It's April 1965 - You're Gonna Start A Band - People Laugh - You Don't.

June 1968 - You're In Twelfth Grade - You Have The Right To Remain Silent

Okay - not what you had in mind, the week before Summer Vacation. You and your buddies; all four of you, huddled in an alley outside your girlfriend's parents house, firing up a joint - taking turns - waiting for the buzz - stereo floating through the neighborhood - giggling to yourselves - warm night - the friend of a friend of a friend who sold you "honest to god Acapulco Gold" - big clouds of Skunk wafting - big eyes getting red - hacking and sucking air.

And then those flashlights - and the Sheriff's red lights - and those talking shadows - and the blood draining down to your feet and the saliva finding someplace else to go besides your mouth - cotton appears where spit once was.

Lined up - shrugging shoulders, looking at each other - hardened criminals - not knowing whether to be nervous or bust out laughing - voice booms out giving you the right to remain silent.

Sitting in the backseat, handcuffed - the stone faced Joe Friday and Officer Beamish - uniforms in the front seat - no backseat door handle - staring out at the Sunset Strip - the world having a party - you're not - it starts to dawn on you - you may be going to jail for a while - not quite sure why - nobody actually had the joint, it fell to the ground - little glowing ember - still; they mean business - maybe mugshots - maybe an example.

Four of you, shoved in a cell - one toilet - West Hollywood Sheriff's Station - stone face uniforms and fingerprints. New experience - so this is what getting busted is like?

One call - Parents not happy - Parents yelling - Mom freaking out - locked up for the night - steel bunks and a drunk driver - loud horking and teary promises - glad you don't drink. Bright lights staying on - nobody can sleep except the drunk - radio down the hall - gonna remember that song.

Next day - punchy like a wad of dough - baggy eyeballs and styrofoam breakfast - powdered egg and pretend toast - coffee that stands up to a knife fight.

Stern warning - misdemeanor - stink-eye parents - sullen criminal-types and squinting morning sun. Silent ride home.

Sentenced to Summer school - hoodlum friends off-limits - no Whiskey - No Canter's - just bragging rights.

No Station 8 this year - no wandering eyefuls - No chance romance, not unless it's in Algebra II.

Word gets around - everybody in school knows - you're dangerous - you're groovy - you're noticed.

Back home - bedroom pillaged by parents - posters off walls - records hidden - stereo confiscated, as if Music was the culprit.

Just you - face up on your bed - transistor radio and earphones - staring into space - that song.

Can't wait for next time.

Ninety solid minutes of The Real Don Steele - KHJ - June 14, 1968.

https://pastdaily.com/2024/05/04/its-june-1968-youre-a-teenager-you-live-in-l-a-youre-in-twelfth-grade-you-have-the-right-to-remain-silent/