⦠Ironically, for Clair, anyway, it was Romney's inspiration to serve Electric Kool-Aid, as he called it. They had all ⦠yes ⦠laced it good and heavy with LSD. It was a prank, partly, but mainly it was the natural culmination of the Acid Tests. It was a gesture, it was sheer generosity giving all this acid away, it was truly turning on the world, inviting all in to share the Pranksters' ecstasy of the All-one ⦠all become divine vessels in unison, and it is all there in Kool-Aid and a paper cup. Cassady immediately drank about a gallon of it. Actually there were two cans. Romney took the microphone and said, “This one over here is for the little folk and this one over here is for the big folk. This one over here is for the kittens and this one over here is for the tigers,” and so forth and so on. As far as he was concerned, he was doing everything but putting a sign on the loaded batch saying LSD. Romney was so thoroughly into the pudding himself it never occurred to him that a few simpler souls might have wandered into this unlikely way station in Watts and simply not know ⦠or think that all his veiled instructions probably referred to gin, like the two crystal bowls of punch at either end of the long white table at a wedding reception ⦠or just not hear, like Clair Brushâ
“Severn Darden was there, and Del Close, of course, and I knew them from the Second City in Chicago. Severn and I were standing under a strobe light (first time I'd seen one, and they are kicky) doing an improvisation ⦠he was a jealous husband, I an unfaithful wife, something simple and funny. He was choking me and throwing me around (gently, of course) and suddenly I
began to laugh ⦠and laugh ⦠and the laugh was more primitive, more gut-tearing, than anything I had ever known. It came from somewhere so deep inside that I had never felt it before ⦠and it continued ⦠and it was uncontrollable ⦠and wonderful. Something snapped me back and I realized that there was nothing funny ⦠nothing to laugh about ⦠what had I been laughing at?
“I looked around and people's faces were distorted ⦠lights were flashing everywhere ⦠the screen (sheets) at the end of the room had three or four different films on it at once, and the strobe light was flashing faster than it had been ⦠the band, the Grateful Dead, was playing but I couldn't hear the music ⦠people were dancing ⦠someone came up to me and I shut my eyes and with a machine he projected images on the back of my eyelids (I really think this happened ⦠I asked and there was such a machine) ⦠and nothing was in perspective, nothing had any touch of normalcy or reality ⦠I was afraid, because I honestly thought that it was all in my mind, and that I had finally flipped out.
“I sought a person I trusted, stopping and asking people what was happening ⦠mostly they laughed, not believing that I didn't know. I found a man I knew not very well but with whom I felt simpatico from the first time we met. I asked him what was happening, and if it was all me, and he laughed and held me very close and told me that the Kool-Aid had been âspiked' and that I was just beginning my first LSD experience ⦠and not to be afraid, but to neither accept nor reject ⦠to always keep open, not to struggle or try to make it stop. He held me for a long time and we grew closer than two people can be ⦠our bones merged, our skin was one skin, there was no place where we could separate, where he stopped and I began. This closeness is impossible to describe in any but melodramatic terms ⦠still, I did feel that we had merged and become one in the true sense, that there was nothing that could separate us, and that it had meaning beyond anything that had ever been. (Note, a year and two months
later ⦠three months ⦠I later read about âimprint' and that it was possible that we would continue to be meaningful to each other no matter what circumstances ⦠I think this is true ⦠the person in question remains very special in my life, and I in his, though we have no contact and see each other infrequently ⦠we share something that will last. Oh hell! There's no way to talk about that without sounding goopy.)
“I wasn't afraid any more and started to look around. The setting for the above scene had been the smaller room which was illuminated only by black light, which turns people into beautiful color and texture. I saw about ten people sitting directly under the black light, which was back-draped by a white (luminescent lavender, then) sheet, painting on disembodied mannequins with fluorescent paint ⦠and on each other, their clothes, etc. I stood under the light and drops of paint fell on my foot and sandal, and it was exquisite. I returned to this light frequently ⦠it was peaceful and beautiful beyond description. My skin had depth and texture under the light ⦠a velvety purple. I remember wishing it could be that color always. (I still do.)
