I came accross this by an anonymous author I thought you might want it for your storybook;

2nd in a series;

Rounding the corner of Haste and Telegraph landed the young yippie, our hero, in a mass of confusion. Noise and clouds of smoke or tear gas mixed with the acid to make most of the day a blur with a few clear memories interspersed. Small roving bands of people running like hell, the kid from Kansas bringing wheelbarrows full of rocks up to the "Ave.", the shopkeeper sheltering kids in his store from the tear gas, the windowless B. of A., the guys on the balconey over the Rathskeller yelling at the demonstratrors, and finally the police round up.

What they were thinking when they placed all the arrested folks from the Ave. in one cell block is still a mystery today, what they got was a continuation of the madness out side inside their jail. After hours or overnight (?) the whole noisy obnoxious bunch was taken to a courtroom full of noisy obnoxious supporters. It seems after these many years the court thing was just a formality and most if not all of the people were released. They were happy to get rid of these lunatics and get back to "normal".

For the next weeks and months in Berkeley there were continous small acts and a few big ones against anything connected with "them". Small fires up and down the Ave. slashed police car tires, etc. were the norm and a few such as the Oakland Draft Induction Center occurance were a major event.

While all this was going on the opportunity presented itself for our hero to "liberate" funds from a drug dealer (narc maybe?) who was preying on the masses! In the name of the revolution and to get out of Dodge the drug dealer/narc was relieved of a sum of money which was used to get a number of people out of town and to party.

With the Dana yippie house to hot to return too our hero says good bye to Berkeley and proceeds into the great "unknown"......Oakland! On a quite side street, 53rd street to be specific, was a small nondiscript bungalow used by the Diggers at the time as a crash pad and place to fix food to give away on the street.

Our hero can't remember who told him of the house, Isreal, or somone else perhaps, but how he came to know of this house doesn't matter. What does matter was that the minute he stepped into the front room of this ordinary bungalow nothing would be ordinary ever again.

On the couch in the front room on that fatefull evening sat sisters Daisy Mae and Ava, and this is where it becomes fuzzy, with Mary somewhere near? Taking center stage however was a fellow named Mike, last name Spike. Intimidating when you first met him with his black hair, missing teeth, greasy vest and leather patched jeans; this cat was not soft spoken and he used all this to create a twinge of fear in the uninitiated. (Mike would of course become a big part of our hero's life, our hero having the opportunity to bail Spike's butt out on a number of occasions (Isreal bailing our hero out/our hero bailing Spike out, w.g.a.c.a.), and Spike is greatly missed by our hero. This montage of sights, sound and people in the front room of a bungalow in Oakland in the winter of 1971 remains to this day one of the things our hero is glad he got to be part of.)

Back in the front room some way the talk got around too the need for food and beverages with Mike volunteering to take our hero's "donation" to the party fund to the store and bringing back provisions. This "donation" was in response to something between a demand and request and our hero, having consumed and dispensed a number of doses of mind expanding medication (also at Spike's request!), was in no condition to object. As it turned out this might have been considered a mistake but we were young and pretty damned spaced out!

Spike left with a fistfull of cash into the Oakland night, the energy in the room was reduced, a noticable change. After a period of time, which to this day seemed mighty long, (could Spike have stopped off to quench his thirst?) Spike returned with supplies.

Food to him turned out be white bread, luncheon meat and large amounts of packaged cheese which he dumped in a pile on the front room floor looking pretty darned proud of himself (the proverbial "mountain of cheese"). Beverages to him meant one thing Red Port! After this our hero's recollections of that evening fades, but he does remember his first and lasting impression of Red Port: one of the nastiest concoctions ever dreamed up.

Coming too the next morning our hero wakes in a front room with some Diggers. Through the door he hears Spike talking to someone, its the Dealer/Narc looking for our hero. Whether Spike is stalling the D/N or is so spaced he isn't making sense really doesn't matter now but it gives our hero the time needed to leave through a front window, into Oakland and on to the adventure of the rest of his life.

Possible next installment: Cross continent adventure including, meeting the crew on the "Hill" in Boulder, Katy in Albuquerque, mod squad on Boylsten Street, partying in the Cambridge Commons graveyard, tanks in the streets of Montreal, and other excitement.