An excerpt from my manuscript: The rise and fall of Fairfax High ©

[Ronny Roach]

One day at school, I saw Gene & Arturo hanging out in front of the school. They were hanging out with Richard. I met Richard in the dark in the Gilmore drive-in. He was a short guy about 5 feet 3. He was chubby but not fat. He had this wild curly hair. He tried to comb it and parted on the left side of his. He was a chatterbox and animated. He made wild gesticulations while he talked a million words a minute. Richard was a frenetic dude. He was one of the many characters attending Fairfax I befriended. Actually he befriended me. He knew me by reputation. The first thing he asked me was: You not one of those Trots? At the time, I didn’t what Trots meant. I asked: What’s a Trot’s? His eyes got big and he replied loudly; you know? A Trotskyite! The word Trot’s was derogatory term for followers of Leon Trotsky. Maoists, liberals and Anarchists used it. I said nope! Then he asked: Then what are you? I answered facetiously: I am I! He smiled and said: I am glad you are not one! I can’t stand those people! Then he went on a rant against Marlene and her friends. They think, he said with disdain, they are the perfection of the anti-war movement. They are a bunch of know-it-alls. So why do you hang around them? I became defensive and replied: They are people I work with. I don’t judge them because of political affiliation. It’s bad enough that SDS is divided and we need more unity! Richard boomed in: SDS is dead my friend! Woodstock Nation is alive! The Trot’s are living in the past! My parent’s use to be in C.P! (Communist Party) The old left is long gone and buried! We are the new left! I was amused with his rant, so I asked what is different from the old left and the new left? He laughed then said: Dope, fucking and rock & Roll in the streets! The old left is bunch of straights! Speaking of dope? Hey Gene? You got my lid? Gene handed him a plastic baggy of weed. He held up the baggy to his face! He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose to exam it closely. He smelled it and remarked: This must be good shit! There is no steams or seeds! Arturo said: Oh it is! It’s Polish! It’s better than Colombian! Richard shot out: Oh Yeah? Then Arturo said while stroking his mustache: I heard it is really powerful shit! One toke and you’ll be crawling up the walls! It’s the latest import going around. It’s the big thing now! Cool! Richard said in glee. He turned to me and asked: Want to go to my place to take this horse for a test ride? I answered: Sure. He said: Let’s take a walk! it’s only 5 blocks away! He lived on Detroit street east on Melrose. When we left I turned my back toward Gene and Arturo to say goodbye. They were laughing hysterically. That should have tipped me off.
While walking Richard was ranting and raving about how the Trotskyites are going to sell out and become part of the establishment. He predicted that they would become conservatives. In my mind, I thought this was absurd. But you know something? He was right way back in 1969. In the twenty first century, many so-called Trots became what are known today as: Neo-Conservatives. Walking on Melrose in those was just another L.A street. There were plumbing shops, liquor stores and small theater groups. There were fine dinning restaurants also. Back, every block of L.A had a gas station. Chevron had a station just few blocks from another Chevron station.
We finally got his house on Detroit. His house was a typical Spanish 2 bedroom house. He took out his house key to open up his door. I could hear a muffled yapping a barking dog. When he opened the door, this Chihuahua dog was jumping up and down barking away. I hated that dog. That dog would grab my leg and hump me with his red dick sticking out every time I visit Richards house. That’s my mom’s dog! His name is Gus! Richard said with gusto. I asked: Why did she name him Gus? He laughed and replied: She named him after Gus Hall of C.P. He pushed Gus away with his foot and we went into his room. It was a small room with posters and stacks of records. Richard put a L.P on his small stereo system. He put on Zed Zeppelins first album. Then he took out some Zig Zag rolling papers from his top drawer of his dresser. He took the baggy of weed out of his back pocket of his pants. He sat on his chair in front of his desk and emptied the content of the baggy on his desktop. He opened the top drawer and took out a pin knife. Then he started to cut the pot into a fine grain. He did it in such precision. He rolled it up into a joint. The record sounded like a crummy rendition of the blues. These British white boys sucked too. They were so much better when they called The Yardbirds. Richard lite it up and it was off to the races. I took a couple of tokes. It tasted like burning leaves in the fall. I didn’t do a thing for me. Richard on the other hand started to act like a mental patient. He was laughing like a village idiot! He even rolled the floor singing the reframe: Rolling! Rolling on the river! Rolling! Rolling on the river! Which came from that song: Proud Mary by Credence Clearwater. Come Steve! Roll with me! I needed an excuse to get away from him! I said, right! I got to home! I promised my mom that I would…never mind! See Ya! I left his house. His parents weren’t home. I wanted to meet them. I never met actual members of the Communist Party.
The next morning, I saw Gene & Arturo standing the same spot! They asked me; how’s Richard? I said; fine, he really liked the weed you sold him. They both broke out in laughter. I asked: What’s so funny? Gene said: That was no pot! It was catnip! Then I said: Ooooh! That’s why it tasted so funny. Then Gene said, sometimes we play jokes on Dick, because sometimes he is so full of shit! I don’t think Richard ever found out. I didn’t want to piss him off

[Herb Fellow]

Good story!