can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. One competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.





Heads Up: Nade has returned to Re-Leaf , 1284 Mission Street @ 9th st. in San Francisco. A colorful Sativa previously reviewed here. ( 9 / 8 /09 ). Also in the house are Happy Baked, caramel turtles ( "gourmet goodies with a twist" ) and Moo Cow Butter Cookies, two potently delicious edibles.

The Road To Hollywood Is Paved With Mistakes : Part 3

The Second Dimension

Once we were established in the Lower East Side, our apartment became something of a way station for people coming down from Boston. Some, like Dale Landers, the young poet hooked into heavies such as genius Jack Spicer, John Weiners and Stephen Jonas, came for literary reconnaissance. After all, Allen Ginsberg lived in the hood. Others came down because they heard i knew where to score pot. Their goal was to score a pound, take it back and resell it on campus or whatever. At that time, a pound of pot was a rare item.
My end was usually an ounce off the top. Once however i received one of those shawl-collared, heavy wool, belted Mexican sweaters that gave one the look of an adventurer. It was during the run of the Broadway show and i proudly wore my prize backstage. The great actress Gladys Cooper stopped me on the stairwell and told me her friend, movie star Roddy McDowell had an identical sweater. i wore the thing everywhere after that.
Also living on the Lower East Side were two pals from the Beat days, poet Barbara Moraff and Ray Bremser. Barbara was doing fine but Ray had acquired a nasty Speed habit, shooting amphetamines, and he was emaciated, the once strapping poet down to about a hundred pounds. Shortly thereafter he and his love Bonnie Blue disappeared for good.
Most of the old-line Beats like Kerouac, LeRoi Jones, Joel Oppenheimer and Gil Sorrentino, and Abstract Expressionists like Franz Kline, Larry Rivers and Bob Raushenberg would hold court at the Cedar Tavern on University Place.
While further West a new wave of Actors, Comics, Folkies, Potheads and Jokers were assembling at The Hip Bagel. LSD had arrived in New York, as had a number of new initials including DMT. In the words of Mel Torme "every body's hip, every kind of sound falls from every lip...".
My personal experimentation with Psychedelics and Telepathy was veering into uncharted territory. i became drawn into a book called The Bead Game by Herman Hesse.
Things were reaching critical mass and it was straining our marriage.

Recommended Listening: Smokin' by Miles Davis

can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.

Realizing i have been traveling familiar roads ( not without good reason ) it was time to explore a new direction. The Sanctuary at 669 O'Farrell Street in San Francisco, has a discreet, but distinctive sign. Once inside the red door i found myself in a small room with a large dog sprawled on the floor. The folks at The club go by the book, perhaps because its founder is an ex-marine. My host carefully noted my information, writing down my medical code before warning me about resale.
Then the house dog, a sleepy English bulldog called Toro was called to his bed. While cramped, the room has an easygoing vibe and my host explained there is a wide selection of concentrates.
However the herb menu is limited to three or four strains. Displayed on the counter were two Sativas, Casey Jones and J-1, and an exotically scented Indica, Hindu Kush. Having sampled J-12 some time back i decided to see where it all came from.
The dark, purple and bronze leaves seem dusted with silver spider webs, very photogenic. On sampling J-1 proved to be a big, strong Sativa that keeps billowing in a mind-expanding way before it deposits one on the mountain top for an extended meditiation. J-1 is both clear and benign, my one tiny caveat being the $21.90 tag on a gram. However for the very first time i received a cash receipt. My compliments to the uniformed gentleman pictured behind the
counter. A four-star operation.

The Road to Hollywood Is Paved With Mistakes: Part 2

A few words about Heroin.

i stayed well away. Having read Junkie and seen a few strung out characters here and there i knew it was not for me. i wanted to expand my consciousness, not shrink it down to a few surreal dreams. All i saw in a roomful of heroin users was snoring and scratching. Me, i liked to get high and go out into the world.
I also found the heroin scene much too medical, with syringes, sores from dirty needles, ODs, hospitals...very much a drug for hypochondriacs.
But-that having been said, i realized (having seen it go down) that certain people are predisposed to the drug. For one thing it cuts sexual anxiety and social dysfunctions. The drug puts a glass shield between the user and life.
And...what they don't mention is the fact that you vomit ("flip") pretty much every time.
How cool is that?
However The Twins were drifting in that direction, as were Richie and Mike, getting off on weekends. Occasionally they were joined by Jerry Cole or Rick Lloyd ( Boston meets NY)
Another disturbing factor was an influx of plastic Miami Beach lounge lizards with no code or point of view.

