The Long, Strange TRIP to UCONN Storrs

This trip look place in 1982 and involved several folks including BB’s suite-mate Kermit (later to become Kermit-the-Frog on the Amtrak train trip) and Charlie the Deadhead.  This was another roadtrip involving the friends of BB but not BB himself.

Enough background…Kermit and I wanted to see the Dead in Hartford for two shows.  We had no transportation and there wasn’t an easy way to get there by train so we decided to hitchhike.  Not the greatest idea we ever had, but it worked out.  We took local transportation to the Mass Turnpike exit ramp with our backpacks and my drugs.  We first got picked up by a commuter he drove us like 20 miles and dropped us off on the Pike.

There was another Deadhead standing there on the side of the Pike and we all were hitchhiking.  This old green Oldsmobile picked the three of us up.  The driver looked about 24 and had an army shaved haircut.  His sidekick, we found out was his kid brother, was in his late teens and also had a shaved haircut.  The guy was heading back to his military base and was driving 90 miles per hour when the speed limit was probably on 55. Then, part way through the trip, the kid started taking traffic tickets out of the glove compartment and announced each one as he threw them out the window of the car.  “Driving under the influence”; “Driving without a license”; “Driving 25 miles per hour over the speed limit”; “Parking in a Handicap Space <on a Handicap person>”.  There may have been more.  In 65 minutes we had traveled over 90 miles and he dropped us off at the exit.  We had survived. Kermit looked freaked out.

No drugs had been taken so far except in between the last two hitch hikes.  We smoked a bowl with he other Dead head.  We decided not to smoke with the lunatic as he was a shitty enough driver as it were.

The other Deadhead got a ride first because he was only one person.  A pickup truck with two Deadheads picked us up; this would be our last ride for the day.  They were heading to the show eventually but agreed to drop us off in Storrs, CT, the home of University of Connecticut.  We sat on the truck bead huddled in a blanket.  We gave the H/W hippies a joint to smoke for their kindness.  I tried to light a joint myself but it was too windy.  After an hour or more, they brought us right to the dorm we were staying at.

Charlie the Deadhead grew up in an affluent part of Connecticut.  His Dad was a doctor.  I think his Mom was too-I am sure BB remembers.  He was Jewish but had a weird drug dealer friend who had a poster of Adolf Hitler and WW II memorabilia in his home town.  It always made me uncomfortable (being born Jewish and all) but he never said anything insulting.  I never understood the appeal-it must have been the roses (the drugs).

Charlie was there at the dorm like he said he would be.  He was reasonable tall, skinny and unkempt, and had a beard and a Jew fro.  He always wore a Dead tee shirt.  He quickly took out a joint and we began smoking it with his friends (who I quickly forgot their names as soon as the words left his lips).  I remember “Murph” because I had met him through BB in Fairdale, CT.  We started discussing the logistics of getting to the shows.  We had tickets for that night and the next night-Charlie only went to the Sat. night show so he remained behind but set us up with his and BB’s friends-remember BB?

When the show was over, we caught a ride back to UCONN and Charlie was there.  We talked about the set list, how we were going to get cassette tape copies of the show, and Sat. night plans.  Charlie looked baked and we had not dropped LSD that night.  We eventually settled down and slept on the floor of a dorm room.

I don’t remember much about the next day.  We dropped LSD (from MIT) and went to the show.  But the real fun started when we went back to this condo.  The tenants were Grad student Deadheads who went to the show and were friends of Charlie.  All of us were tripping on something.  This is the interesting part.  There is a dice game named Cosmic WhimpOut*.  There is a similar game called Dice 10,000 or Ziltch**.  In Fairdale, they played Ziltch as opposed to Cosmic Whimpout.  Tonight we played something new.

There was a dartboard (and darts) set up, a table with 6 dice, and a table with Tequila and shooter glasses.  The idea was to throw a dart (which was presumably scored), roll the dice (which was presumably scored), and then do a shot.  There were like 8 of us all tripping ( I mentioned that already) and we were drinking Becks, the beer of Fairdale.  The hosts were very excited because this had never been done like this.  They were moving out of the condo the next day and obviously were not concerned about their cleaning deposit.

We all fell asleep about 4:30 AM and woke up hung over.  I have no idea how we got back to Boston.  We must have gotten a ride from someone at the shows-I don’t know.

Footnotes:

*The five Cosmic Wimpout dice are referred to as “cubes”. Four of the cubes have face values of “two swirls”, “three triangular glyphs”, “four lightning bolts”, “the number 5”, “six stars” and “the number 10” – the fifth cube, often a different colour, has a single “flaming sun” icon in place of the triangular glyphs.^[3] The general rules for the game have evolved since its inception and there have been various minor modifications made to the colors and patterns of the face designs on the cubes.