“There was much activity in the large room. People were dancing and the band was playingâbut I couldn't hear them. I can't remember a note of the music, because the vibrations were so intense. I am music-orientedâsing, play instruments, etc.âwhich is why this seems unusual to me. I stood close to the band and let the vibrations engulf me. They started in my toes and every inch of me was quivering with them ⦠they made a journey through my nervous system (I remember picturing myself as one of the charts we had studied in biology which shows the nerve network), traveling each tiny path, finally reaching the top of my head, where they exploded in glorious patterns of color and line ⦠perhaps like a Steinberg cartoon? ⦠I remember intense colors, but always with black lines ⦠not exactly patterns, but with some outlines and definitions.
“The strobe light broke midway ⦠I think they blew something in it ⦠but that was a relief, because I had been drawn to
it but it disturbed the part of me that was trying to hang onto reality ⦠playing with time-sense was something I'd never done ⦠and I found it irresistible but frightening.
“The Kool-Aid had been served at ten or so. Almost from the first the doorway was crowded with people walking in and out, and policemen. There were, throughout the evening, at least six different groups of police ⦠starting with the Compton City police, then the Highway Patrol, sheriffs deputies, L.A.P.D. and the vice/narco squad. I seem to remember them in groups of five or six, standing just inside the doorway, watching, sometimes talking to passers-by, but making no hostile gestures or threatening statements. It seems now that they must have realized that whatever was going on was more than could be coped with ⦠and a jail full of 150 people on acid was infinitely undesirable ⦠so they'd look, comment, go away, and others would come ⦠this continued through the night.
“Dignitaries from the neighborhood attended ⦠I'd guess around midnight, but I've no sense of the time of any of this, until 6 A.M. or so, when I finally sat down (I had walked, danced or stood from 10 P.M. on, not wanting to sit down ⦠for what reason I can't imagine). There were two or three women, about seven men. One of the men was dressed in a white suit and had a Shriner's cap onâI thought he was Elijah Muhammed. They smiled, watched, talked with some of the people ⦠stayed for about half an hour, and left, wishing us a happy evening. No Kool-Aid was in evidence at that time, of course ⦠it had been removed quickly. The neighborhood people were Negro, naturally. They seemed to have no idea of the party as being anything but a gathering of young people, and appeared to be pleased to welcome us to the neighborhood. I remember one of the women was carrying a child and many people stooped to play with him ⦠probably a two-year-old boy.
“The caretaker of the building was present for the whole time. It seems he'd go back to the office part and sleep for a while, or maybe just get away from the noise and the chaos ⦠but periodically
would check to see that everything was all right. He was friendly, happy, but very, very confused at the strange activities.
“Mostly I'd call the Acid Test a master production. Everything was very carefully meshed and calculated to produce the LSD effect, so that I have no idea where the production stopped and my own head took over. The films being shown were so vivid, with patterns and details of flowers and trees and often just color surrounded by black lines and fast-moving scenery and details of hands and such ⦠again, I avoided getting hung up watching them â¦
“People were standing outside ⦠it was a cold, clear night ⦠someone panicked, got in his car and drove away, burning rubber ⦠I wanted to go back to my house, but knew that driving would be insane. Bonnie (who was Hugh Romney's lady) was standing alone ⦠we touched hands and smiled, knowing, caring ⦠Furthur was parked in the street. I went alone and sat in the bus, and heard and felt the spirits of the people who lived in it ⦠we (the bus and I) went on a journey through time, and I knew them so well ⦠I went back inside and found the man whose face was painted half gold and half silver, with a bushy head of curly hair, who had seemed earlier to be frightening and strange”â
âthis was Paul Fosterâ“and looked at him and understood. The costumes of the Merry Pranksters had seemed bizarre, and now they were beautiful and right. I recalled a poster which we'd had on the ceiling of the Free Press when our offices were under the Fifth Estate ⦠it's a poster for a production of âThe Beard' and has âGrah roor ograrh ⦠lion lioness ⦠oh grahr â¦' (like that) printed on it ⦠and for that moment I understood exactly what was being said.