As for myself i embraced the sacred herb and whatever psychedelics came by. Through Ray Lofaro and Luigi i hooked up with a couple of TV commercials and a silent spot on The Defenders. One of the commercials was directed by Michael Cimino, who later made the ill-fated Heaven's Gate.
Joan had gotten a job at The Hip Bagel so we spend a lot of time in late-night Greenwich Village.
My own work hours ran from 1pm to 8 pm. Perfect.
Duke, who ran the Bagel, was a great draw. His kitchen was in the center of the room which was like a small arena for his comments, wisecracks and jokes delivered while he served great food and played the hippest of Jazz. Richard Pryor was a regular, as was George Carlin. Milt Kamen, the TV comic, kept hitting on my wife (i gave him The Stare ), Hugh, soon to be Wavy Gravy, Romney could be seen, the conceptual musician Sun Ra often dropped by as did the still unknown Richie Havens... Around that time Chip Monk introduced me to Hugh Masekela a young trumpet player from Africa who was playing The Village Gate. Later Hugh would become tight with Ray Lofaro and the Twins, but that's another story.
At the moment, things were moving faster and faster...

Recommended Reading: Really The Blues by Mezz Mezzrow

can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. One competent to render cridical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis


Heads Up: Re-Leaf my favorite drive-by dispensary located at 1284 Mission @ 9th in San Francisco is holding Hollywood Kush a bright Sativa with the smooth elevation of a private plane.
Both medicinally effective ( i happen to be recovering from a virus ) and
cosmically creative, HK delivers on its name and price, $60 the eighth.
However there are discounts which is one reason i keep returning to this friendly club.

As usual, Grass Roots located at 1077 Post street, offers something old, something new, and a variety of interesting herb. The clinic has the atmosphere of a Victorian London Apothecary and their artfully crafted menu is always a pleasure to peruse. Some nifty items include, Casey Jones, a Sativa cousin of Train Wreck ( trivia questions abound), the lovely White Widow, and a host of Indicas including the venerable Blackberry Kush.

There will be new clubs reviewed on these pages in search of better boo for better living, including some forays into legendary Oaksterdam....


Let Us Be Perfectly Clear: The Way it Really Was

Now in 1962, anyone wearing Levi Jeans was considered to be some sort of working-stiff, blue-collar, drugstore cowboy, gas station attendant type, way down on the food chain. The only people wearing Levis were hobos, horse trainers, poets, painters, some actors, bikers, and folk singers.
In fact-the only place you could buy jeans were low-rent horse equipment stores.
Because, my friends, despite the groundswell, the drumbeats, which included perhaps 2% of the population...The World Was Square!
The hippest sector on the landscape was Playboy Magazine with its new emancipation of man, touting sex, jazz, pot, and money. But the Playboy wardrobe was short on blue denim, long on grey flannel.
So you get my drift, the cultural revolution was still in its adolescence, but it was expanding rapidly, in fact, exponentially, from Harvard to Michigan to Berkley, due to some common denominators. Namely; sex, weed and music.
Added to the mix were returning Vietnam Vets who used speed for combat and the potent jungle herb to come down. Not to mention heroin. They gave the peace-loving poets and folk singers some much needed street cred.
And every time someone turned on a friend, the message was passed, hand to hand to heart...


