks people should have pri
vate property to protect themselves from
big government.
Tbf hippie life is sot all comfort and
tux Xhcjr fcrva several problems tines -
of which are health, tourists and the po
lice. The former printer coughed all during
our conversation, and when another man
came up and introduced himself they
compared illnesses like two women on
the phone.
"Best way to get over bronchitis,
man, is to get three bottles of Vick's
cough syrup, drink it down and by the
time you come down the bronchitis isn't
bothering you."
Social Disease
San Francisco policeman Leo Mc
Guire said of the hippies, "They say
cleanliness is a social disease. They don't
take care of themselves." He has pa
trolled Haight St. for ten years. The
hippies have only been there in large
numbers for a year and a half.
Tour busses have started going
through the district now and Haight St.
is often full of cars with tourists taking
pictures. The hippies say they try to love
them, but they dislike them.
"They want us to entertain them. We
want to love them. We resent them be
cause they make a circus out of us. If
they would take us seriously we would
get along."
"Man wants to fight We don't want
to fight But if we have to, it will be
terrible. We are powerful. We will use
magic weapons the Man doesn't know
about," said the former printer who now
says he communicates with his wife in
North Carolina by telepathic waves.
Further resentment of the tourist is
shown in signs in windows. Like one which
read, "Hey gang, Let's all communicate
with the tourists with the Universal Sign
Language. When you see the Gray Line
bus coming: 1) raise arm, 2)clench fist,
3) extend finger, 4) grin."
Justification Lacking
We could not determine the justifica
tion of the complaint of police harass
ment. One police car sat in the district. A
motorcycle officer rode up to the drug
stores and talked for a while. And the
police patrol in two's at night. But even
they are not sure how much of the crime
is attributable directly to the hippies.
"We can't tell. They attract the
strong-arm element by their presence.
But we can't tell how much of the actual
crime petty shoplifting and stuff
is done by them," McGuire said.
Most anyone will make his own obser
vations about the hippies. McGuire says
they take advantage of others.
"They use the word love as a lure.
True love doesn't exist here," he said.
He used the example of hippies who walk
up to a child with a donut and take a big
bite of the pastry.
A young man dressed in a pink shirt
and carrying a teddy bear walked up and
stood in a doorway. The son of a well-to-do
Seattle businessman, the clean and
slightly long-haired youth considers him
self apart from the hippies. He is, too. He
owns houseboats and "collects rent each
month.
Bohemian Not Beat
"I'm not a hippie, not a beat. Maybe
a Bohemian. I've had two and one-half
years at Reed College in biochemistry.
I could be a doctor. I want to travel in
Europe.
"Besides," he said, "you don't have
to be dirty to be a hip person. They talk
about the tourists and try to fake out the
cameras. But they are doing the same
things they complain about in other
people."
He says he has little problem getting
rent from the hippies because jobs are
pJesJiful and they either work or put up
with someone who supports them.
He doesn't run with the hippies and
considers himself a law-abiding person.
But asked if be uses dope he says, "It's
more common every day."
But as far as meeting on the Drug
store corner be says, "I don't go in with
groups. I come up here and stop to talk
to people I know. But all the Bohemians
have left Some of these people are beauti
ful, but they outdo themselves."
Turn ov er Large
But Haight is always changing. Mc
Guire says there is quite a turnover. The
hippies sever know bow long they will
stay. One doesn't know at alL Others say
IS months at least They have set up
shops and every time a Man closes a shop
the hippies open one.
They have a curious society sort of
like a convection where no one knows
anyone but everyone introduces himself.
Children are welcome so are the teen
agers eager to learn about Love and pot
and acid.
As we left, the printer hippie put his
am j around us and blessed us. It was
all very friendly, and the district was
peaceful. But somehow it was too peace
ful and the bells on the printer's belt re
mained in my eye. The bells and the
cough.
Sue Hatckisoi
Collegiate Press Service
E 35
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Campus Opinion
PTP Should Sponsor Scholarship
Dear Editor:
I read the article on foreign students in Wednesday s
paper and I would like to make a few comments.
Many valid points were made, however, I question
the one about registration fees. It seems to me that such
a fee would encourage those students accepted to coma
to the University rather than go somewhere else. (If I
remember right the registration fee for United States stu
dents is non-refundable.) So maybe the fee is not an
"unnecessary hurdle" (correct me if I'm wrong).
It was also mentioned that there are no scholarships
for incoming foreign students. Why doesn't People to Peop
start one.
