Sky-Y Summer 2

Back to Camp

I wouldn’t say year two at Sky-Y camp was better, if anything it was not as good, but it was certainly timely, appropriate to both my age (16) and the gestalt of the day (post-1968 and post Summer of Love). I probably read something about the Summer of Love in San Francisco, but already during those occasional work weekends at the camp over the winter, some aspects of the Summer of Love were starting to reach me even in hick Arizona. To my frustration this had nothing to do with love and sex but only with drugs and rock&roll.

I think Simon & Garfunkel and the Beach Boys started having to make way for Cream by the end of that first summer, but it was over the winter that demon weed reached me out there in the snow covered woods. The second summer I was living in a cabin right next to the horse corral with two stoners, listening to the latest Led Zeppelin, but no longer working with the horses.

This was a wood frame cabin with screen windows (that did little to keep out all the flies from the corral) and solid wood shutters that could be lowered to completely block the windows. We spent most of our free time reading comics and killing flies.

My fly killing method of choice involved shooting big, fat rubber bands at any fly resting on a wall or ceiling. The velocity of the rubber bands exceeds the fly’s ability to respond, so this is remarkably effective once you get your aim down -- and it’s also kind of fun.

This was also the only time in my life when I read comic books. We ended up with someone’s massive collection of Marvel and DC comics of the period. Mostly I remember Silver Surfer, The Watchers, The Fantastic Four, and Green Lantern. We would run around the forest like idiots pretending to be our favorite super heroes (Green Lantern in my case because being a Watcher turned out to lack dramatic potential).

I now had wheels, (see The Cars of My Life section for my Autobianchi Bianchina Cabriolet)

The guy with a friend in Vietnam would receive a package in the mail that contained a hat, or something equally innocent, and a pack of normal looking cigarettes. Upon opening the pack, we would discover that, while the pack said “Salem,” the filter cigarettes inside were all marked “Kool.” But by this point the smell of weed had given it away. We would have to take the cigarettes apart and re-roll them, but rolling was one of my favorite things to do, so this was fine.

At the time, this grass was unusually strong but now it would be strangely weak. What we would do is drive my little car into the forest, close up the windows and top, and smoke several joints. The interior of the Fiat was so small it was like climbing inside a bong. Then I would drive, slowly, into Prescott where we would order the exact same items every day from the drive-in A&W Root Beer stand where you could park and order into the little speaker/microphone without getting out of the car (having to stand up). Hours later, or so it seemed, a girl would bring your order to your window and take your money. Munchies under control, we would then drive around Prescott trying to get lost (which we usually succeeded at) before driving back to camp.

Radio reception up in the mountains was not good so often we would only be able to get Country stations. Originally we listened just to mock, but this was the golden age of country music. Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty were still going strong. Dolly Parton was still recording with Porter Wagoner. This was a little early for Outlaw Country but I was hooked and would be ready when Willie and Waylon began shaking up the Country Music scene.

I think it was a winter weekend after this summer while we were again working at the camp, when the three of us did LSD. I believe it was called Orange Sunshine. It was my first and only time, they had done it before. For some reason we took the tabs while we were still working in the kitchen and started coming on before we were finished working. That wasn’t working so we all just snuck out and ran for it. 

The acid was interesting. And beautiful. But for me it lasted too long. I was ready for the walls and floor to stop being paisley and the thought of going to sleep in that state was a little scary. Timothy Leary would have been very disappointed in me, but I decided I would stick with weed and leave psychedelics to the pros.

Not long after that episode I pretty much lost track of my friends. We met up one more time in Scottsdale before I started college. As they drove off, Pat was waving a syringe at me out the window (technically a “fit” I think it was termed, a homemade device for shooting up drugs constructed out of a glass dropper with a syringe needle attached at the end). I’ve often wondered where those two ended up.