The Road To Hollywood Is Paved With Mistakes

Okay now you know what the ground rules were back in the day. Everything enlightening, pleasurable or remotely different was suspect, if not downright criminal. You worked until you died, and if you weren't dead you weren't working hard enough. Eyes open, mouth shut and nose to the grindstone. And wear a tie.
To start out with, down in Greenwich Village we didn't need no steenkin' tie. My Boston buddies Jerry Cole, Teddy Bernstein and others, including Rick Lloyd, (who popped in and out of the scene) all favored long hair, tight blue jeans and flamenco boots. And we were getting favorable reactions from ladies of all walks of life. We were starting to put together the first semblance of street fashion. You couldn't really buy the look anywhere, you had to build it yourself.
Now Jerry, a good-looking actor who had studied at Emerson, was right at the forefront, as a student of street culture. He himself had a blond, Steve McQueen, kind of look which could be both intimidating and disarming. Unfortunately he, along with Teddy and Rick had started experimenting with skag in their quest to push the envelope. Of the three Teddy was less a quester, than a junkie and he was the first to O.D. .
It seems Teddy had a connection, so Rick and Jerry gave him cash to cop for them too. Thing was, Teddy was greedy. So he stopped off to give himself an extra shot. Of course he took too much and, he was alone. In the words of Steely Dan, "poor kid, he overdid"...

Recommended Reading: Dispatches by Michael Herr

Recommended Listening: Balance' by Sara Tavares

can * nois * seur ( Kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.



On our visit to the Re-Leaf Herbal Center, 1284 Mission @ 9th, we encountered a Sativa with the ominous label G-13. We decided to try a gram before springing for the $50/eighth. It comes on strong and steady, with a long, easy arc. More physical than usual for a Sativa, it is a solid, upbeat high that will definitely transport you briskly through the day.
As it turns out G-13 is a Government Strain. If you recall the feds have been growing marijuana since the '50s for their own clinical studies.
Could be a whiff of corporate cannabis...

We also dropped (literally, since one steps down into the club) into Divinity Tree, located at 958 Geary. DT has a varied menu and knowledgeable clerks. One offering was Chem Dog which was the strain crossed with NY Diesel to create the popular Sour Diesel. However we chose a pale green Sativa with orange threads called The Dream. Again we purchased a gram of the $60/ eighth bud. Upon tasting it arrived in its own sweet time, escalating leisurely like the aristocrat it is. If G-13 is solid and businesslike, The Dream is all heart. Once it reaches its peak it hangs out a while, like renting a villa in Italy for the season. Lush and expansive The Dream is well worth a return trip.

