Shoshone

Magic exists...the power of the spirit over time.

: Happiness runs in a circular motion
: Life is like a little boat upon the sea

: All our souls are deeper than you can see
: You can have everything if you let yourself be

: Everybody is a part of everthing anyway
: You can be anything if you let yourself be

Thank you Donovan Leitch for the years of joy.

If you have read the book Radio...you may presume that the format called "Underground" first came about April 7, 1967. Indeed it did. But it proves simultaneous invention. While KMPC in San Francisco was beginning this experiment, young Jan Grom Zabriskie was getting so drunk he couldn't make his way to the station. He seemed to do this after every Fortran class. His young buddy Zach Hornblower was not as intoxicated (Jan shared but not well) nor as intimidated by punch cards. He could walk.

So Zach strolled over to KSPC, the FM station at Pomona College and began his short but stellar career as an Underground Disk Jockey, the creator of underground radio. Right there in the Replica House. He never knew what it was a replica of and the "Mother Tucker Family Folk Hour" would never be the same. Sadly radio is now the same, but for awhile his Grandmother would say "What that boy say Mother What!"... Zach's 16th birthday was great fun.

It seemed strange but the big boys and girls at college took well to the little guy. Soon his other high school mates became involved, especially Mother Mug, a root beer and bean pie fanatic. And thus began the Zach Hornblower show, Zach and Mug into the wee hours.

Now radio is power in some ways more powerful than TV. I think its because first, it is ethereal, it is of the spirit world, second because the message can be sublime and enter the heart without disrupting the menial task of living. It is strange too how the message disseminates. Three a.m., the spirits prowl, the enchant..ation, at 8 heard again on the big station. Some people don't like replays...some are honored by them.

Steve had a beautiful '57 Chevy and was in the Navy. He didn't like replays. So when his ship was in port he'd drive all the way to Claremont. He'd listen to Zach from the porch of the Replica House sometimes alone....till dawn came and The Pebble and the Man. Quite a bond on some level formed between the little hippie boy with the voice like James Earl Jones on reds and the sailor man from Vietnam.

Bonds, bonds, bonds....goodness how delicious. Its all about bonds, chains, links, isn't it? And Zach had it great, he could nearly effortlessly have people bond with him...all he had to do was tell the story. Not even that at times....once Jesse brought some smack over to the station...Zach's first taste...for three hours the same rhythmic song played...as he nodded...just one line...Chanukah....Chanukah....Chanukah....as the needle would hit the label...the festival of light. Hundreds of previous insomniacs called...cured, and a couple of truck drivers asking if our insurance would cover their falling asleep at the wheel. Still at dawn, Happiness Runs.

Jeff and Doug ran the American Records store. It was somewhat ironic in that most music eminating from the store was British. Whenever Zach came home, no matter the years gone by, the first stop was American Records. Who would have ever suspected that one night a lil' Welshman and his English buddy would be there. Almost anybody...had they the gift of prophesy.

It wasn't easy being a British visitor in then dry Claremont on a Sunday night. It was never easy being Zach. With this obvious commonality the three young men bonded. As you might already suspect Phil and Geoff invited Zach to come to Geoff's future brother-in-laws place to drink Geoff's future brother-in-laws wine and various other stuff while Geoff's future brother-in-law watched or whatever Geoff's future brother-in-law may wish to do. And, of course, to ponder the question that has stymied young men since Cain, "What's there to do?"

Its questionable whether the unification of Italy is directly responsible, more likely republican Verdi's recreation of that gigantic art form opera, that provided the answer through a second rate film by the master, Antonioni....Zabriskie Point. Logically since Phil and Geoff and David and Zach and Claudia were in California and Antonioni was in Italy but Zabriskie Point was somewhere in California....well sunrise at Zabriskie Point was the answer to the universal question. Val had to stay home with the kids.

The next question was how? Transport? I don't know why Claudia's wonderful old Falcon wasn't used...perhaps because it wasn't of British heritage. Instead Sandy lent her....Austin America. Four full size humans and a Welshman in the car that may be singled out as the reason English auto's don't fill the American highways today. In fact, are the mechanical equivalent of the passenger pigeon. I think the Japanese encouraged Austin to import these little devils...sly folks those Japanese.

So they had transport and a rough notion of the where abouts of Zabriskie Point, north-east in Death Valley. Zach had an infallible sense of direction and could go directly to any place on the globe without map, directions, or even indication. However, perhaps because of his Chanukah experience but probably something pre-natal....no sense of time or distance. It may also have been the result of the Zen like grace that standing for life times thumb out on road sides can bring. Sort of a glow.

Anyway, the British invented the term "pour in and go for a ride"....part of their inscrutable sense of humor. Far more efficient than the Americans in telephone packing. Once in England on a completed section of the M-4 as it goes downhill into Chiswick...I was passed by a Morris Minor station wagon front wheel going 'bout 80. A few seconds later I was passed by a three wheeled Morris Minor station wagon going 'bout 80. Curiously this vehicle was rocking side to side...each rock to the right accompanied by sparks...each rock to the left by a view of dozens of screaming faces. The 27 Pakistani passengers where having a hell of a good ride. Very efficient these British in their sense of humor.

Into the Austin and away they rode. No sweat..allowed.. East towards sunrise on Route 66. San Bernadino, up the Cajon Pass, a wave to Trigger at Apple Valley, Victorville, the High Desert cold clear, Barstow. Then Towards Las Vegas on the Yermo Road along the banks of the mighty Mojave River, Yermo, Tomey, and Baker, the miles flew by the hours went by and blindly onward. Left turn at Baker. Zach was in his medium....attached to the wheel...guided by the stars.

The ship coasted into Shoshone and parked itself in front of the only gas pumps for a hundred miles around. Everybody woke up and disgourged themselves from the Austin. They looked around at the dark little town. Gas pumps, a little general store, probably not much changed since before "The Big One", a couple wasteland homes...Shoshone. Dark and nearly silent except the dog howling in the distant.

Zach examined the pumps...locked, pad locked...as only proper at 2 in the morning. He sat on the concrete base that formed the island protecting these glass domed relics that held the precious liquid of their salvation. At first his comrades were simply surprised. But soon agitation and anxiety...they were in a strange land...in the middle of a great desert 250 miles from home...with only images of skeletons and Ronald Regan's 20 mule team. No comfort seemed to come from their guide...who seemed in that Zen state that enveloped him when time had no meaning.