We hitched from Oakland. At first we were together but could not get very far… having trouble getting rides of any length. You told me to stand out on the road alone to get someone to stop and then you would jump in behind me. When the semi stopped, you ran up to the door after I had scrambled in and blurted, “meet me in Hollywood at (blah blah blah)” and slammed the door shut.
I was terrified at how far I would have to go alone. I had met my share of crazy people already by seventeen. Why did you do this to me? Would I ever see you again? How would I survive if I never found you? Were you really going to Hollywood or were you just ditching me? I did not know anyone in Hollywood. The world seemed very large and I seemed very small in it.
The highway stretched out like a slate grey ribbon disappearing into the horizon. The sun was behind the hills now and darkness was deepening. The enclosed cab seemed large and a sleeping compartment came alive behind my head. I could not see anyone in it. The driver was a smallish man. I thought I could probably wrestle him down and escape if I had to. I hoped with everything in me that I would arrive alive and unmolested. The truck was already moving at a pretty good pace and jumping out was not an option. Betrayed, I endured as the mileage to Los Angeles became less and less. Hugging the passenger door and making poor conversation, my hand rested close to the handle.
* * * * * * *
In Hollywood we stayed at the Taft Hotel. Hermine Ginghold lived at the Taft but we never ran into her while we were there. It was comforting to know that the maid making up our bed each day was the same one that made Hermine’s bed. She probably used the same vacuum in her apartment, too. We had arrived.
I had a couple of dollars so I bought several issues of the Berkeley Barb because it was the coolest newspaper around. The sun shone fiercely as I peddled my papers. Bare feet became black and rough from slapping burning sidewalks and crossing the smog choked boulevard. The sidewalks went on forever. I counted the squares from corner to corner. My feet turned to sandpaper and were permanently stained.
I read all of the stars on the boulevard with fascination. Some names were deserving, I thought, and some names were there for no reason that I could imagine. Can you buy a star on the sidewalk? Wasn’t a famous actress spotted at a drug store lunch counter at Hollywood and Vine? I searched for the location. Hollywood and Vine was singularly unremarkable. No drug store with a lunch counter remained to bear my scrutiny. I guessed I wouldn’t be discovered.
We stayed at the Taft until they locked us out… and we were back on the sidewalk with no roof at night. We left Hollywood to go find our friend in Venice.
Wow. I enjoyed this. There is an underlying sadness here.
Naomi said it better than I could. So to build off her comment, I will say it was a good read, and it made my heart ache a little.
Ah the open road, along with exploitation and dirty feet. Love it! Now tell the one about your visit to the Manson ranch!
Get our Buddy, Arthur, to make the ashes word “lightbulb” and you have a deal.