The Adventures of Bill Paquin THE YEAR WAS 1969. The Vietnam War raged on. Richard Nixon was in his first term as 37th President of the United States. 2001: A Space Odyssey was number one at the box office. The United States had just landed a man on the moon, a half-million strong we became a Woodstock Nation, the Beatles were still together, and Charles Manson and followers shocked the world with crimes most heinous. Myself, well I was 21 years old and had just finished six months of active duty training at Fort Dix, New Jersey, for the Massachusetts National Guard. Within a little more than a year, I would have a rather serious back injury and end up with a medical discharge from the National Guard. So starting a new life seemed in order.  By chance I had met a young woman from Santa Barbara who convinced me to do what I’d always wanted to do: Go to California!  Cutting through the details a bit here, I put my life in order, bought a 1967 3/4 ton  Dodge pickup truck and a home-built camper. I sold everything I owned that was not going with me, and in early November of 1970 left my home in central Massachusetts with a classmate, a good friend named Dave, and two other guys. There was no timetable, just a determination to head west before winter set in. Our first destination was Columbia, Missouri, since one of the travelers lived there.  Other than a radiator repair in Pennsylvania, the trip was trouble-free.   Those were the days. Gasoline was twenty-five cents a gallon, and sandwich fixings and beer were dirt cheap by today’s standards. Three of us managed quite well. Unfortunately, our fourth traveler, who I won't name here, squandered nearly all his cash by the time we reached Missouri. Within a month he would abscomb with my truck and sell off whatever he could in order to fly himself to the West Coast. Within a year, he was murdered, his killers arrested and then set free due to a legal technicality. By the time I retrieved my vehicle where he had abandoned it at the Kansas City Airport and returned to Columbia, my friend Dave had headed out on his own. I had introduced him to a woman, and they had fallen in love. We would later meet again,and they would give me their puppy, a mixed breed mongrel named Barney. Barney and I would then travel this country’s roads for more than a year, foot loose and fancy free. Somewhat reluctantly, I left Columbia with James, a new friend, in January of 1971. Columbia has six or eight colleges, half of which are all women. For a young, single guy such as myself, Columbia was Paradise on Earth! Still, the call of the open road won out. We joined a Caravan of 50 or more converted buses led by a hip beatnik preacher named Stephen Gaskin. We traveled from college campus to college campus as Stephen spread his message of love and compassion.   This was fun for awhile, but after a month or so James and I split from the caravan and headed for Santa Barbara. After months of inland travel, it’s hard to explain the sense of joy one feels crossing over the mountains into San Bernardino. The first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean is mind blowing. The lush tropical foliage and fresh ocean air was totally rejuvenating. The climate, the ocean, the mountains and the city itself makes Santa Barbara ideal. It seemed as though every day was perfect: warm, breezy, and soothing to the senses. If I ever could, I would live there again in a heartbeat. Making a long story short, within a coupole of weeks, James returned to Missouri and I joined a yoga community, a sort of commune, and lived in the mountains behind Santa Barbara. It was there I learned gardening and alternative living strategies, survival techniques that made me who I am. I often visited U C Santa Barbara at Isle of Vista, a welcome respite from the difficult work routine of commune life. The Isle of Vista campus is exquisite. Set along the cliffs of the Pacific Ocean with miles of white sand beaches, it's self-sufficient community and open campus allowed a hippie such as myself to thrive.THE YEAR WAS 1969. The Vietnam War raged on. Richard Nixon was in his first term as 37th President of the United States. 2001: A Space Odyssey was number one at the box office. The United States had just landed a man on the moon, a half-million strong we became a Woodstock Nation, the Beatles were still together, and Charles Manson and followers shocked the world with crimes most heinous. Myself, well I was 21 years old and had just finished six months of active duty training at Fort Dix, New Jersey, for the Massachusetts National Guard. Within a little more than a year, I would have a rather serious back injury and end up with a medical discharge from the National Guard. So starting a new life seemed in order.  By chance I had met a young woman from Santa Barbara who convinced me to do what I’d always wanted to do: Go to California!  Cutting through the details a bit here, I put my life in order, bought a 1967 3/4 ton  Dodge pickup truck and a home-built camper. I sold everything I owned that was not going with me, and in early November of 1970 left my home in central Massachusetts with a classmate, a good friend named Dave, and two other guys. There was no timetable, just a determination to head west before winter set in. Our first destination was Columbia, Missouri, since one of the travelers lived there.  