I would be willing to contribute a small amount to
get the idea going." The Lincoln businessmen might even
wish to contribute, or maybe some Lincoln merchant
may want to establish a scholarship themselves, since they
are the ones who benefit in the end.
As for participation, I'm sure that there are many
organizations on campus which would be very willing to
have foreign students as members (The University Ama
teur Radio Club for one). However, the students' interest
or the organizations' publicity could both be lacking.
Larry Jenkins
Vigil Not Sponsored
Dear Editor:.
The Thursday issue of the Daily Nebraskan presented
coverage of the Weekly Silent Vigil for Peace which was
acceptable except for the fact that it was misrepresented
as being sponsored by the United Campus Christian Fel
lowship. The vigil was independent of any organization and
included people who were participating to express only
their sorrow that people are killing and being killed in
Vietnam. It was not supporting any specific program or
doctrine except peace.
Mary Peterson
Particia Bridgewater
JjftS7 Ode To The Hippies
Our Man Hoppe-
To Understand, Take A Fix
Dear Editor:
Who lives within this shroud of skin
Am I all there is of me
Or is there yet another T
I ought to be.
I ponder, though
Seem not to know
What knowing seems to be.
Now have I yet
In living met
The real, authentic me.
J. Paul Ronln
Arthur Hoppe
Athens
To understand our heri
tage, as Miss Plimsoll used
to say in the sixth grade,
there's nothing like a trip
to this cradle of Western
civilization where democ
racy was. conceived 2500
years ago.
And bow's it doing? Well,
the doctors are on strike,
the dentists are on strike,
the Post Office (a moderate
force) is only on strike four
hours a day, riots loom,
elections may be called off,
and a military coup is being
whispered about
As usual in Greece, there
are many political explana
tions for all this. In fact as
usual, there is exactly one
if ups the word
...BY KELLEY BAKER
And on the seventh day of May (of any year) they
massed outside the Capitol Building in ever-increasing
numbers till the crowd swelled to well over thirteen
thousand.
Many of the participants cast furtive glances over
their left shoulders, but the confidence of conformity
soon set in and the flock conservatively raised its v o i c e
in song and began to sway with the music to the right,
to the right and to the right
Right Hand
Finally, a gawkish young man in green slacks and
fallen white socks strode to the center of a speaking plat
form. He stood there for a moment, surrounded by eight
red-robed bodyguards, then raised the American sg
clutched in his right hand and signaled the beginning of
the parade.
The slender youth presented an odd appearance as he
squirmed his way through the herd . . . odd perhaps be
cause be was entirely without any dimension. That is to
say, be was missing a left arm, left leg, was blind in his
left eye and myopic in his right The scrawny lad kicked
the last clods from his foot as be reached the fringe of
the frothing mass where be plucked a fife from bis new
tattered shirt and led the flock toward their destination
the city's center of sin.
The crowd pressed after the awkward fellow and
soon gained a horrible momentum, like lava spewing down
a mountain side and through the streets of a city . . .
gnawing everything in sight.
Theme Srag
From the distance one could hear strains of the herd's
theme song break through the general clamor: "Don't try
to understand 'em, just rope and tie and brand 'em. Keep
them commies movin', damn their hides."
Quite a different phenomenon struck the observer who
was closer to the herd. It was difficult to distinguish faces
in the dust and dirt and flying filth of the followers, but
those who were visible had taken on new lines and
wrinkles almost as if they bad grown quite old during
the march.
The boy leading the parade raised his flag for the
second time upon reaching Thirteenth Street and in a
Minute the Men lock-stepped around the corner with
righteous precision.
New Bleed
The group rolled steadily down Thirteenth picking up
sew blood all along the route till they reached the alley
between "P" and "Q" Streets. With one more turn they
arrived at their destination.
By now the twilight had faded and most of the par
ticipants had lighted torches which cast an eerie glow over
the scene. The child leader cast his palsied eye ever tbe
crowd to chose the one grown oldest during the march to
perform a singular honor the right to start the building
burning.
When this had been accomplished the baby-faced
leader again mountedd his podium and bleated his words
of wisdom to those assembled :
Better dead than red. -
Better dead than well read.
Better burn
Than dare to learn.
In the future, insecurity.
In the past, certainty.
more political explanation
than there are Greeks. But
actually, there is only one
explanation that makes
sense:
The whole thing is a vast
anti-Coca-Cola plot.
