Home Friends and Family Adventures Decade Dance Birthdays Lists

 

High-Tech Hippie

A Character Study: 1973

I will always hold Gary dear to my heart even though we haven't seen much of one another these past years. I did attend one of his over-the-top birthday celebrations in Pacifica, hosted by good friend, Steven. That was three birthdays ago. A day or so later, Becki and I drove to Gary's beach-water flat on the Great Highway in San Francisco for a day visit.

I will always love Gary. He was as close to me as any big brother would be at a very crucial part of my life and development to becoming a full-blown woman. And for this, I will always be grateful.

Gary was an experience. An era. A span of time I not only needed to experience, but one where I very willingly rode out. It was a surrender of sorts. When my learning was realized and set in stone, our relationship slowly evolved into a great memory. I can't speak for Gary; never did, and I will certainly not start now, but maybe he has learned some things from knowing me thus far as well.

We were friends first and foremost and the essence of our friendship lingers. I think of him every day of my life, but that doesn't mean he's easy to conjure up. On the contrary. There were others from that time that I have since written of. They were clearer; easier. This isn't his fault. It's no one's fault. For me, it's complicated. Sometimes mere words aren't good enough to describe a human connection.

It was as if he was waiting for me to arrive. I was a Secretary at the Philco Ford Corporation in Palo Alto, California, back in 1973. He was one of the first computer programmers to arrive on the scene with new technology and an air of awe from those in the know. In spite of his alternative appearance for even the 70's, Philco was proud they had snagged him. He and a few others back than were pioneers in the new field of this technology.

I recall the second time I laid eyes on Gary. I only saw the back of him first. He was sitting at his computer, which was in a glassed enclosed cubicle, along with two other programmers. They had been set apart, as if they were some kind of science experiment for Philco, whom were literally testing them out, like lab rats given a serum that could make them grow or kill them.

Philco employees would come up to the windows of the cubicle and practically press their noses up against the glass to get a glimpse of Gary and his fellow programmers. It was new stuff which caused an unseen kind of uncharted excitement in the air.

Of course, the big muck-a-mucks at Ford hated the way Gary chose to appear and dress for work. In 1973, the establishment was trying very hard to forget about the 60's generation. Because of their narrow--minded, blindsided view, it was always a hilarious sight to watch Gary striding with his unique bounce down the sterile halls of corporate.

A couple of months prior to my meeting Gar again, I had been introduced to my new Supervisor, Jim Wilson. Jim was an incredibly handsome, younger version of Clark Gable, with a personality to match. We became fast friends. Of course we did. He wanted nothing more than to make me another notch on his bedpost. When he realized I was in need of the perspective of a male friend, he decided to have me meet Gary.

*****

All I saw from the back of Gary's chair was a hulk of a man wearing a brown-fringed leather jacket with a mesh of thin, curly ponytail hanging down the middle of his back.

Jim opened the glass door to their cubicle and got Gary's attention by saying, “Hey Bro, I've got someone you have to meet.”

When Gar turned to see who was interrupting his work, he had on a smile that could melt the hardest non-believer of pure joy. In that instant, we both knew we had met before.

“Josie, is that you?”

I answered, “Wow, Gar? I didn't equate your name with Philco Ford! How are you?”

Gary gave me a big, long hug.

In Jim's shock, he added, “What? you two already know one another?”

I answered, “Well, we met while I was visiting my friend, Becki. She was living in Los Angeles with this cutie over here.”

The first time Gary and I met he found me fumbling and groping, knees bent, on the grimy airport floor as one of my contact lenses flipped right out of my dry and fatigued eye. I did find my lens, popped it in my mouth for spit, and put it right back in.

Later that evening, back at Gary and Becki's apartment, well let's just put it this way: Gary never believed in a closed door policy and I caught a long glimpse of him dancing around their bed in his bright white briefs, while singing one of his ol' timey tunes; one of many he sang to me in a very impromptu manner through the years.

Jim replied, “This is trippy? I know Becki too.”