Other than a radiator repair in Pennsylvania, the trip was trouble-free.   Those were the days. Gasoline was twenty-five cents a gallon, and sandwich fixings and beer were dirt cheap by today’s standards. Three of us managed quite well. Unfortunately, our fourth traveler, who I won't name here, squandered nearly all his cash by the time we reached Missouri. Within a month he would abscomb with my truck and sell off whatever he could in order to fly himself to the West Coast. Within a year, he was murdered, his killers arrested and then set free due to a legal technicality. By the time I retrieved my vehicle where he had abandoned it at the Kansas City Airport and returned to Columbia, my friend Dave had headed out on his own. I had introduced him to a woman, and they had fallen in love. We would later meet again,and they would give me their puppy, a mixed breed mongrel named Barney. Barney and I would then travel this country’s roads for more than a year, foot loose and fancy free. Somewhat reluctantly, I left Columbia with James, a new friend, in January of 1971. Columbia has six or eight colleges, half of which are all women. For a young, single guy such as myself, Columbia was Paradise on Earth! Still, the call of the open road won out. We joined a Caravan of 50 or more converted buses led by a hip beatnik preacher named Stephen Gaskin. We traveled from college campus to college campus as Stephen spread his message of love and compassion.   This was fun for awhile, but after a month or so James and I split from the caravan and headed for Santa Barbara. After months of inland travel, it’s hard to explain the sense of joy one feels crossing over the mountains into San Bernardino. The first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean is mind blowing. The lush tropical foliage and fresh ocean air was totally rejuvenating. The climate, the ocean, the mountains and the city itself makes Santa Barbara ideal. It seemed as though every day was perfect: warm, breezy, and soothing to the senses. If I ever could, I would live there again in a heartbeat. Barney was five months old when we met. Part German Shepherd and part Schnauzer, he was a comical blend of blacks and whites with a wire-like coat and a Schnowser beard with tufts of hair sticking out from his ears.  He was so funny looking that people would often laugh out loud when they saw him.  Still he was very cute and girls loved him, so much so, that it made meeting new lady friends a much more relaxed affair.  My kids call that a chick magnet. Barney was the first dog I ever had occasion to be owned by.  I was his human and there was no doubt about it. Since I’d never owned a dog, I had no preconceptions of how a dog should act. Barney was much more human than dog anyway. When I wanted him to do something, I would simply talk to him about whatever it was that we needed to do. He always seemed to understand and gave his approval or not by barking in very distinct manners, depending on his preference. Having another mouth to feed when you’re a laid-back hippie posed a whole new problem. Money was running short. The camper vehicle soon would need to be sold to pay off the loan I had taken out on it before I left Massachusetts.  That sale would create some excess cash, but for awhile Barney and I would have to get by on fumes. So we did what any self-respecting dog and human would do:  We panhandled! Actually what we did was take up a collection to feed the puppy. Barney and I would walk on down to the local grocery store (Isle of Vista campus only) and ask for spare change. Imagine a funny looking little puppy with a can hung around his neck that says “please help feed me.” In very short order we would raise enough money for both dog and human to eat well for a week or more. Barney would also hang out at the student union with me. He needed to wait outside though and tolerated the insult just barely. I’d return to check on his status to find him surrounded by a group of students fussing over him.  “Hey is this your dog?” someone would ask. “He's way far out, man.” Barney would bark several quick woo, woo, woos, scolding me for being gone so long and come and sit alongside my feet. “Guess that answers your question” would be all I needed to say. Days were warming up already, now late April and balmy as summer. Life was easy and Barney and I traveled back and forth from the Campus to Santa Barbara and up into the mountains to where I also stayed at the yoga community. Norman Paulson a student of Paramahansa Yogananda, was the head honcho there. Norman instructed would-be students in the art of Kria Yoga, which he learned from his years with Yagananda.  Norman liked animals well enough and he rather enjoyed Barney, but felt it was for the best that Barney not stay at the commune.  I thanked Norman for everything he’d done educating me, both practically and spiritually. “Wherever Barney goes, so do I,” I said. “So I guess we’ll be leaving soon.” Norman reluctantly gave me his leave and blessed our journey.  