The Summer of Love

San Francisco At Last

The next morning we were finally there. San Francisco. As we first drove in we were flabbergasted and in the middle of all its beauty. So much color. And as if on cue, “Summer in the City'' by The Lovin’ Spoonful came on the radio as we drove in the hippie capital.

There were many things to see as we drove in this town. Policemen that were savage and brutes. Hippies and regular looking people holding up signs protesting the war and Hawks and well-dressed self-entitled pricks protesting the protesting. They were all manufactured by the establishment. There were hippies everywhere, just seemingly loitering, much to the dismay of nearby business owners. Older people hating our generation. But they could not be blameless, I had dealt with enough bullshit from those hippies at the airport in L.A. But I hoped this would be different, even though I knew it wouldn't. But I pressed on, for the sake of Henry.

I wonder if Posey had ever even been in a city before. I was thinking of asking him this when he said “You can just drop me off wherever.” I figured we’d need a map to find the park, so I figured the nearest gas station would suffice. I pulled into it and we all went in to stretch our legs a little. I got a map and after a couple bathroom breaks George and I were ready to find our friend. Then came the sad goodbye to our new friend. We walked to the car and he stayed behind. “Do you need any money?” George asked him. “We’ve got cash, and I-” 

“No. That’s OK. I’m good.” He said. “What will you do?” I asked him. I wondered if he had any real plan. “I’ll just hang out wherever I can, get a job as a bouncer or guard or something like that. And then I’ll get enough money to get my own place, or find someone who I can crash with.” “So you’re just going to be homeless for a while?” asked Geroge. He sounded worried. But Posey just chuckled. “This place doesn’t seem so bad. I lived on a reservation. Besides,” he showed us his revolver and then tucked it back in his pants. “I can take care of myself.” We shook hands and drove off.

We spent an hour trying to find the park. Map reading is not George’s strong suit. But we did find it eventually. There was no sign of Henry so we just sat around for a bit. After a few minutes Geroge went to the bathroom. I pulled out a cigarette and put it in my mouth. I was about to reach in my pocket for the lighter, when a hand extended in front of my face with a lighter in hand and asked me “Need a light?” I looked and it was a young black man, about my age. He had a small beard and wore a black leather jacket and a black beret. On his jacket was a pin with Malcom X’s face on it.

He lit up my cigarette and I thanked him. “No problem.” He said as he sat next to me. “Always glad to help out another black man.” I puffed my cigarette. “I hear that.” He looked out to all the white people walking by and scoffed in disgust. “These people, that race, they don’t get it. They hate us. Sure, some of them “supported” ending segregation but they won’t let us marry their daughters.” I was hooked on whatever spiel he was on. “All white folk, no matter what political party, either hate us or don’t give two shits about us.” I thought it was unfair to categorize all white people into just two categories, but I could see his point. Still, I didn’t buy it. George and Henry were too of the best friends I have ever had, and they were white. 

Then he looked at me. “There’s gonna be a race war.” His bold statement took me by surprise, I was silent for a second. “You do know that, don’t you?” I thought of my next words carefully. “That’s...quite possible.” He saw right through me. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Of course I didn’t, it was an extreme thought. But I still talked to him. “Well, I-” The man pulled out a pamphlet out of his pocket. “Maybe if you read this pamphlet you’ll realize how there's going to be white folk killing black folk pretty soon.”