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Keeping with the spirit of the times (mid-60s-early 70s), I wanted my surroundings to be more colorful. I had an assortment of paints, acrylic and oils, and decided to just cover the walls with designs. Unfortunately, I ran out of linseed oil, and so used salad oil, instead (necessity being the Mother, and all that), to thin my oil paints. Those parts of the walls that I used the salad-oiled paint on never did dry, so when my friends visited and rested back on the walls, they always came away with a design.
My friend Chas and I had some wild adventures back then. Even when we were in grade school, we'd cut out, and hitch-hike to San Francisco. We often hung out at 710 Ashbury, a couple of times we even sat with with Ron McKernan ("Pigpen" of the Dead). Chas and I could also be seenhanging around on Haight Street (years later, I got a glimpse of us on a KPIX (local t.v.. news special) about the 60s, me in my peacoat and navy pants, yakking away, Chas's wild hair flying around in the beeeze. We marched a few marches against the war, one down Stanyan Street that I remember the most, on account of its irony. We carried the "Make Love Not War" signs, a peaceful march up to the point when two guys in the front of the line had an ideological difference of opinion. It grew ugly when they started to violently swing at each other with their "Make Love Not War" signs. One girl behind me cried out: "Oh, bad vibes, Mellissa! Let's split, this is too heavy a scene!", and I couldn't help laughing. Political consciousness takes time to evolve. Or something.
I have all of my high school yearbooks; bought them myself, saved up my allowances for them. My Senior year was the most important, and I lugged that green book around, to amass as many signatures as possible. Arlo (who was a Sophomore at the same high school) asked to sign my yearbook, so I gave it to him to sign. He had to take it with him, because we were enroute to classes. Later that day, Arlo told me that he couldn't find my yearbook. It was the last week of school, so we looked frantically, but never found it. Arlo worked in the "Annual" class, so he said that he could get me another one. On the last day of school, Arlo gave me a yearbook that was damaged, and said: "BAD COPY" on the front, because there were no good copies left. I wanted my book with signatures! Most of the people who signed it had left school already. But there was nothing I could do (strangling Arlo wouldn't bring my book back), so I swallowed, thanked him, and took the book. To this day, there is only one signature in that book - Arlo's. I wouldn't trade that signature for any others in the world. I also still have the little stuffed shark that Arlo won for me in a high school carnival; he pitched ping-pong balls into fish-bowls for it. I asked him why he was giving it to me. "Hell, I don't want it!" he replied.
Arlo helped my family & I move years ago, and we loaded up his truck before he told me that he truck wasn't running well. I guess this should not have suprised me (knowing Hagler cars), but I wish that he had told me sooner! I asked him what we should do, after several attempts to start the car failed. "Well, it will start if I can roll it down a hill...." We looked around. No hills. "Where are the hills?" Arlo asked. "None close by that I can see!" We got a neighbor to jump-start the thing, then shoved off. Soon after we got going, we heard something fall off the truck, and crash to the ground. But all we lost was that full-length mirror, got everything else arrived intact.
Brotherly love is a strange and wonderful thing. Arlo always sent me funny cards for my birthday and other occasions. One year, I got a real flowery Mother's Day card from Arlo. On the envelope was Arlo's usual greeting: "To a Real Mother...From her Soul Brother". Inside the card were saccharine sentiments about the preciousness of having a sister such as me. Brought a tear to my eye. Then I read Arlo's signature: "Don't look at me - I didn't write the damned thing!"