The Third Dimension

As explained in our last session, my NY life was composed of parallel universes. There were my raving partners, Richie, Mike and The Twins. There were auditions and acting class. My links to various Boston hippies and now, a proper job. There was also my wife Joan. Our relationship was feeling the pressure of my hyper-activity. To her credit Joan was never the problem. i was trying to surf the ever swelling cultural wave moving across America. i was also callow, insensitive and overconfident. In short, an asshole.
Another parallel universe was occupied by three friends from my college days; Luigi Alfano, Don Defina and Ray LoFaro. Luigi was older. He hadn't actually attended class with us but he was our mentor in the ways of old-school hip. He was working with Alex De Paolo, a well-known fashion photographer who had an apartment in Carnegie Hall. The pad alone impressed the hell out of me. Luigi was one of the best-dressed men in New York. His style blended the Classic with a subtle bit of gangster. Indeed in his Bronx neighborhood, which boasted a gang called the Golden Guineas, he was feared and revered as a stand-up guy. It seems Luigi's sister came home from work one night and complained that a group of louts, sitting in a car near the subway entrance, had made rude remarks as she passed.
The next evening Luigi was waiting across the street from the subway entrance. Sure enough the louts were parked nearby, typical Bronx bums. ( these days they're heavily armed) And sure enough Luigi's sister came out of the subway and the louts made the usual stupid obscenities.
Luigi walked across the street carrying a baseball bat. He stepped up to the car and without preamble smashed a headlight. Methodically he continued to whack the car with his bat, shattering headlights, denting fenders and cracking windows. The terrified louts locked the doors and watched helplessly while Luigi exacted his justice.
Otherwise he was one of the nicests guys you'd want to meet.
Now i met Luigi through his pals from the Bronx, Ray LoFaro and Don DeFina. They were both fellow students at Manhattan College, a conservative Catholic school with rigorous academic standards. (we regularly carried 22 credits a semester and had to wear a fucking tie and jacket to class )
So when i heard there were two guys on campus who liked Jazz, i introduced myself. After a sociology class i went over to Ray Lofaro. Ray was heavy, and looked a bit like an unhappy lizard. But his laugh was infectious.
"Hey i hear you guys like Jazz," i said.
Ray glared up from his seat. "You like Jazz?"
"Uh yeah..." i replied.
"Who's Chico Hamiliton?" he demanded.
That was Ray.
Don Defina, was much mellower, perhaps because he was tall, thin and good looking. He had the lean body and prominent face bones of a male model. We all began to hang out, occasionally going to a club in the Bronx called the Wee Small Hours which was dedicated to Frank Sinatra. Named after Frank's comeback album, the club featured a mural of The Chairman behind the bar and a jukebox which had nothing but Sinatra. There were also a number of authentic wiseguys around to give the place character.
To a college kid it was the stuff of Bogart movies.
We also shared a great interest in poetry and would constantly write poems trying to top each other. ( sort of like jazz musician's cutting contests )
Jazz and poetry. Sometimes we would go to Birdland and sit in the "bullpen" ( a bench near the bar provided for Jazz lovers who couldn't afford a table-can you imagine any club doing that today?)
When i returned to New York with A Passage To India i looked them up. The three of them were living in a very hip apartment complex on fifteenth street that had a real courtyard and apartments with decent sized rooms. Each of them had their own place and their own life. Luigi was still working with Alex, Don was an apprentice film editor and Ray was in advertising working in commercial film as a producer ( salesman). Our reunion was quite warm. Ray had married Nancy, a nurse while Don and Luigi were still bachelors. They were always looking for pot and admired my stash, so naturally i had to hook them up with The Twins.
The meeting was an immediate hit. The Twins then insisted on Ray meeting Richie and suddenly my two crowds coalesced like nitro and glycerine, blowing up into a significant NY scene.

Next: The Road to Hollywood is Paved With Mistakes

Suggested Reading: The Guinea Pig Diaries by A.J. Jacobs

can * nois * seur ( Kan' us sur' ) n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannibis

While passing by Mr Nice Guy on lower Valencia we noticed a verdant sign bearing a familiar name. About two blocks down from MNG, at 14 Valencia St, here in San Francisco, we noticed the colorful sign for Ketama, which happens to be the name of the region in Morocco which grows the herb known as Kif. And sure enough it turned out to be an herbal dispensary. The club is quite welcoming, its interior decorated like a Moroccan cafe. i half-expected a belly dancer in attendance. Instead a very proper young lady who was both friendly and helpful took me through the limited menu ( 4 strains, perhaps 5)
the most promising being Purple Urkle. However in the interests of remaining solvent during this endeavor your reporter opted for an edible. At $6 Miss Dorothy's Chocolate Toffee turned out to be a delightful bargain.

Definitely worth a return visit.




Beyond II


During the period immediately following Broadway i found myself living in parallel universes.

One was my friendship with The Twins, Richie and Mike. Another was the ongoing dialogue with my Boston crowd. A third was my reconnection with some key friends from my college days. And the fourth dimension was my discovery of Greenwich Village.
Oh sure i knew the Village as a habitue', but now i was a citizen. ( some might say denizen )