Gary said, “I guess great people hang together? So we all know of one another. I didn't know you were working here, Jo?”

“Well, it's a big place and besides I have been working in Building II, (which was two long blocks up from his building on San Antonio Road). It's no surprise we haven't run into each other.”

And so it was. In spite of the fact that Becki and Gary had split eight months prior, and he had moved from Los Angeles to Santa Clara, we were destined to meet yet again. Only this time it was for us. Our relationship, although in varying phases, has lasted a life time.

*****

Back in 1973, and most likely today, I would classify Gary as a high-tech hippie (although he would absolutely hate that). But he is a complete polarity in terms this man of depth and wisdom.

Eyeing Gary, I'd say he's five foot six, carrying a frame that would be considered bulky. I only saw that gracious smile. Quite frankly, I certainly noticed a constant illumination of his sexuality. He carried himself with the agility of a ballet dancer. Dancing with Gary was a dream come true; he is so very light on his feet.

To further detail the picture of Gary and his life, one would have to know he had two cats; Mother Fucker and Thelonious Monk. They shared his home on the Great Highway in San Francisco. One could find Gary mulling over his day and even the challenges and hurts life brought by discussing issues with his cats. He would take a tired seat in his easy chair ... and start talking to his cherished pets for hours while they actually listened. I believe they understood every word Gar ever uttered.

*****

Gary's dad passed away several years before we met, but left him with a perfectly loving Jewish mother that we all adored, and an incredibly handsome brother, Brent. His baby brother made Gar look like a midget, especially when Brent would pick Gar up like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the San Francisco Airport, as people milling through the airport smiled as they passed by.

Gary had an interesting beginning. His dad was an Importer and lived in the Orient at the time of Gary's birth. Born in Shanghai, and later traveling extensively, the big city life became second nature to him. Although he had a deep appreciation for country living, his passion for a large city metropolis had a lasting impression upon him.

For Gary, a combination of street smarts, which allows him survival skills as well as the perspective of sensibility, logic, the intelligence and wisdom of a prophet with a book worm twist, has created a versatile, grand human being. Gary expresses charisma that flows out of every pore. He is a man who could charm the skirt off of any woman but savvy enough to hold the intrigue of a variety of dedicated male friends. His loyalty given to him and received by him was unmatchable.

Gary's work at Philco Ford assaulted his brain eight hours a day for his living expenses and the ability to keep his line of credit charged and ready for good use at any given high-end restaurant. A credit card appeared every time we'd dine at one his favorite eateries where he knew the owners and the chef personally. I don't remember when he would allow me to pay for anything. He would never fail to bring along a made-the-map bottle of Cabernet to the chef with his compliments.

No matter what the occasion, Gar wore jeans, a jean jacket, or his swede jacket with the fringe everywhere, white tennis shoes that had usually seen better days, and his trademark -- a ragged suede hat that looked like it had been kicked, soaked in downpours of rain, and left to dry in the hot desert sun for months -- donned over his long, curly brown locks with no definite brow line, and tied back under that excuse for a hat. His long beard and thick mustache couldn't hide those wonderful, full, round, cherry-like lips. When that marvelous mouth widened into a smile, the eyes that once were somewhat a sorrowful brown and pinning for all the world's homeless and hungry, would light up like diamond stars dressing up a black sky.

*****

To be with Gary was pure, unbridled and, most of the time, unplanned excitement. He opened doors and pathways laced with culture, fine gourmet foods, spicy aged wine, and the best music available. Gary captured the nucleus of San Francisco and literally held it in his robust lap.

After meals at my favorite diner, The Pacific Café, where the dishes kept coming, consisting of one cracked crab after the other, we would slowly stroll to the Great American Music Hall where we saw folks like old Doc Watson, and The Seldom Scene. On some of these occasions, we would end up falling asleep from over-stimulation right there in our lounge seats, as the best bluegrass swept us up and away to another place in time.