To make life a little easier for the moment, he let me borrow his marina card where we could stay right down by the ocean in Santa Barbara, park my camper, and use the facilities to shower and such. A good friend, Franny, who nursed me through a serious case of the flu a month before also left and soon we all headed down to Santa Barbara where her family lived. Barney, Franny, and I spent several weeks beach bumming  till the camper was sold. With the excess cash from the sale of the camper, I’d purchased a V.W. square back sedan.  It was sort of an original hatchback design which worked out great as a small camper. It could be converted for sleeping purposes in a couple of minutes. My pickup camper was my whole life till Barney came along. It was my family so as to speak. I felt more than a little sad to give her up, but knew that it was for the best.  Now Barney and I had a new vehicle and, more importantly, a new adventure to begin. Cash from the sale of the camper paid for the VW with quite a bit left over to live off.  As we left, Franny gave us both her blessings and each of us a great big hug. Barney and I set out one early May morning, our sights set on Big Sur a couple hours to the north of Santa Barbara. It would be another year before we would see our good friend Franny again. Our new wheels, though compact, suited Barney and my needs quite well. We shared a common living space about the size of a bathtub, but it sufficed. Our VW (pea green in color) had a few problems. One in particular was to start the engine, I had to crawl underneath the car with a screwdriver and cross the starter terminals. A bit of a hassle, for sure, but it never failed to start. As such a small living area had its limitations, we oftentimes set up camp and pitched our tent. My time at the Brotherhood of the Sun, which was what Norman called the yoga community, accustomed me to a daily routine of meditation and other beneficial health practices. These practices, combined with becoming a total vegetarian while traveling with the Gaskin community of bus folks, required little of me in the way of cooking.  Most of what I ate was raw veggies and fruits and nuts. Barney had dog food of various kinds for his mainstay, not caring much for my haute cuisine.   One of the biggest treats that Barney and I always look forward to was hanging out at the campfire, playing some music (I played a harmonica), and meeting lots of other humans and non-humans in the process. After several days traveling and camping we returned to a favorite area I had visited a number of weeks earlier called Half Moon Bay. This coastal hamlet, which at that time was quite undiscovered, is located about 45 minutes south of San Francisco. David and Lisa, a real nice couple who lived in the area, had been our hopeful destination, but as it turned out the welcome mat was not out.  The couple who several weeks earlier had been married had to cater to visitors since the event had taken place.  I remember David (not my classmate David) and Lisa taking their vows and getting hitched in the center of a ring of people holding hands, all five to six hundred of us. It was an awesome event to say the least. Since I had cooked all the food for the wedding  (for those five or six hundred folks), Barney and I expected to be welcomed with open arms. Weeks later, though, many folks had to be uninvited and, as it turned out, so were Barney and I. No big deal, really. We all parted friends, and dog and man set out to find a new adventure. The meal now over we all moved into the living room parlor area. Here there was a rather crudely built fireplace, not at all in keeping with the quality of the rest of the home. Nancy loved having a fire, but the fireplace was built incorrectly, and smoke would often pour into the room, as was evident by the smoke stains on the wall above the fireplace. “What’s wrong with the fireplace?” I asked. “We don’t know,” David answered. “I believe the Mason was drunk when he built the damn thing,” Lionel humorously piped in. Being a Mason as well as a painter and carpenter, I saw the problem immediately. The builder had failed to install a smoke shelf above the firebox. That was why smoke came into the room. Just then Barney started barking. I opened the back door to see him harassing the horse that Nancy had grazing in the field. “Barney! Get over here! Now!” I said in my most authoritative tone. Barney obeyed and came right over to us. “Come inside Barney,” I said sternly. David then took him into the kitchen for some water and leftovers. “Sorry Nancy, I guess that mutt never saw a horse before.” “He’s a real cute dog,” she said forgivingly. “I love his beard. One of his ears is up and the other is down all the time. Why is that?” “Beats me why,” I said. “You two are so close, anyone can see how much you love each other,” she said. “Yeah, we do. But still he can’t misbehave and bother folks and their critters. I’ll keep him away from the horse from now on.” Apologies made and accepted, I got back to Lionel's fireplace problem, explaining that his was defective. “Can it be fixed?” He asked. “I think so,” I said reassuringly. I knew I’d need a few things—some angle iron, some cement, bricks, sand and lots of nice stones. “Tearing down the whole damn thing and starting over might fix it,” I suggested, “but with a little luck I can improve its performance enough so it can be used with little or no smoke escaping.” “Will it cost much?” Lionel asked with some apprehension. Since