CHAPTER 38 When In Rome..........

1978 was a year of welcome changes and challenge. My low spot at the hill house was when in 117 degree heat, I ran out of everything. I had no phone yet, the motorcycle had blown an engine, (I was driving an incredibly abused and rugged Toyota), groceries were all but gone and cigarettes were of the Bugler tobacco, hand-rolled variety. It was a necessarily lean and resourceful lifestyle, down and dirty, but not as rough as starting out in the school bus.

Finally, the only thing left me was about a dollar in change and the water in the pipes. Then the water gave out too. The pump just couldn't push it up the hill in the daytime. I filled containers at night. I spent two days in that inferno, with nothing but boredom to challenge me. Finally, I prayed. I asked God to lead me because I wasn't managing it myself. There is amazing power for change in doing that. After a few hours, I began to get impressions of what I should do, that "still, small voice" that all but the desperate are deaf to.

First, I went for a long walk. Not far really, just about a half mile from the house. Broke and hungry, I walked along 35th Avenue and ate the dried dates that had fallen from the trees. Tough, sugary, nourishing dates. In the nearby orchards were the thick-skinned oranges that hadn't been chosen for harvest. Tough, nourishing oranges that tasted bitter but contained good juice. There were other natural foods around also. Sweet, juicy prickly pears and cleansing herbal tea made from the creosote trees. Cool water in abundance in the canals. Fasting is good for the spirit.

Finally I got the inspiration to go and buy a newspaper. Bingo. Somebody needed help at an airport about two miles south on 51st Avenue. For the next two weeks I mixed sulphur with water from the irrigation ditch, and pumped it into a lovely Stearman biplane, a crop duster. Something about sulphur is cleansing to the body, especially just before dawn. At least I had a purpose in Hell. I was helping spread the brimstone. After two weeks of this, my phone was connected and I began to get calls to take on part-time jobs through Manpower. What a relief. Over a period of weeks, I managed to lock into a long term job at a warehouse where IBM cards and computer paper was shipped.

Data Documents, Inc. was based out of California and had customers all over Arizona. Their deliveries were hopelessly backed up in Phoenix though, and the warehouse was completely jammed with back orders. Perfect. It took me about a month of 70 hour work weeks to clear the log jam, but I relished it as if I were a one-man army. I did it all by myself. I took to the task as if I were a rapist, and found savage satisfaction in the job. I had seen the other end of what my life could be. This seemed to be a way to move into something else. More importantly, It was just me. I was in full charge. I would succeed or fail on my own. I didn't even think about radio, except to listen.

From July 1978 through the winter and early spring of 1979, I straightened out the mess and turned the warehouse and trucking job into a smooth, efficient operation. I decided at the first breath of spring, to celebrate by throwing my first party at the Hill House. I simply invited everyone I knew. I sat down and made a list of about sixty people, most of whom I hadn't seen in five years or more. They included many of the old friends I had known from KCAC, KDKB and other adventures. The purpose of the party? April Fools. How about a Celebration of Spring, An Appreciation of the Earth, a Meaningless Blowout - a Nuclear Meltdown of flowers, music, food, costumes, drink and idle chatter.

I developed a party invitation around the Nuclear Meltdown theme and carried the joke to extremes with suggestions for glow-in-the-dark costumes and highly irradiated nuclear refreshments. I dropped them all in the mail on the weekend of March 25th so they would arrive by the following Monday, in time for all the guests to plan for the following April Fools celebration.

The most significant events in history must most often be marked by silence. All the invitations arrived by Tuesday. On Wednesday, March 28th the nation was alerted to a major nuclear disaster at Three Mile Island. This was no April Fool's joke. I felt as if I had just wakened from sleepwalking naked, onto a large stage. That particular party invitation would probably be a kind of collectors item by now. I wish I had kept a copy. The Nuclear Meltdown party was attended by almost a hundred people, most of whom I had never met. They were pleasant, slightly anxious former hippies and future yuppies who looked as if they had just arrived at the wrong movie, but were going to watch it anyway. It was like a crowd on its way to a Happening but who had arrived just after the cleanup crew had left the scene. Undoubtedly, there were some present who were government informants. More than a few didn't seem to know anyone there at all.

Susan, an old girl friend from the Jerome days was the first there with a few friends. I welcomed her and the first few arrivals as a "Flasher", apparently (but not really) naked in my old raincoat, which opened to reveal a bouquet of plastic flowers in a very prominent spot just below my navel. In the pocket of the coat was a squeeze bulb filled with water, which squirted perfumed water merrily from the flower bouquet. It was cute but not well received. I decided to change to jeans and a t-shirt. After all, when in Rome....

The highlight of the party came late in the evening when an unidentified crazy tried to literally fly by bouncing on the trampoline. His jumps grew higher and higher, easily twenty feet high, more and more out of control. With each jump he grew more wild-eyed and tried harder. It was easy to see that he enjoyed the attention and was quite willing to kill himself for it. Finally, about a dozen people begged him down. It was the nature of the times. Fly or fall, if you didn't kill yourself, something like Three Mile Island would do it for you.