The final water polo game was on November 14, 1965, and after thatI saw no real reason to continue attending classes. Co-incidentally it wasalso the final game of the football season. I mention this only becausethis is what my life had become. In addition to being on the Water PoloTeam, I was also the school mascot, and as such was expected to attendall the football games. On that particular day, because the football gamewas in San Francisco taking place at the same time as my water polo game,I was unable to attend. So who gives a damn? I was in school solely forthe social and athletic opportunities it afforded me. I decided to keep upthe appearance of going to class to keep my Mom from insisting that I geta full time job, as well as allowing me to pursue my social and romanticinterests, and could continue to be "Big Al", aka "the Animal, self-styledbon vivant, jock and ladies man. I was a BMOC, a true horses ass, andthough I knew that I was above average in intelligence persisted in playingthe "dumb jock" lest anyone have expectations of me.

I was currently squiring two co-eds, Karen, and Daphne. They wereas different as two people could be, each one mirroring an aspect of myevolving personality. Ironically I met both of them on the same day. Inaddition to being on the water polo team, and school mascot, I was alsothe representative of the Varsity Club to the Inter-club Council. Turns outthat they were both there. Daphne was there as a rep for the Dental Club,while Karen was from the International Club. Like I said they were twocompletely different people, not only physically, but also culturally, andpolitically as well. Daphne was tall, almost as tall as me, and had gone tohigh school in San Diego, her father; an executive at Hewlett-Packard hadbeen transferred to the Bay Area where they had purchased a large homein Saratoga. She, like her parents was politically conservative. Her goal inlife was to marry well and live a life much like her parents. What drew herto me, I'll never know? At that time however I still clung to those samemiddle class aspirations taught to me by my parents. I remember seeingher at Fall Registration and apparently she also saw me. I was in full BigAl mode that day, and I think the fact that I was seemingly an importantperson appealed to her future aspirations. How wrong an assessment thatproved to be. She appealed to me because she was reflective of what Ithought I wanted, as well as what was expected of me. Karen, as I said,was a polar opposite; she too came from a middle class, conservative home,her father a petroleum engineer for Shell. She had attended an exclusiveHigh School in Nigeria where her father worked. After high school shewas shipped to her uncles house in California to go to College, and somehow ended up at SJCC. There the similarities ended. She joined thevery liberal International Club and eventually came into my life. I got toknow her during a debate at a Council Meeting about who should havethe right to sponsor the annual Christmas Ball. The two clubs vyingfor the honor were the International Club, and the ultra-conservativeMerchandising Club, which claimed primacy by the simple fact that it hadalways sponsored the Ball. So what's the problem? The debate was longand heated, talk about a tempest in a teapot, but finally a vote was calledfor. The vote was tied until it came time for me to cast the final vote. Ivoted for, drum roll, please, the International Club, a vote that cost me myseat on the council, no big loss, and thrust me into Karen's arms. She wastrue delight cute and sexy, smart, witty, and charming. I had always beenattracted to intelligent girls, but never had the courage to date one, havingalways confused good grades with intelligence. At that time my GPA wassomewhere in the 1's, Karen however, didn't seem to mind.

And so I ended up dating them both, Daphne, who represented bothmy past, and ironically my parent's expectations of my future, and Karen,the one who mirrored my newly emerging consciousness.

Speaking of which, November 14th was also an important day for mein the evolution of that consciousness. The entire week of November 10thwas significant in yet another respect. That week had seen the largest, andfiercest demonstrations to date against our involvement in Viet Nam. Afew days previous a large rally in Berkeley had been violently broken upby the Oakland Chapter of The Hells Angels. At that time I was stronglyin favor of the War and thought that the demonstrators had gotten whatthey had coming. As a result there was a debate scheduled for the 14th atSan Jose State featuring appearances by the Viet Nam Day Committee,and the Hells Angels. It was to be held at Noon in the Quad. As my gamewas not scheduled to begin until 3PM I made plans to attend. It turnedout to be a cold, raw day, with a driving rain and therefore the debate hadbeen moved into the student union. By 10 o'clock the place had begun tofill and by noon was packed with people. It was there, that I first heard,cogent well-reasoned arguments against the war. It was then I began tosee another way of looking at things, and by the time Sonny Barger tookthe stage in rebuttal, the pro war arguments seemed both crude and weak.Indeed I could sense that even Sonny didn't believe the words he wasspeaking and that many of the younger Angles had been moved by thearguments against the war, and so by the time Alan Ginsberg stood up tochant the Heart Sutra, I could feel my mind opening, like a flower after acold dark winter to the prospect of peace.

My mind alive with new ideas I reluctantly left the debate at 2 in orderto make it back in time for my 3 o'clock game. We ended up winningby something like 22-3, and I scored twice, and even played goalie in thefourth period allowing no goals. Not a bad way to cap an otherwise lackluster collegiate career.

I continued to get up each morning and go to school, aware of the factthat I was on academic probation, knowing full well that come the end ofthe semester I would, as they say, "be relieved of academic responsibilities".In short, I would flunk out. The thought did not disturb me greatly, eventhough I knew that I would thereby become eligible for the draft. Not agood thing to be in 1965 when the Selective Service System was revvingup to provide fresh meat to fight and die for god and country in a placehalf way around the world. I, along with many of my peers had a ratherfatalistic attitude towards the whole thing, but again we didn't knowany better. We were twenty, and would live forever. I resigned myselfto the fact that sometime in 1966 my number would be up and I wouldbe drafted. But of even more concern was what I would do in the shorttime that remained. I couldn't sponge off my mother, that was clear. Iwould have to get a job, and as Christmas was approaching, I decided togo back to my summer job, shagging shopping carts at a "Big Box" storewith a parking lot the size of Texas. During the summer it wasn't too badbecause I was always outside in the warm sun pushing long lies of up to 60heavy metal carts up a slight incline and into the store. If nothing else itwas good exercise. It also had the advantage of being a job with minimumsupervision and responsibility, which meant that I had ample time to flirtwith passing girls, or to visit with my friends when they would drop by. Ihad worked there all summer, but had quit when school and water polo hadstarted up in September. Now however, it was a different game altogether.Gone were those halcyon days of summer, replaced by the rainy nights ofCalifornia's monsoon season. My life at work was now, to put it mildly,cold, wet, and miserable. I hated it, but persevered. It was then that I wasexposed for the first time to that American phenomenon, the "ChristmasRush". I saw no joy, no regard for ones fellow human beings. Only a getin, grab something, get out, and, oh, don't forget to be rude to the helpwhile you're at it attitude. Spread that old Christmas cheer, consumerismrun rampant. Needless to say, that given my bad attitude I was let go assoon as the rush was over. I was neither surprised, nor upset by the waythings turned out.

In the meantime I had taken Karen to the Christmas Ball. We had agreat time in San Francisco, enjoying a nice diner, and at the ball, whichwas held aboard a tour boat that cruised the Bay for the duration of thedance.

Unfortunately, things did not turn out as planned.

Because of that part of me that wanted to be like every body else, Imade the mistake of trying to suck up to Karen's uncle, who was a bigtime Republican and unknown to me, heartily despised by my date. Ohwell, there was still Daphne, and I made a date to see her on New YearsEve. Aside from girl troubles, the only other fly in the ointment was theuntimely death of my '58 Chevy Belle Air, it having suffered its finaldemise after the Christmas Ball. As a result, I was without wheels.

At that time my friend, Zach was busy working in the warehouseof the same Big Box where I had recently been employed. He was alsogoing to school and supporting Patricia who he had married in September.Occasionally we would make runs to the beach as his schedule allowed,but these we infrequent at best.

The end of the semester arrived and my scholastic career, at least for thepresent time was on hiatus. I managed to hold a succession of menial jobs,but could find nothing that I truly enjoyed, and was thus still car-less. Thesituation however was not as bad as might appear at first sight. I generallycould count on Mom spending most weekends either with her girlfriendJoan, or else with one of her boyfriends, inevitably the men she dated weremarried IBM executives, and as a consequence her car was often available.It was my Mom's car and it fit her to a tee. It was a 1957 Lincoln, paintedpink with white trim and my friends and I referred to it a "the Batmobile".I drove the Batmobile almost every weekend from mid January until I gotnew wheels in May. Because I hadn't been exactly pounding the pavementlooking for work, I had lots of time during the week to surf. No Car, noproblem, I had solved my surf transportation issues by stashing my boardat a friends' house in Santa Cruz and hitchhiking over the hill severaldays a week. I was thus able to surf 2-3 days during the week as well ason weekends, not bad for having no wheels. In those days the surf breaksin Santa Cruz were often all but deserted on weekdays and I scored manyuncrowded days that winter and early spring.

Time passed, and I still hadn't heard boo from the Draft Board untilearly in March, when I got a letter to report for my pre-induction physical.On the appointed day, I found myself on a bus bound for the inductioncenter in Oakland. Once there, we were all treated like steers in a meatpacking plant. Stand in line, follow the man in front of you, no talking,turn your head and cough. I was there all damn day, and at the end theypronounced me fit to serve. One step closer to the meat grinder, and I stilldid not have a clue as to what I was going to do.

Then in late April, good old Mom came up to me and said that shehad prevailed upon some of her "friends" at IBM to see what they could doto get me a job. I don't know what strings she pulled or whose short hairsshe'd tugged on, but I became an IBM'er. Despite the fact that I wasn'treally looking for a job, I was stoked to be working at "Big Blue". It wasa job in the warehouse, but it paid well $110.00 per week at a time whenmost people my age were only making 1.50 per hour. You could actuallylive on that back then. I may have even been making more than my mom.I felt rich! I immediately made plans to save for a trip to Hawaii on myfirst vacation. Shortly after that I bought myself some wheels. I got a 1957Studebaker with a Mercury V-8 engine for $150.00 and felt as if I'd gottenthe deal of the century. She was a sweet, stylish ride, and fast as hell.

But then the fickle hand of Karma intervened. I received my notice tobe inducted on the 15th of May. My Mom was heartbroken, and I can't saythat I was stoked at the prospect. In short every one that I knew was prettybummed about the situation, my friends especially, because, hey, it couldhappen to them. Daphne, whom I had continued to date occasionally,was pretty upset and pressed me for more of a commitment. But at thattime it was the furthest thing from my mind. Goodbye surf, goodbye job,goodbye friends and lovers. I told my boss at work, who assured me thatmy job would be waiting for me when I got back. And so, after manygoodbyes, and a big party thrown in my honor by my Mother, I foundmyself, on the morning of the 15th back on the bus to Oakland. Oncethere we were subjected to a final, short physical, where miracle of miracles,I was sent home, the reason, a slight summer cold, which had settled inmy chest. Can't say that I was disappointed. The reprieve proved to beonly a temporary one as I was informed; "they'd get back to me in a fewmonths". Needless to say everyone was happily surprised at my unexpectedreappearance later that day.

Back at work, I made friends with a supplemental worker who alsosurfed. A supplemental was not a regular employee, but a college studenthired to work part-time during the school year and full time duringthe summers. It was a good way to get through school, and gave onea leg up upon graduation if they wanted to be an IBM'er. He was anobservant Mormon, who neither smoked nor drank, and who had served asa missionary in Argentina. In addition, and of more interest to me, was thefact that he had attended Church College on Oahu and had surfed on theNorth Shore. He had since returned home and was now a student at SanJose State. We became surf buddies, but I always felt as though he was a bitof an odd duck. When we would go over the hill to surf, he would rarelygo out. The surf was never good enough for him; to small, to crowded, towindy. Didn't matter, the dude rarely surfed. My other friends Zach etal, as well as myself began to wonder if he surfed at all? Then one day alarge, out of season, Northwest swell arrived, and the Lane was going off.My other friends were surfing the Hook but Bob insisted on going to theLane. It wasn't huge, but it was by far the largest surf that I had paddledout in. Bob had run out of excuses and paddled out with me. I don'tremember how he faired, but I'm pretty sure that he had a better sessionthan I did. Middle Peak was big and shifty that day, and I had not takenthe time to properly study the break. I was sitting with the pack, where Ithought the line up was, when a large set approached, looming out of thenorthwest looking to me like a moving range of mountains. We all startedscratching for the horizon to avoid being caught inside. This was in thedays before leashes and no one wanted to lose his board. Most everyonepaddled out and to the right, the correct thing to do, while I, for reasonsunclear, thought that I could save some paddling by heading straight out.Wrong. Wrong. WRONG! It was only then that I noticed that thepeaks were shifting, and that I was, in fact paddling right into the impactzone. Nothing for it now but to hope that I could paddle over the set.

Unfortunately, things did not turn out as planned.

I was faced with a step ladder set, and though I made it over the firstwave, the second was bigger, none-the-less, I was able to push through thatone too, but barely, the third wave had me dead in its sights, and the finaltwo waves were even bigger. I sprinted towards the third wave hoping tobe able to roll the sucker, and as the lip curled over, I turned turtle andheld on with all my strength, but my long heavy board proved to be toomuch to handle in condition such as those, and I felt it being ripped frommy grasp. I was driven deep, surfacing just in time to take the next twowaves on the head. Then the set was over and I found myself treadingwater 300 yards offshore, while my board took a one-way trip to the jaggedcliffs. That my board would be dashed against said cliffs I had no doubt.I could only hope that it wouldn't go into the cave, 'cause there was no wayin hell that I was gonna go in after it until both swell and tide droppedto safer levels. To go into it under these conditions simply would not beconducive to ones health and well-being. The swim in was easier than Ithought, and when I got closer in was happy to see my board safely restingon the riprap that stabilized the cliff face, high, dry and safe, where someunknown rescuer had left it, the only damage being a badly smashed nose,which was easily repaired later that week.