Those dreaded hippies, and the end of an era

“We’re the young generation and we’ve got something to say!” sang the Monkees in the theme song of their their weekly hit 30 minute television program.

I was not a hippie, but I was a hippie wannabe along with many of my friends.  We loved the hippies.  They were cool.  They were independent.  They were different than anyone else, especially our straight laced and conventional parents.  We had oh so secretly started to look down our noses at our parents and anyone who wore white sidewall haircuts, flood pants or white socks.  To make matters worse, a lot of San Antonio parents were military or ex-military.  Military and hippies do not mix at all.

Hippies just horrified our parents with their long hair and drop out attitude.  Long hair was anathema to both our teachers and parents and had its origins in their childhoods.  In the Great Depression, it was a matter of extreme shame to come to school or appear in public with long hair.  It meant you were the lowest of the low and could not even afford to have your hair cut.  Money was tight for absolutely everything, but most men and boys could scrape up the price of a haircut every couple of weeks.  If you couldn’t, you had really bottomed out.

Along come their affluent sons trying to grow their hair out … it was a little much.  And then the facial hair that came into vogue.  That just about sent them into orbit.  America, love it or leave it, just didn’t work anymore.

Miss T, or the Tank as we affectionately called her in high school, made it her mission to patrol the girls’ bathrooms for cigarette smokers or boys whose hair was a bit too long, nail them and order them to get a haircut.  The boys had a tendency to grow the top layers out as long as possible.  If often curled over and past their eyes, but the sides and back were still short.  It gave the illusion of long hair, but it wasn’t, except for the Tank. 

One day she cornered Greg, one of my brother’s friends, whose locks were a bit on the scruffy side, and snarled:

“Get a haircut, son, by TOMORROW!” 

Greg obliged and had a whole fourth of an inch taken off that very evening.  He presented himself at the office the next morning for inspection.  The Tank was unavailable (she was most likely banging into the girls’ restroom with her nose twitching for the smell of cigarettes), so he was passed off to an assistant principal who cleared his haircut and sent him off to class.

But he soon encountered the Tank, who tore into him.

“I thought I told you to get a haircut, son!”

“I did!” pleaded Greg, “And Mr. H told me it was fine.”

“DO I LOOK LIKE MR. H, YOUNG MAN??????

Greg doubled over in uncontrollable laughter for the Tank was notoriously butch.  She huffed away and left him alone for the rest of his senior year.

Hippies did not just spring to life out of nowhere.  They had their origins in the beatniks of the 50s, who remained mostly on the outskirts of society.  They were known for their laid back attitude and bongo drums.  They originated folk music.  The Hippies took the Beatnik attitude and expanded it across the young generation, spicing things up with illicit drugs and free sex.  Everyone else was “square.”  They walked around with flowers, tie dyed their clothing and painted psychedelic images on their VW beetles.  Their anthem was the well known Scott McKenzie song “If you come to San Francisco (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair).”  The little German family car had become the car of choice for the hippies.  Even more preferred were the VW vans with paneled sides.  That way everyone could sit unseen in the back and toke, or procreate, while someone else drove. 

We often tried to be secret, pseudo hippies, and it was pretty harmless.   We tossed around the lingo:  groovy, far out, bummer, let down.   If you still lived under the roof of your parents, and they fed, housed and clothed you, you had to play the games.  A lot of kids toked in the bushes outside their homes, or with their friends.    We snuck in our long beautiful hair and sandals.  We were more than aware that it was the dawning of the age of Aquarius.  One girl in high school even came barefoot to school one day.  She had arranged a thong look-alike to go over the top of her foot and no one was the wiser.  Our constrictive clothes were becoming more loose and flowing, just like Mama Cass.   Bell bottoms were often worn to school.  We listened to our “long hair” music and smoked pot at the San Pedro Drive in and the Austin Highway Friday night parties, which required a ticket.  We were all trying to experiment with thinking independently, and the hippie way of life was a great avenue to try just that. 

We had our own counter culture of music, which had started with the Beatles.  Frankie Avalon and Elvis flew quickly out the window when the Beatles arrived.  They too, started out as pseudo hippies, with just a little bit of longish hair.  They soon blossomed into the worst of all hippiedom, and spawned the many lookalikes:  The Stones, The Mamas and the Papas, The Doors, who all took drugs and rock and roll to new heights, including death by overdose.

Hippiedom was raging in New York and Haight Ashbury on the West coast, but by the late 60s and early 70s, it was becoming a bit blasé.  The Beatles had split up, along with other monumental rock groups.  Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison had met their ends in a haze of narcotics, and the air was leaking out of the tire that kept the movement rolling.

When I arrived in Austin for college in 1971, we had our freedom at last and really tried to be real hippies, but the movement was dying.  Girls were grooming themselves nicely again and no longer interested in dressing out of the army navy surplus store, growing their armpit hair, and shunning make up.  We had a half hearted riot which started on the main mall of the University of Texas and flowed towards the capital building.  I can’t even remember what they were protesting.  It fizzled quickly out and was forgotten. 

Hippiedom had come to the end of its road.  Today, it’s hilarious to see the hair and clothes and listen to the lingo that was so popular at the time.  Sunshine, who attended Woodstock, went on to law school and became a prosecuting attorney.  Bet she still has her tie-dyed shirt, though.