It was a warm summer day in Berkeley. Crystal blue skies and a gentle cooling breeze from off the bay. It must have been 1968. Or 1969. The years blur as time goes by. As I meandered through Willard park that afternoon, there was a small group taking shade under a tree smoking some pot. Talking. They invited me to sit with them, so I did, taking part of the pot, the sunshine and the generally mellow vibe.

Someone took out a guitar and started playing, and singing. A few more people joined in as time went by. Another guitar appeared. Someone dropped a lid down and started twisting numbers, and passing them, without regard to their return. Some people started dancing. The crowd grew.

After an hour or so, there were around 100 people gathered. Some locals brought a generator and sound equipment. A band started playing. More people gathered. Soon, the park was full.

It was sun, good feelings and spontaneous joy that just happened in the California sunshine.

Then, a group of people from the “Red Family” (we all knew who they were), started circulating among the crowd, passing out leaflets extolling the evils of the Bank of America, and shouting, “Let’s trash the Bank of America!” There were maybe 5 of them inciting. They saw an opportunity to marshal their interests among this spontaneous gathering.

That day, the sun was a bit to warm, the weed was a bit too free, and the music was just right. A second band showed up, and the party went into the night, as the Red Family drifted off to their own machinations, their call to arms unheeded.