Just Past Woodstock

Just past Woodstock.

The year 1970 stretched from the Midwest to Hollywood, San Jose, and many points between..
I was working at Matt's Madison Square Super Market in Grand Rapids and by now had become produce manager, of sorts.. I doubt Matt let me order produce. That was his craft and he knew everyone at the produce warehouse.. I do remember ordering cumquats just to hear the sexy voice at the order desk confirm my order.. She had the sexiest voice and turned every vegetable and fruit into something naughty or temping.. A little bit Eve, and the proverbial snake warmly wrapped into one.. 

As has happened to me so many time in my life I had grown restless and change beckoned. My dreams pulled me westward. California called. 
I had family near San Diego. And this is where it gets a bit fuzzy. Aunt Sue and Uncle Chuck lived out there in Lemon Grove. 
And my sister Jane lived out in North Hollywood.. I'd almost forgotten that link. Hollywood came later.

Chuck and Sue let me move into what they called "The West Wing." It was the right half of a small duplex they'd created in the back yard. There was a young woman living on the other side and the walls between us did little to keep us apart once we met.
Chuck and Sue and their youngest daughter, Cousin Melissa welcomed me into their lives. Sue was my mother's dear sister and was a favorite of mine. 

I don't know how I got to North Hollywood and the apartment where Jane, her husband Doug, and their two kids lived. I don't know how I found California and navigated the maze that is the L.A. freeway system... 
I left Michigan and Grand Rapids in a tiny '67 VW crammed with all I valued and owned...
I drove long hours and days, and late into the night.. I've made the trip many times since, but this was the first.. Oh, I'd driven the same car from Grand Rapids to Mexico City, and Acapulco, and all over Ontario and Quebec in the late 60's so I guess keeping it pointed west within the US was less a challenge for me than it might have been for others. 

I remember climbing mountain stretches on the highway through the Rockies and watching my gas gauge push the needle on the left side. Late at night after a long day of driving alone cross-country, I started looking for a gas station and some sort of refuge at night. As it got closer to 10:00 I saw a sign for a station and pulled off the freeway. The small gas station sat alone just beyond the tall rocks that shielded the freeway from the hills. The sign was dark and the lights in the building were off and I was running on fumes. 
I pulled up to the pumps anyway, shut off the car, and walked to the front door. I knocked on the door until the light came on the man opened the door to the station.. He told me he was closed and couldn't do anything for me. I begged him to sell me gas. I was on empty and headed west to California with a car full of my life and dreams. He relented and turned on the light and unlocked the pump. He overruled me when I noticed how high his gas was compared to what I'd seen along the way. He insisted he fill it if he was going to sell me any gas. He was right and I was a bit ashamed I'd suggested I only get enough to get me to the next cheaper gas station (my thoughts, not my words). He filled it and I rolled down the ramp back onto the freeway headed west through the mountains and the plains, and deserts beyond. 
It was literally all downhill from there.

My memory of L.A. is surely tainted by images acquired over the years since.. I seem to remember lots of chrome fins and pastel colors. I had long hair and Life was full of promise. Until it wasn't.
I arrived at Jane and Doug's small apartment. I was sure I'd be able to get my footing there before finding work and my own place to live. At least I think that was my thought and plan on the day I arrived. It is obvious to me now that there could be no open-door policy on Willowcrest Street. 
Doug told me I couldn't stay there and I was "encouraged" to get out and on my own immediately. I did meet Edith Head's secretary who lived next door and sensed that Universal Studios was just across the 101. This was way before the working studios became an amusement park for tourists.
So, on that day of abrupt expulsion, I got in my fully loaded VW and drove around L.A. I wandered into Griffith Park where I found another VW is distress. It was a VW van and the couple traveling in it had run out of gas. I took them to find gas and then returned them their bus. We decided to go into the park further and found a green grassy area filled with picnickers on blankets. We had no food, but a group of people nearby offered to share their fried chicken. They also had lemonade they offered us. This was a time when people; total strangers reached out to help others. This group of black and white couples come to my rescue when my VW friends left to head north to San Jose an hour or so later.