Let's begin with the fourth dimension, always a favorite. It was an invigorating walk from Avenue C down Ninth, through Tompkins Square bustling with hustlers, past St. Marks Place, cross third and there you were in the West Village. There was a lively, jazzy, hole-in-the-wall on McDougal, just below Bleeker called The Hip Bagel. One nightly customer was comic Hugh Romney, now Wavy Gravy. Another was Milt Kamen, now deceased, who uttered the line, "Los Angeles is the only city that doesn't cast a shadow".The chief cook and host was Duke Figliuzzi, a bald ex-con who had more charisma than Toots Shor on Absinthe. While hanging at the Bagel we encountered an equally charismatic dude with the unlikely name of Chip Monk. Now Chip would later achieve fame as lighting and stage manager for The Woodstock Festival and his work as "the Voice of Woodstock" calming and informing the wet hungry crowd, warning them about 'bad acid' circulating. But at that time he was living in the basement of the Greenwich Hotel, doing lighting for The Village Gate nightclub right next door.
He had yet to grow a beard and with his lanky blond hair and upscale demeanor he might have been an English student at Oxford. ( i had gotten used to this while hanging at Harvard Square ) When he learned of our common interest in the herb we retired to his pad and got high. After that night we would meet often. Chip had affixed a pipe to an old gas mask and it did much to enhance the boo we were smoking at the time.
One night Chip told me he and a friend had been taping this folk singer called Bob Dylan. Chip explained that Dylan would come to The Village Gate after his gig at Gerde's Folk City. There Chip and his pal would give Dylan whatever food, drink or herb requested and tape record the new songs he was writing using the club's system. He was stoked and anxious for me to hear Dylan's new stuff.
i was less enthusiastic, having heard Dylan do folk songs at a WinthropiBeach party, Cambridge street corner and my Back Bay apartment. If anything i had gotten deeper into Jazz in NY.

Fortunately i had learned to be a good listener. When i heard the lyrics Dylan was laying down on this demo version of "A Hard Rain Is Gonna Fall" it was clear the Boston folkie was a fucking Major Poet. ( it's interesting that Dylan doesn't include that Boston period in his bio ) Whatever,"Subterranean Homesick Blues" blew us away as we listened to one brilliant lyric after another. When i later heard " A Hard Rain..." on The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan it was much shorter (obviously edited) than those original night time, basement tapes...but not a note less powerful.
Meanwhile i was making auditions, taking acting lessons and trying to get my "book" together. (acting photos ). Not only that, i had found gainful employment with the City's Parks Department. Having taken a civil service test i was officially a Recreation Leader-still my favorite job title.
They assigned me to a beautiful track and field on fourth street, right on the East River. The projects loomed across the drive but except for the occasional conga player, my only customers were a handful of Black and Latino kids training for their track team. It was there i developed my life-long love of running. ( four laps around the cinder track equalled a whole mile )
The man who shared my duties was a burly, genial dude named Tom Boutillier. He resembled a Flemish rogue in one of those old Dutch brothel paintings. And he had the personality to match; florid, gregarious. His lovely wife Joy was a dancer at the Alvin Nickolai Studio. Through her i was introduced to Nickolai's fearless genius as a choreographer and stage director. His performances were at least seven years ahead of the psychedelic era.
Tom, who was a precise, forward thinking cat, devised a work schedule that gave us seven days on and five days off. Plenty of time to get into trouble.

Next: The Third Dimension

Suggested Reading: Siddhartha by Herman Hesse

can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.


Today's casual drop-in on the Re-Leaf Herbal Center, 1284 Mission Street @ 9th uncovered a surprisingly fine strain named Nade (nah-day). This dark green bud with orange threads is a full-service Sativa, elevating mind and body to a cool, balanced plane, as it tunes the spirit. A bit pricey at $60 the eighth but quality will out.


Beyond Broadway

As i mentioned at our last meeting, after the closing party for A Passage To India, we arrived at the The Twins' apartment for another bash. i was dressed in a narrow blue suit, shades and white gloves, looking like a cross between Paul McCartney and Micheal Jackson. My then wife Joan was wearing an Indian sari. But when we opened the door we found a room full of people wearing signs around their necks. On the signs were their name, address and the drug they were behind. The choices were Mescaline, LSD and Psylocibine (which came in a sugar cube). i chose the mushroom derivative and we were on our way.


My previous experience with Mescaline in Boston served me in good stead. Soon everything was a rainbow groove. One of the first people i communicated with was a cat named Mike Silver. He was going on about "wonder drugs!" being the future. He was sure right about that but Mike Silver went back to New Jersey never to be heard from again.


There were two other cats on the scene. Richie and Michael. Richie was a good friend of The Twins who were introducing him to New York society. Rich was a Jewish boy from Jersey City who had dropped out of the University of Miami to carouse with Tito Puente's ex, Ida, who liked good looking blond boys around the house. He already had a nose for heroin and coke but had left the hedonistic Miami scene for something more substantial. At the time of the party the substantial part was yet to come.


