If this was the same festival summer of '73 where we camped in the (mostly) rain and mud and freezing fecking cold in those big tents at night, I was there !!! I was a Pittsburg ashramie at the time and the housemother, Nancy Something and I flew together. I paid for my own ticket with my last shred of personal assets: 1/2 ownership of the 1940 Buick Special I co-owned with my brother since I was fifteen. We were bused from the camp site to the palace. It was disorganized and chaotic and as usual I didn't get the guru's rap. Premies and Mahatmas seemed to have come in loud and clear, but the guru, I could never get him in focus, his rambling satsangs never made much sense to me. I enjoyed Mahatma Rajeswar much more than Cognac Boy Hisself.
This is also the Love-In I skipped out a day of to go to London by train. It was tootsie kissing day and I had it with the crowd, mud and lousy food. I saw the sites, even taking in a little bit of Parliament. That was the best day by far and sort made up for the loss of the Buick. Sorta...