I have this on the sworn
word of my good Greek
friend, whom I shall call
Mr. Zorba. Mr. Zorba is
loaded with inside political
information. (Any Greek
who isn't so loaded is imme
diately exiled to Brooklyn).
"It all began." began Mr.
Zorba happily, "several
years ago when Fix b e e r,
which had a monopoly on
brewing, decided to go into
the orangeade business, too.
The orangeade producers
complained. 'If you don't
like it, go make beer,' said
Fix, assuming nobody could
finance a brewery.
"B u t an enterprising
Greek got the Amstel brew
ery in Holland to build one
here. It r.-as a great suc
cess. And now only Mon
archists drink Fix."
Monarchists?
"Yei, that's because two
years ago, Prime Minister
Papandreou tried to fire
the Defense Minister. But
Papandreou's Government
fell because the King sup
ported the Defense Minis
ter, who (and here Mr. Zor
ba raised a triumphant fin
ger) was married to the
w i d o w of the Fix brew
ery!" No!
"Yes! And Fix also
makes Tam-Tam. That's
why Cyprus is such a con
tinuing crisis. You see,
Tam-Tam comes in a bottle
just like a Coca-Cola bottle.
In fact, Coca-Cola is suing.
Now, they have Coca-Cola
in Cyprus. But so far. Fix
has kept Coca-Cola and Cy
prus out of Greece. How.
ever, if tbe elections are
held next month, the Mon
archists would lose."
Oh.
"So therefore," said Mr.
Zorba, reaching his perora
tion, "the Fix-dricking
Monarchists have fomented
thii current situation in or
der to scuttle the scheduled
elections which, of course,
would result in Greece be
coming a Coca-Cola drink
ing nation."
'
I thanked Mr. Zorba for
his lucid explanation of
Greek politics and said I
felt the need for a Fix. He
said indignantly that any
body who'd drink Fix was
a rotten Fascist and 1
haven't sees him since.
Suggestions for Spring Day
Dear Editor:
The Day of Days is approaching! The Rite of Spring
is about to be crucified again . . . Spring Day 1967 . . .
FLASH!
Anybody that can seriously cut the mustard with
that program is deranged or senile or both.
With the' world in its present situation it seems rather
benign to spend an afternoon watching sorority pledges
build human pyramids and then watch a bunch of nuts on
bicycles race around a tractor testing track!
Hell, if we are going to celebrate let's do it up brown!
Here are a few suggestions.
First everybody on campus takes all the pop bottles
in their rooms and cashes 'em in. This tidy sum we spend
to rent Memorial Staium for all day Friday.
Secondly, we all write home for five bucks. Dat's 85
grand. Five thousand dollars of this is spent on first aid
supplies, then thousand dollars on tomato juice and the
rest on beer. The cups will be placed in three conven
iently located semi-trailer trucks located on the 30,50 and
30 yard lines. The kegs will be set on every five yard line
on both sides of the field. The Board of Regents will
handle the tapping duties.
Of course no Spring Day is worth a drop slip without
organized games!
Here's one to get things started. On Spring Day
Eve, we make twenty, fifty-gallon drums of Bourbon
Jell-o, half sweet, half sour. These will be removed from
their molds and placed on either goal line. Each team
will have three hours to push the mold across the opposite
goal. An opposing team will try to eat the tmng before
it gets there. The winners pass out, and losers receive a
fully customized University garbage truck to collect the
winners in.
Next event would naturally be a bone-crusher that
would allow we males to flex and herniate our flabby
bodies for the justification of the cause. O.K. We dig a
pentagon shaped pit and fill it with the entire accumula
tion of the past weeks leftovers from all organized living
units on campus. All challengers line up on opposite
sides of this five sided hole each holding a crib rat by its
ears. Challenges are hurled across the chasm of grease
in a witty and bantering style.
"You stink."
"Your old man licks manhole lids."
"Your mother knits pots and pans."
"Dormy."
"Frat-Rat."
A board is dropped across the pit and the contestants
come out swinging. The lone survivor gets an all expense
paid trip to Las Vegas with Dean Snyder.
By now everybody is blitzed, so let's fire up the band.
No less than the Six Fat Dutchmen on the forty yard
stripe challenged by Conway Twitty directly across the
field. This is no dance, it's a demolition derby!
The last standing couple is allowed one-half the de
posits on the kegs and a years continued deferment from
tbe draft. Let's do it!
"Wild Beel"
Daily Nebraskan
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