this was a real chance for me to make some much-needed cash and not wishing to lose the opportunity, I suggested $250, a rock bottom (no pun intended) rate. “You pay for the materials, and I use your truck to haul the stones.” “Done and done!” David beat Lionel to the punch. Best thing was, Nancy offered us free room and board as a big bonus while the job was going on. So there you have it: two job offers and free room and board in one evening’s time! As things worked out, it took more than three weeks to complete the job. The end result was a completely remodeled fascia of new stones, a new hearth, and, best of all, no more smoke in the room. Having four walls around us and a roof over our heads was a real treat. Barney and I had our own room. There was hot and cold running water and a real bathtub. No more cold baths at the local creek. We all became like a family. During this period, David, Lionel, and Nancy educated me about all facets of filmmaking. Videos were not yet a household item, so occasionally we would travel to San Francisco to see a movie. It would be during one of these trips that I would have a chance to stop by and see where Lionel worked and best of all have a couple of exciting experiences I would not soon forget. PART TWO AMERICAN Zotrope Studios was an unassuming place occupying the second floor of an automotive body and paint shop. There was a long flight of stairs leading up from a doorway to one side of the huge overhead garage door that was the paint shop entrance. There at the top of the stairs was a door with one window glass in it, upon which was painted Americans Zotrope Studios. The whole thing seemed rather humorous. “This is where the Godfather movie was going to be created,” I murmured to myself. Seemed like some one was playing a big joke on yours truly. Inside Lionel was at work in the cutting room. That’s where a movie is edited together from all the raw footage. A movie isn’t a movie, no matter how big the stars, until the editing is done. A good editor can save a bad film and a bad editor can mess up a great film. It’s all in the cutting is what Lionel would say. The office area was cleaned and freshly painted. I could hear the voice track from Buck and the Preacher {the film Lionel was working on and that stared Sydney Portier} through the sound room walls. Walking around the area I came upon a few folks including a tall African-American man that I thought might be a basketball player. I made no attempt to interfere with those I met and just smiled and walked on by. Some minutes later Lionel, who just appeared from the cutting room and David my filmmaker friend came up to me and said. “William do you know who that tall black man was in the other room?” “No,” I answered. “That’s Sidney Poitier!” They said simultaneously. “Really! Man He must really think I’m out of it”. I exclaimed “Come on I’ll introduce you,” Lionel said, and sure enough it was Sidney Poitier. We shook hands. He is quite tall 6’6" I’d say and quite athletic looking. His look was a little older than I was expecting. Nonetheless, it definitely was Sidney Poitier. As he was in an important meeting, we had only a moment to chat. We shook hands again and he looked me straight into the eyes and said, very sincerely, “Nice to meet you William. Hope we can get together and talk again when things are a little less hectic around here.” “Thank You Mr. Poitier,” I said. “Please, call me Sidney,” he insisted. I mentioned I loved his work and looked forward to seeing him again. I will always remember our meeting that day which ended up being the last time I would see him in person. I was told that my appointment with someone in charge about the gopher position was a “next agenda item,” but I had my doubts. The whole visit seemed a little contrived, I recall thinking. Still I welcomed the opportunity to meet new people and this was one of those opportunities. There was a corner office to one side of the cutting room where I was instructed to go. Just go in and have a seat was what I was told to do and someone would be right in to meet with me. I seem to remember two walls with windows in them, and there was a large wooden desk that sat directly in front of them. I sat directly in front of the desk and looked out the second-story windows at tree branches and buildings across the street. I waited quite awhile before an office worker, a young woman, asked if anyone had met with me yet. “No not yet.” I replied. I then explained that soon I must leave as my Ride with David back to the ranch was my only way home. “I’ll get someone right away,” she promised before disappearing. Another wait and still no one showed up. I figured I was pretty insignificant and not a high priority item to deal with. I decided I’d give it five minutes more than politely take my leave and meet up with David who I hoped was still waiting around the building someplace. “Hi, William. I’m so sorry about the mix up here. My assistant was called out unexpectedly and no one seemed to know who was supposed to take over your interview.” The gentleman, maybe early 30s, dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, was very pleasant. I was just about to walk out of the room as he arrived. “Please sit. Can you take a few more minutes? I feel bad. Let’s talk,” he said “Okay,” I replied. “I expect my ride will wait.” “Well, if he’s left, I’ll drive you home myself,” he promised. “You’re staying with Lionel in Half Moon Bay, right?” “Yes, that’s right. Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure David is still around,” I said hopefully. The fellow started to introduce himself as he was interrupted by a phone call. I thought he said Frank was his name or Fran something. As the conversation began again no further introductions were offered. He simply asked me if I’d like to work for Zotrope Studios as a general helper, a gopher, during production of the Godfather. He apologized that the pay would be low and the hours long, noting that production money was tight, but what the hell, it represented a golden opportunity to learn about the movie industry. I thought to myself. Long hours, low pay, a very uncertain future doing something that I had absolutely no idea about how to do. My decision seemed easy. I thanked him and without a second thought I declined his offer. I explained it was mainly because I needed to get back to visit family and friends, and also I needed to earn some serious money to continue traveling for as long as possible. The gentleman who was very understanding spoke at some length about the times—the Vietnam War, President Nixon, and all the other crap that was going on in those days. Casting for the Godfather was still going on. Marlon Brando was the lead role as the Godfather. Other names were mentioned; one among them was Al Pacino, who I’d never heard of. It’s incredible to think back now, to that moment and conversation. One must wonder, had a different choice been made, what would have been the outcome. Who knows? Maybe eventually I would have gotten a bit part in a movie, and then a bigger part, and then... Oh well, life is way too short to spend much time on regrets or might-have-beens. After our discussion, the gentleman left the job offer open should I change my mind. We shook hands. And that was that. Some years later, while owning a video store in Hawaii, I saw the documentary, Hearts of Darkness, a film about the making of Apocalypse Now. Filmed by Elenor Coppola, Francis Ford Coppola’s wife, it’s a Great flick that really shows the difficulties the actors and film crew faced filming on location in mosquito infested jungles and rain Forests. The making of Apocalypse nearly ruined Zotrope Studios and almost killed Martin Sheen, who suffered a rather serious heart attack on location hundreds of miles from the nearest hospital. During the part of the film segment that showed the early days of Zotrope Studios (now a Mega production company), I viewed that building and offices above the body shop. A long stairway leading up to a door with American Zotrope Studios on its window glass. There was a clip of the office area and then the same exact office I had my meeting in so many years ago. There was the big desk, I cannot remember if the windows where there or not and sitting behind the desk was a dark haired bearded young Francis Ford Coppola. Seeing that clip made me all but positive that this was the same gentleman who interviewed me so long ago. I re-ran the office scene at least a dozens times. I became more and more certain this was the person I had met. I then remembered the phone call that interrupted his introduction to me. He was about to tell me who he was and managed only to say “Fran...” Well how dumb can a person get? Evidently I turned down a job with one of the most influential director/ producers of our time and a chance to work with one of the biggest studios in Hollywood. Still I have to admit, I have no regrets, as our travels would lead both Barney and I to many wonderful experiences. Eventually I myself, becoming a father of five great children, a life I would not trade for anything. My meeting now over, I found David and we headed back to Half Moon Bay to tell Barney about our day. Barney could be trusted to remain close by so leaving him was not a worry. Though over the last week or so he would trot off up the long driveway and be gone for a few hours, he’d then return all hungry and thirsty. I figured he was chasing rabbits or something. When we returned, Barney was nowhere to be found. It was after 6 p.m. and in an hour or so it would be getting dark. At 7 p.m. David and I jumped in the pickup truck to cruise the neighborhood and asked folks if they had seen Barney. People seemed genuinely concerned and said that they’d call if he turned up. We searched till dark and headed back to the ranch. I half expected to see Barney on the porch and hear his Woo Woo Woo Bark, scolding me for my long absence that day. Sadly this was not to be, Barney was not back and it was now dark. To say the least, I was deeply troubled and concerned for his well-being. He had never done anything like this before. I feared the worst, but kept a positive vision in my mind of him returning safe and sound. David, Lionel and Nancy tried to keep my spirits up and assured me that if Barney was in the area one of the neighbors would surely call and let us know. We retired a 11 P.M or so. I said a prayer for his safe return and fell off to sleep. I awoke the next morning early and checked outside for him. Still no Barney. I called and walked around calling; “Barney, Barney, god darn it Barney, where the hell are you!” As I returned from around the back of the house and looked off to the distant end of the ranch driveway, an old pickup truck was turning in and headed straight down towards the Homestead. Amidst dust and engine roar, (it apparently had no muffler) I could make out a single person , the driver at the wheel. Since visitors were rare, I held out hope this may be someone with news of Barney’s whereabouts. The truck turned, its backend sliding towards me as it stopped. Momentarily being engulfed in a cloud of dust, I was forced to lower my face towards my chest, covering my eyes with my forearm. It was then that I heard the characteristic Woo Woo Woo of Barney’s bark. “Yes!” I yelled and ran to the truck. “Hey, man, this your dog?” The driver asked. “Barney, where the hell have you been?” was all I could say. “I’ll tell you where he’s been! He’s been up at my place bothering my purebred Doberman bitch. She’s in heat and let me tell you man, I’m not interested in this mutt’s bloodlines.” We looked at each other and burst out laughing! He admitted that he really liked Barney, who had been visiting all week. “Not chasing rabbits,” I admitted. “Nope, I think he’s in love,” the neighborly fellow said. “You keep him corralled for now okay my friend.” “You better believe I will, don’t worry,” I said. I then offered a big thank you for bringing Barney home to me. No problem,” he replied “Catch you later.” That was the last we ever saw of the neighbor. It was early June 1971. I knew it was time for Barney and me to head out on the road again. I explain what had happened to David , Lionel and Nancy and said I would head out the next day early in the morning. We all had a last night’s meal together (for now at least) and Barney and I turned in early after packing up all our gear into the VW. Barney and I left the next day after bidding a fond farewell to our new friends. We hit Coast Highway # 1 and headed due north to the Seattle Washington area. A quick trip to Mount Rainer and then turned straight east back home to New England. We didn’t bother camping along the way,and slept in the car and drove, mile after mile after mile till ending up (after about a two day’s journey) one quarter of the way into Montana. Dead tired after driving for more than 20 hours, we stopped at a rest area. Our plan was to get several hours sleep and then head out in the morning again. While setting up the car for sleeping a couple of nice young women came over to the car and said. “Hey Mister you know there’s gonna be a big party here tonight . You know for graduation and stuff . You and your puppy probably better go someplace else more peacable to sleep.” I assured them there was no way that I could drive any further and that I didn’t care what kind of party was going on, I doubt it would bother us. They said “Okay Suit yourself.” and politely took their leave. I don’t even remember falling asleep but I do remember being woken up, by Barney barking. A car full of drunken teenagers was threatening to come over to the car and drag us both out of the VW if he didn’t stop barking. Someone said, “I know how we’ll get them out of there I’m gonna go home and get some kind of a gun.” I’m not sure what kind it was. Then they drove off rather quickly tires squealing. Well I want to tell you mister, you never saw a person move faster. Now remember I had to crawl under the car with a screwdriver and flashlight and cross the starter terminals to start the damn thing. I prayed that the car would start. because on occasion it was a little stubborn and I knew I had only a few moments to do it. It started, thank God. We threw everything in the back seat, set the car up for driving and without a moment’s hesitation I jammed it into gear and flew out of the parking lot. We raced up the road from the rest area to the interstate. I floored it and drove as fast as I could heading east. Then within about a half-mile of the turn from the rest area we saw the car full of teenagers coming back. I never looked back after that and just kept driving. I don’t know how real the threat was from those kids but I wasn’t taking any chances. That was the only time anything of that nature ever happened during all our travels together. With only with a few hours sleep, we just kept on driving another 33 Hours straight till we would get back to Massachusetts. A hitchhiker picked up along the way in New York State was the only rest I had from driving. Arriving back on a beautiful warm New England summer day, we found our way to a place called Stiles Reservoir in Spencer Massachusetts. It was there that I finally could relax and immediately dove into the cool, clear lake water. Barney joined me. I was home for now. It felt great to be back, after nine months on the road. Now cleaned and presentable Barney and I headed out to see my mom and dad, who joyously welcomed home, this long haired bearded hippie and his dog. Barney and I would remain in Massachusetts till December,1971, enjoying many wonderful times. Then with money saved from working, a new camper vehicle (or two) and other friends, we all set off for more adventure-filled miles along the highways and byways of this beautiful land we all call home.
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