“A great flash of insight came to me. I've forgotten it now, but there was one instant when everything fell into place and made sense, and I said aloud, âOh, of course!' ⦠why didn't I see all this before, why couldn't I have realized all these things and not resisted them so much. That didn't last, and hasn't recurred.
“There was a witch who was very kind and sent out the best warm and lovely vibrations. She was wearing red velvet and she's an older lady, really a witch in the best possible way. I was glad she was there, and she was smiling and understanding and enjoying, mothering those few who were not reacting well.
“There was one girl who was wrestling with God. She was with friends, and I think she was all right after a few hours. There was one man who became completely withdrawn ⦠I want to say catatonic, because we tried to bring him out of it, and could not make contact at all ⦠he was sort of a friend of mine, and I had some responsibility for getting him back to town ⦠he had a previous history of mental hospitals, lack of contact with reality, etc., and when I realized what had happened, I begged him not to drink the Kool-Aid, but he did ⦠and it was very bad. These are the only two people I know of who did have bad experiences, but I'm sure I wasn't in contact with everyone.
“I told you about the tape recording (âWho CARES? ⦠I don't carc â¦') and how it was used again at the next one. Show biz.”
âShow bizâ
yesssss
âand noooooâClair was soaring on LSD, wondering what was happening to herself and whether she was going mad, and so forth, and the most crazed scream rang out:
“Who cares!”
And then: “Ray! ⦠Ra-a-a-a-ay! ⦠Who cares!”
Not even such a manic scream could have been heard over the general roar and rush of the Test ordinarily, over the Grateful Dead wailing, or certainly not with such clarity, except for the fact that it was being picked up by a microphone and amplified out of huge theater hornsâ
“Who cares!”
That was just the thing for somebody like Clair to hear, Clair who thought
she
was going madâthe sound of a woman freaking out, blowing her mind, all of it amplified as if it were tearing out of every gut in the place and up through every brain. So Clair's protector and impromptu guide put his arms around her
again and told her, “It's a tape they made. It's just a put-on. Hugh Romney made it.” Well, that seemed plausible. Hugh was an actor and a great satirist and put-on artist and prankster ⦠In fact, between screams, there was Hugh's voice sure enough, coming over the microphone:
“Ladies and gentlemen, there's a cop who's come apart in the next room! Will somebody go in there and put that cop back together again!”
“Ray! Ra-a-a-a-ay! ⦠It's too perfect!”
Then Romney's voice coming back in: “Does anybody have any tranquilizers? There's somebody having a little trouble in the next room.”
The next room was the anteroom off the big hall that Clair had started out in. There was a girl in there sitting on the floor and freaking out in the most complete way. Just the thing for acid veterans. These things happen, what you need isâand Pranksters and other hierophants of the acid world heard about the girl sitting in there and screaming.
Who cares!
and freaking out. Norman Hartweg and Romney came in there, and here was a fairly pretty girl, if only her face wasn't so contorted, with one crippled leg, shrieking
Who cares!
and
Ra-a-a-a-ay.
Ray, the very Ray himself, and Romney looks at Ray and sees the picture at once. Ray is a big guy with a crewcut and a T-shirt and a sleeveless jacket or vest or something on, which shows his muscles very well. He looks like some sailor who fell in with a bunch of hippies and
now
he wonders what in the fock has happenedâ
“Ray!”
The worst possible guy in the world to deal with the Who Cares Girl. This is a job for experts, and we have them here, some of the greatest acid experts in the world, Romney, Norman, the Hasslerâhe comes inâand here comes Babbsâand they're all gathered around her in a bunchâ
Attention!
âremember Rachel Rightbred!âand it came to pass!âand they give her the freakout expertise: