“Squire and I were not friends. Nodding acquaintances is about as close as we got.” Carl, I could say the same, in fact it almost came to fisticuffs! But I must take issue with your statement that 1966 was a time before the hippies with long hair and beads, as that was the root of my problem with Squire. In 1966, the year of my high school graduation, I was well on my way to becoming a full fledged hippie, though my hair had yet to grow into the glorious afro that later became my badge of honor. In circa 1967 or so I happened to be at the PSC Fieldhouse in Germany valley WestbygawdVirginia. Squire showed up with Bob Thrun (Thren?) and took great exception to my presumption of looking like a hippie, calling me a fake little punk who had no right to have long hair or to smoke dope. (At that time I believe his hair was short?) He considered himself to be a real life Jack Kerouac who could tell stories of Mexico whereas I was a suburban poseur. That was OK, but then he decided to throw me out of the fieldhouse which led to a near violent standoff. Eventually he relented. I didn’t see him again until quite a few years later. When I did he had been transformed into a crotchety old man whereas I was in the prime of my hippiehood and I too had stories of adventure to tell from Mexico. I said, “How you doing old man?” and he shook my hand. He may have been a jerk but I have to admit that I cherish his memory! Sleaze ps: Where can a fellow get hold of that book?