**The game requires six standard dice and a pencil and paper for scoring. Each player starts out “off the table” with a score of zero. Players collect points during their turn, and either add those points to their cumulative score, or continue rolling with the risk of losing all points accumulated that turn if a scoring combination is not rolled.

Captain Trips, This Bud’s for You!

Cut title huh?  Here is a link for the music:  https://archive.org/details/gd81-05-01.wise.clugston.2218.sbeok.shnf

It was Friday May 1st, 1981, and the Peoples Express plane was set to leave Boston around 9 AM.  Security was usually piss-poor at the airports so bringing in drugs in the luggage or on the body was never much of a hassle.  This time was no exception.  There were tens and tens of Deadheads with colorful shirts, long hair, and backpacks in the security line.  If the TSA really wanted to rack up their stats, they would have searched everyone on that flight including the babies.  But as usual, it was status quo.

The waiting area for the flight was flooded with Deadheads; talking about shows, eating, drinking, showing each other tapes and set lists, and laughing.  It was not much different from a Grateful Dead show parking lot except there was no cooking or nitrous balloons; or cars/buses.  The Peoples Express staff were trying to announce the flights over the commotion.  Flight number 105 (I don’t really remember the flight number) is boarding for Hampton Virginia (the crowd screamed “Jerry”).  It was about 8:30 AM.  Everyone packed up their shit and boarded the plane.  This is where the real fun happened.

There were roughly 100 passengers; 93 Deadheads, 7 ord’s (ordinary folks) and a crew of 4.  The music was blaring and people were talking and making noise.  Remember that back in the 80’s they allowed smoking on the plane.  This will become important in a few minutes.

The young steward who could not have been any older than 24 began to do “the airbags will drop” rap.  “Ladies and Gentleman, on stage left we have Jill; on stage right we have Mary; and your captain…Captain Trips himself, Captain John Jackson.”  The crowd roared.  Why?

Because Bill Graham once introduced the Grateful Dead the following way:

“Good Evening, we welcome you….on behalf of the group. We should introduce……we should thank United Artists and Mr. Ron Rakow. I should…make it official, Mr. Rackow is the president of Round Records and he asked if I could be here this evening and I said I would like twelve dollars and fifty cents paid at the door. We flipped double or nothing and I won. He wanted to flip again and I won so I am being paid fifty dollars…for being here…I want to thank him very much.

Strumming Starts

On the piano, we have Mr. Keith Godchaux………On the drums on stage left….Mr. Mickey Hart…..On bass and vocals…Mr. Philip Lesh…..bump, ba-bump, bump….on rythyum guitar and vocals….Mr. Bob Weir…..On the drums on stage right…Mr. Bill Kreutzmann….on vocals….Mrs. Donna Jean Godchaux…..on lead guitar and vocals….Mr. Jerry Garcia….Will you welcome please…..THE GRATEFUL DEAD”.

<Ok thanks for letting me have an ADHD moment.>

As soon as the flight crew announced that we had reached 15000 ft, and that it was okay to smoke.  The stewards were coming around to take drink orders, & the bongs, pipes, rolled joints and cigarettes came out.  There was quickly a cloud of smoke that smelled like pot and cigarettes.  The music was loud and there was lots of talking.  I think that we had all forgot that we were in an airplane under the FAA’s jurisdiction.  The Heads started ordering drinks; two at a time.  Remember it was 9 AM.  And not just beers; the hard stuff.  People got louder as they drank-go figure.  And I was no exception-I drank, toked, and talked.  I was wearing one of my best tie-dyes.  I think it was spring break.

At 9:35 AM the steward came back on the PA system.  “Congratulations, this is the first time we ever sold out of alcohol on a morning flight!”  The heads cheered.  Everyone had at least two drinks; well all except the 7 ord’s and the crew.  When we deplaned (what a bullshit word), everyone of us apologized to the 7 ord’s and they all smiled and said they understood as if they wish they could have participated.

We got into the airport sometime after ten.  I got a ride (or took a cab) to the Days Inn.  Now when JN, my childhood friend of 4 years old, told me Days Inn, I naturally thought Daze Inn and thought he was full of shit.  But I had the street address and figured it out when I arrived.  He as there and we smoked a joint and someone took our picture outside of the motel room (I still have a copy).  The picture depicted us smoking a small apple-wood pipe that I had whittled.  It was awesome.

At this point, I could lie and tell you details about the performance, etc. but I won’t.  I do remember, however, when we left the hotel Sunday, that I could not find my $50 Ray-bans.  JN was heading back to school in NC and me, back to Boston.  And that’s the trip.

The Greatest Acid Party of All Times – I Am Butter

I have a few friends that lived together in a condo; Beth, Ronnie and MB.  They had artistic candles that were influenced by the Grateful Dead.  Bright colors everywhere.  Also shelves will all kinds of bongs; glass, ceramic, and plastic.  They loved smoking pot.  In fact they were customers of mine.  But whenever I came over, I brought pot.

MB and I had a side thing going.  She was pretty, Jewish, cute, easy going, and had nice tits.  I never realized it, but she geniuly loved me.  She had a bisexual weight lifting boyfriend who went to Columbia University and was on the Wrestling team.  And before you cum to any conclusions, I only met him once and we never had sex with MB or each other.  They did however live in my apartment one summer.  The one owned by the Egyptian slum lord.  Yikes!

Not to go off tangent, but I will, I got her pregnant and her boyfriend not only split the bill with me for the abortion, but thanked me for being responsible.  I think he thought it could be his but she had her period in-between the last time they had sex and the pregnancy.  MB was on the pill and I think that she wanted to get pregnant with my child.  Her and LK both wanted to.  But only she actually did.  The nice thing was her tits got even bigger.

It was the day of the great acid party.  Only nice people were invited.  The girls hung up psychodelic mobiles (hanging decorations), baked a triple layer chocolate cake, made a bowl of punch with fruit juice, vodka, and food coloring.  They also bought M&M’s.  If you haven’t figured this out yet, everything was bright colors.  They put all the food and punch on a card table in the living room.  They also bought cute paper plates, cups and plastic silverware.  Colored napkins too.  Guess who brought the MIT clean acid.  You are right!  And it was good! Clean and pure.

Musically, they set up the stereo in the living room.  One of those all in ones with a tape deck, receiver and photo player all in one.  They put together a bunch of Grateful Dead Shows (tapes) and stuck them near the tape deck.  And the show began.
Music constantly and when the music was over…in goes another tape.  I even picked out some of the shows.

So here is how it went…It was getting to be late afternoon.  The party started at 6 PM ‘ish and we ordered pizza, & took the acid.  By 7 PM, people were definitely starting to trip.  Peoples’ eyes were like black pies, and shimmering.  Candles were burning and the room was just light bright enough that people weren’t knocking things over.  People were doing a lot of bong hits and smoking cigarettes.  Every hour, the girls added different color food dye to the punch.  The cake was pulsing and the M&M’s, addicting.

At around midnight, I went into Beth’s room and discover her makeup kit.  And inside her makeup kit was gold and silver glitter.  I brought it out to the living room and started to throw it into the air.  It glistened and seemed like a great idea at the time.  Every one was very excited and dancing around.  More bong hits.

As the night got later, some of the people left and continued their trip at home or elsewhere.  By 1 AM, it was the core group.  Beth passed out on the couch around 2 AM and we put a yellow blanket on her.  I decided to start putting unlit candles that looked like mushrooms, skulls, and flowers.  Somehow we woke Beth up and she, with a bright and cheery face announced that she was butter.  She quickly went back to sleep and I put a sign on her that said “I’m Butter!”

The next morning we woke up around 10, 10:30 AM.  Beth was especially hung over and had no clue when there was a sign on her that said, “I’m Butter”, nor did she care.  I was acid hung over and still electric and left to go back to my apartment to try to sleep.  I don’t remember if I did or didn’t; just that I had to pass the Church of Scientology which was scary, tripping or sober.  It was of the best parties of my life.  I miss those guys.

She Never Gave Me Her Number…She Only Gave Me Her Inspiration.

She was voted the #1 Amature Female Guitarist one year.  She was part Chinese and part Greek with eyes like almonds and skin like silk.  She wore a lot of black clothes.  Even though she really never showed an interest in dating anyone, I asked her out once and she politely declined saying it would complicate things.  She loved rock and roll like Deep Purple, AC/DC and the Ramones.  She loved LSD.  She was one of the boys except beautiful as he’ll.

I don’t remember how old I was or the circumstances surrounding the event other than TS, CN, myself and Almond Eyes went to see a concert at the Palladium in NYC.  It was Judas Priest and she dropped acid; the rest of us smoked pot (she did too).  Her eyes were still almond except fully dilated.

For whatever reason, maybe because they were over protective at times, my Dad was giving us a ride back from the city after the show.  She was tripping and my Dad was a physician.  We go to her neighborhood and my Dad asked her for directions to her house.  This is where the fun begins.  She had no fucking clue.

She kept saying take a right and a left; oh, I think it is the next street.  You must have passed it.  Eventually after 45 minutes, and it was a small neighborhood, my Dad asked, “Almond Eyes, do you know where you Live?”  This must of sobered her up, at least for an instance, because she was able to direct us to her house finally.  Ouch!

The Great Acid Trip in New England

It was 3PM in my small home town in upstate NY.  The three of us, CN, the Bird, and me, were planning our acid trip for that night.  We were doing it on a budget and already had the acid.  First thing was going to the local Beer Distributor and getting 2 cases of beer for under $10.  I looked at the price list and saw bergheim beer.  It was $3.75 a case!  I asked if it was beer and the clerk said he guessed so-I bought it.  CN had a condo.  It was a small New England Town on the Long Island Sound.  It was not too cold out.  We had dinner and dropped acid around 7, 7:30 PM.

(footnote: I can only remember the highlights, truthfully, so forgive me if it is a little choppy.)  We left the condo when we were past the “electric” phase and starting to trip.  I will need to skip forward to when the Bird wanted Marlborough cigarettes and I was into Newport’s (my friend Chung got me started in freshman year of college).  It must have been the summer after freshman year.  We went into a local diner the size of a doublewide coach.  It look liked it was an Airstream, a brand of luxury recreational vehicle that is shinny silver.  (footnote:  my wife wants to travel around the west coast in an RV-I think it is a crazy idea because I think RV; I think trailer parks, etc.  Also $4 per 4 miles).  It looking like an Airstream could have been the acid.  But it was a small diner for sure.

The bird wanted cigarettes and we only had enough quarters for 1 pack.  CN, the Bird and I were in the diner with eyes the size of pies.  The 4 customers and an employee were already staring at us.  We stuck out to say the least.  Quarter after quarter clicked until I heard the sound that the machine was ready to barf up the cigarettes; all one needed to do is pull the lever.  So I did!!!!  I choose Newport’s of course.

The Bird flipped out and yelled something about my choice of cigarettes and ran out followed by CN and me.  We were all screaming by this point.  The bird jumped up and grabbed a small tree branch and pulled his back.  We stopped and I smoked. CN was too smart for cigarettes and we had some pot anyway.  We had also brought 2 six-packs of the beer (the other beer was in the condo staying cold).  So were are out in the middle of a small park with two six packs, me smoking a Newport, and the Bird laying on the ground with back pain.

The Bird’s face lit up.  He claimed that the injury happened because the Tree Attacked him.  I could live with that.  We all laughed about it and then the beer game started.  I am sure you are thinking quarters or some other beer game or contest.  Not so fast Jackson.

Yes, we were drinking beers.  But we started taking uncapped beer bottles and gently throwing them at each other.  We wasted at least 6 of them.  It seemed funny, and after all, they were just Bergheims.  We were in full trip mode and one of us (not me) stole a street sign and we brought the loot back to the condo as proof we were out that night.  We drank more beer and listened to the Grateful Dead.  It was 4:30 AM and CN was tired and needed to take his contacts out, which was a big process.
The Bird and I grabbed the fishing gear and went down to the docks to catch breakfast.  We knew CN would sleep to like 2 PM as he is a big “Ga-Schloof” which in Germany, CN told me it meant to go to sleep in German.  It is not even close.

The Bird and I did not catch any fish and by 6:30 AM the sun was up and we were beat; so we went back to the condo, finished the beer and went to bed.  We woke up and CN was STILL ALSEEP; so as the good friends that we were, we woke him up.  He was very cranky.

When we saw the street sign, the Newport’s, and the empty cases, we new that these things really happened.  And they did.

Why I Created This Site

When I stopped smoking pot, I realized there was a person buried under all that weed and wax.  Before you stop reading and switch to another blog, hear me out.  I did it.  Believe me.  I did it.  Of all of the Pot Heads, I was the the last one smoking.  I dealt and keep my friends and strangers high.  I can guarantee that you will find my postings at the very least entertaining.

I can honestly say that I won’t post everything and I could never run for president.  I won’t tell you much about myself other than I am middle aged now, still love the dead, haven’t smoke in over 80 days, having had a drink in over 8 years and make the same decision everyday-not to smoke or drink.  It has been easy.

When I quit pot, I started remembering my dreams.  So what did I do?  I started emailing them to people who were in my dreams.  My brother told me that I should write a journal, so in fact, this is my journal.  The stories, for better or worse, are all true although names and certain other things have been changed to protect everyone.

So enjoy…take a puff or a Dab, pour yourself a nice glass of tequila, and start reading.  If you are a member of the Wharf Rats who are a group of concert-goers who have chosen to live drug and alcohol free, welcome. I  will look forward to your comments.  I’ll not only read them, but I will remember them too.