Mike was a warm, hamisher dude, not quite as focused as his pal Richie but ready to hang at the first sign of a joint. At that moment he was an affable bear of a guy trying to keep his bearings.

One of the properties of Psylocibine is it's ability to awaken telepathic facilities in the brain and my trip was kicking in nicely. i was able to intuit the concerns of various guests including Mike and Rich. By the time the trip ended, somewhere in the deep a.m., we had bonded. ( 47 years later we are still friends ) Rich brought his fascination with Latin music up from Florida which blended well with the Jazz we all worshipped. Tito Puente was already a Salsa star and life with Ida had taught Rich a fair bit. He also had a nodding acquaintance with Lenny Bruce the underground comedian who was way too "sick" for TV. ( He did appear on Hugh Hefner's Penthouse Show )

Within a week or two my pad in the Lower East Side had become command center for young hipsters. We would meet, get high, listen to Jazz or Lenny Bruce or Lord Buckley and access the loftier levels of consciousness. We discussed endless topics from artistic to social to philosophical. Both Mike and Rich were curious about the old movie posters on my wall. I explained my love of film. One night they showed at my door bearing a larger-than-life cardboard cut-out statue of Cary Grant they had stolen from a movie house in New Jersey. For the next six months we would catch glimpses of Cary over our shoulder, digging our search for expanded consciousness.

(much more later )

Suggested Reading: In Search Of Yage by William Burroughs.

Suggested Listening: The Sick Humor of Lenny Bruce

can * nois * seur ( kan' us sur' ), n. one competent to render critical judgement on the qualities and merits of Cannabis.




Broadway and Beyond


A Passage To India was as English as high tea. In fact shortly after joining the cast i was invited to tea with some of the star actors including Eric Portman, Noel Davis and the Indian/British stars Zia Mohveddin and Saeed Jaffrey. There i learned some of the traditions of old school British theatre including the expression "corpse ". (An actor who forgot his lines was said to have "corpsed") Everything was extremely proper and Zia proved to be a most suave gent.
He mentioned he had "rented furniture" for his New york digs, a concept that had never occurred to me. They were all very polite which might sum up the general vibe of the show, being on one level, a drama of manners.
Both Eric Portman and Gladys Cooper had deep roots as stage and film stars which went back to the Golden Age of English Theatre with all its pomp and circumstance.


Meanwhile back on the Lower East Side we were living in a newly plastered and painted studio. After a week of rehearsal and anxious waiting to sign the contract which entitled me to that most precious Actors Equity card...it happened. i was officially a Broadway actor. But lest my tiny role inflate my ego all need do was go to the sidewalk in front of the Ambassador Theatre where my show was running--and look up.
For there, on the marquee of the theatre across the street, was Faye Dunaway, her name in lights. The Boston U student i had met some six months earlier was now a Broadway star. And Equity card or no, i was a contract extra.
Working in a play, doing 8 shows a week, one develops a nice routine. You don't have to check in until six, leaving a nice chunk of afternoon to visit museums, hang out in cafes, take a great New York walk, see a classic movie at the Thalia, get high.


Usually we would eat something at a burger joint across the street from the theatre then go in and start getting ready. In our case it required makeup and costume. Lots of make up, exotic costumes. i became quite adept at the art of tying a turban ( taught to me by Santha Rama Rau herself).
After the show we would have a late snack at either The Turf Deli uptown or Ratner's downtown.
Sometimes the great character actor Leonardo Cimino would join us at Ratner's and bequile us with theatre stories. On our way home we would pick up hot Bialys (the real deal) at a local Kosher bakery, get high, listen to music, sleep.
For the first time i had a proper pot connection...The Twins.