I remember like it was yesterday the night Gary brought his extravagantly expensive camera equipment along on one of our adventurous nights in the city. We went chasing fires with Patty and Jim. In the screaming silence, as the orange entails of heat shot like giant darts against the dark, clear sky, I marked that time as one of the highlights of my life. It was such a safe feeling being with Gar. Yet I knew I could never have experienced this kind of fervor with anyone else on earth.

*****

The polarity named Gary continued. Even when you knew his life was going his way, with one concert after another, season tickets to everything imaginable; still the suffering of tens of thousands of starving women and children of this nation and the entire third-world showed up miserably in his loving brown eyes. They actually wept of sorrow and compassion ... compassion for us all.

Gary was involved in a wide variety of grass roots organizations in and around San Francisco. We, his friends, found it difficult to comprehend how he could spread himself so thin, between exemplary work ethics, to entertaining loving friends, to helping others in a totally selfless way. The more he lived his life, the more life he could release and give away.

In years now past, Gary was unfairly held up on a pedestal (by my own thinking) that was way too high and teetering. Now looking at Gary with non-rose-colored specs, I can see him so much more clearly. He is a great man that was perfect and imperfect, all rolled into one benevolent person.

There are so many memories that come popping out of the channels of my mind, from Grateful Dead concerts, to trips to Baker's Beach, Marin, and Yauntville. Many lazy days, sitting in bed, reading The Pink Section of the San Francisco Chronicle still, to this day, takes me to a warm and fuzzy place in my mind and in my heart. We did absolutely nothing extremely well together.

One afternoon we were driving up the Coastal Highway toward Pacifica and I asked him a question. One question after the other made up a whole variety of inquiries. I can't recall exactly what my curiosity was at the time. I do remember it was a deeply rooted, philosophical inquiry.

He replied, “Josie, I don't know all the answers. I don't even know half of the questions to ask!”. Believe me, Gary's answer grew inside of me and taught me much about the vast world in which we tread and how to navigate this life.

On one of our do-nothing visits, as we had often, we were sitting on his over-stuffed easy chairs facing a hazy, violet sunset and, as usual, we were talking -- had been for hours. I said something about how I had a challenge around finding the right words to express my true feelings.

Gary answered, “No, you don't have a challenge. You speak just fine.”

I answered back, “Oh, yes I do. I have a major challenge.”

He said “No” again and then uttered, “Jo, if you could only see yourself through my eyes.”

I've never had anyone give me such adulation. And to this day he has established for me the kind of man I desire to have a holy relationship with. By holy I mean taking the time to communicate with one another; to really get down to the expression of mirroring and exchanging true feelings. The sharing that this brings sets a stage for growth of the most profound kind. This is the stuff miracles are born by.

Gar may not be aware of this fact, but his friendship and our relationship as friends, as lovers, as sharing companions, has carved a clear path for me to forge through the many challenges and strife life has brought. What I have learned from knowing Gary got me through very hard times; coming out the other end of those times knowing more about myself and what I am capable of sharing with others.

Since those glorious times in the 70's with Gary, I am now taking what I know and teaching it to others. The wisdom that comes from living life in truth and accepting the reality of what we create as life experiences are the most valuable lessons we can achieve and come out on the other side of. There is no sense in having lessons face us if we don't have the will to learn from them. We come here to experience this thing we call life to help others as we help ourselves while learning our soul lessons, both big and small.

Gary is one of those individuals that has been placed on my path to help. A kind of angel of sorts. If he continues his work in heaven, I think they'll call him Michael. A unique kind of angel, with huge white wings; where unconditional love sprouts everywhere around him. The kind of an angel where just his presence, without words, expresses his love for you. He didn't have to utter the words “I love you” to know you were loved.

All one has to do is ask the hundreds of true friends Gar has cultivated thus far through his life on earth. It's nothing new for him. He's an old soul doing his work throughout the cosmos forever.

 

(This story is from an unpublished compilation of short stories entitled “The Days of Paisley”.)

Home Friends and Family Adventures Decade Dance Birthdays Lists