Double Trouble
I met Ann (1/2 of The Twins ) during a wild party at my Symphony Road flat in Boston. We got it on and Ann decided to hang out a few days before returning to the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor. Ann was a free spirit and regaled us with tales of the "naked parties" they threw on campus. One fabled participant in these revelries was the famed Jazz drummer Omar Clay, who later played with Sarah Vaughn at the White House as well as Horace Silver, Mingus, Coltrane and many others. It was said that they would pass the chicks beneath him one after another during these sessions. Damn...talk about legendary.
Ann was the intellectual of the pair, her sister Betty was physical and confrontational. Both were intent on their mission, which was to have sex with every Jazz musician in New York, Paris and Stockholm. And by the time they were finished a good chunk of their work had been completed.
They were feisty Jewish girls from New Jersey and totally into the Black/Bop scene from language to lifestyle. These same values were seeping into other areas of American culture including the folk scene which was as white as a square dance.
The Twins liked their boo and were well placed to act as connections.
Being married and working 8 shows, my contact with the Twins was limited to Saturday nights. We would drop in, get high and listen to the latest Jazz records. The Twins were funny and lively and always had great gossip about their latest conquests among which were Charles Lloyd and Herbie Hancock.
My own experience with the Folk scene back in Boston stirred little interest but i too was heavily into Jazz, so i let it flow. Anyway there was still much to learn about Broadway...

Backstage Follies

There a few things better than arriving backstage at a Broadway theatre and getting ready for your performance. i always arrived early, put on my make up and hung out while the rest of the cast arrived. Mine was the extras' dressing room but as a contract player i had my own vanity, mirror and chair. Next door was the featured actors' room which housed Leonardo Cimino and James Coco among others.
After the first month we enrolled in acting class at the Irene Dailey studio. Irene (who was musical-movie-star Dan Dailey's sister ) later went on to acclaim as the star of A Roomful Of Roses.
James and Leonardo viewed all this with some bemusement born of long experience. and would often ask me what we did in class. One evening i told them we had animal exercises. "What the hell is that?" asked James.
i explained we were instructed to get on the floor and...
James raised his hand, brows lifted in mock horror. "Whenever they tell you to get on the floor." he warned, "you get right out of there!"
The entire dressing room fell out laughing.
Still, i was learning how to get the most from my little third-act bit of getting tossed by mistake, and when the audience laughed i was as big as anybody.
During the run of the show the actress Julie Harris put out a call for volunteers to protest nuclear war. With Ralph Pine i had already done Ban The Bomb at the state house in Boston and we were glad to join. There weren't many of us standing in the triangle of Times Square with our peace signs, but it was a start...

Another of James Coco's suggestions was the backstage poker game. James loved to play and sat in on a weekly game with Neil Simon and pals. i had a long wait between my token appearance at the beginning of the second act and my bit in the third act as did many of the extras and a few
actors. There were perhaps six in the game. If i played carefully i was able to make from 5 to $12 a night which effectively doubled my meagre salary. Fortunately Joan was also earning a small but adequate sum. ( in those days most of America made less than $100 dollars a week).
Anyway money was never in any conversation. In fact it was considered crass and a sign of bad character. In hip circles that is.
But money was soon to loom larger. After less than six months-the time required to qualify for unemployment-the show was closing.
It was sad. First many of the extra extras were let go amid gloomy rumours, then the notice went up. Meanwhile across the street Faye Dunaway was doing just fine.
Closing night, the stately English star Eric Portman had a party in his dressing room. It was crowded, a bit raucous. i was wearing a sharp blue suit in the mode later adopted by Mods and Beatles ( call me a fashion savant ) and spied a pair of white gloves on the dressing room table. Playfully i tried them on. They looked surreal. "Take them," Eric Portman said grandly, "they don't fit me."
So, still wearing a dark blue suit, white gloves and shades, i arrived at a party given by The Twins, where a group of "hip new people" were supposedly on the set. When the door opened and Ann saw me she wigged out laughing, but not for the reason i expected. Upon entering i realized everyone was wearing a sign around their neck! On the sign was their name, address and the name of the substance they had ingested.
There was a choice of three: LSD, Mescaline or Psylocibine. i chose the latter, interested in its alleged telepathic qualities...

Next: Beyond

Suggested Reading: The White Negro by Norman Mailer.

Suggested Listening: ESP by Miles Davis