(larger) The most alive but least viable (lasted about four months) member of the Underground Press Syndicate WAS San Francisco’s Communication Company. Channeling announcements, news, poems, tidbits, sweet nothings and political provocations into the Haight-Ashbury early this year the CC, more than any other group, made it happen. It was just what it said it was: communications. Instantaneous. Or nearly so. If the Diggers secured some food, the CC’s Gestetner printed up an announcement and got it on the street half hour later; if Brautigan, Lenore or Liza wrote a poem, people were reading it thirty minutes later; if there was trouble in Haight everyone knew about it immediately. It was truly fantastic & responsible journalism in the fantastic & short-lived experiment of Haight-Ashbury. The scene in H-A has faded, the Communication Company has gone, but both memories linger on sweetly in our imagination. So here with a tribute to Chester, Claude, Helene, Dawson, Allan, Fred, Richard, Clain and everyone who made the Communications Company make the scene in Haight. Open City, November 23-29, 1967
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The most alive but least viable (lasted about four months) member of the Underground Press Syndicate WAS San Francisco’s Communication Company. Channeling announcements, news, poems, tidbits, sweet nothings and political provocations into the Haight-Ashbury early this year the CC, more than any other group, made it happen.

It was just what it said it was: communications. Instantaneous. Or nearly so. If the Diggers secured some food, the CC’s Gestetner printed up an announcement and got it on the street half hour later; if Brautigan, Lenore or Liza wrote a poem, people were reading it thirty minutes later; if there was trouble in Haight everyone knew about it immediately. It was truly fantastic & responsible journalism in the fantastic & short-lived experiment of Haight-Ashbury. The scene in H-A has faded, the Communication Company has gone, but both memories linger on sweetly in our imagination.

So here with a tribute to Chester, Claude, Helene, Dawson, Allan, Fred, Richard, Clain and everyone who made the Communications Company make the scene in Haight.

Open City, November 23-29, 1967

Inside the Sans Souci Temple. Photo by Ron Miller “Perhaps the most exciting of the many places that transient and newly arriving hippies are finding to sleep is in the Sans Souci Temple. Located at 1039 Ardmore, it is a 90-year-old example of the Freaky Los Angeles Spiritualist School of architecture. The castle or temple or whatever it may be is famous throughout the underground culture for its complete dedication to ultra-psychedelic interior and exterior decoration. Every square inch is covered with original artwork. The Ardmore Place, as it is simply called, has been undergoing repair by its occupants for months to escape condemnation proceedings threatened by the city. It still needs extensive work, however, and funds are raised for this work at Saturday dances. Additional income resulted recently from its use as a location for a Peter Fonda movie. There are sometimes as many as 50 people crashing on a one-night basis on mattresses and rugs at the Ardmore Place, under the sponsorship of the Diggers’ Creative Society. They sleep at no charge, signing in with a standard disclaimer. No food is served. In addition, small flats are rented to those who can pay $45 to $90 a month for a little privacy and a more permanent resting place in the stimulating environment of Sans Souci Temple.” — Max Stern, Los Angeles Free Press (1967)
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Inside the Sans Souci Temple. Photo by Ron Miller

“Perhaps the most exciting of the many places that transient and newly arriving hippies are finding to sleep is in the Sans Souci Temple. Located at 1039 Ardmore, it is a 90-year-old example of the Freaky Los Angeles Spiritualist School of architecture. The castle or temple or whatever it may be is famous throughout the underground culture for its complete dedication to ultra-psychedelic interior and exterior decoration. Every square inch is covered with original artwork.

The Ardmore Place, as it is simply called, has been undergoing repair by its occupants for months to escape condemnation proceedings threatened by the city. It still needs extensive work, however, and funds are raised for this work at Saturday dances. Additional income resulted recently from its use as a location for a Peter Fonda movie.

There are sometimes as many as 50 people crashing on a one-night basis on mattresses and rugs at the Ardmore Place, under the sponsorship of the Diggers’ Creative Society. They sleep at no charge, signing in with a standard disclaimer. No food is served.

In addition, small flats are rented to those who can pay $45 to $90 a month for a little privacy and a more permanent resting place in the stimulating environment of Sans Souci Temple.” — Max Stern, Los Angeles Free Press (1967)

“One morning San Francisco awoke to discover that walls, freeway columns, and fences had been plastered with five-foot-high posters of two enigmatic Chinese men in pajamas, lounging on a street corner in the relaxed and at-home posture of hipsters everywhere. The poster was designed by Peter Berg, executed with stencils by artist Mike McKibbon (drawn from a turn-of-the-century photo of tong hit men found in a library book), and a group of us had spent a long night pasting them up in every neighborhood of the city. The slogan “1% Free” was ambiguously received. Some thought it meant that the Haight merchants should dedicate 1 percent of their profits to the community, while others felt it meant that only 1 percent of the population lived autonomously. The L.A. Free Press misread the posters and published a piece declaring the Diggers to be common stickup artists out for a piece of the pie.”—Peter Coyote from his memoir, Sleeping Where I Fall
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“One morning San Francisco awoke to discover that walls, freeway columns, and fences had been plastered with five-foot-high posters of two enigmatic Chinese men in pajamas, lounging on a street corner in the relaxed and at-home posture of hipsters everywhere.

The poster was designed by Peter Berg, executed with stencils by artist Mike McKibbon (drawn from a turn-of-the-century photo of tong hit men found in a library book), and a group of us had spent a long night pasting them up in every neighborhood of the city.

The slogan “1% Free” was ambiguously received. Some thought it meant that the Haight merchants should dedicate 1 percent of their profits to the community, while others felt it meant that only 1 percent of the population lived autonomously. The L.A. Free Press misread the posters and published a piece declaring the Diggers to be common stickup artists out for a piece of the pie.”—Peter Coyote from his memoir, Sleeping Where I Fall

Gathering of the Tribes. Human Be-In poster by Lorin Gillette. Although it had been surfacing in the media for a while, the big announcement of the counterculture’s “arrival” took place earlier that year with a major event. The Human Be-In had occurred on a lovely day, January 14, 1967, and newspapers and magazines transmitted photos and stories of the mass celebration into America’s most remote communities. The nation knew that something was going on “out there.” Paisley banners and flags stenciled with marijuana leaves fluttered in the balmy winds that seemed to be blessing the fifty thousand people assembled before a single stage crowded with celebrities and Haight Independent Proprietors (HIPs). Jerry Rubin was representing the “political aspect” of the counterculture, while Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert represented expanded consciousness and bliss. There were also a few genuine seers and artists like poet Gary Snyder, back from ten years of studying Zen in Japan; his old crony, Allen Ginsberg; and Zen master Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, abbot of the nearby San Francisco Zen Center, solid as a rock, smiling and enjoying himself.Fifty thousand people took drugs, danced, painted their faces, dressed in outrageous costumes, crawled into the bushes and made love, fired up barbecues, pitched tents, and sold wares—crystals, tie-dyes, hash pipes, earrings, hair ties, and political tracts. Fifty thousand people played flutes, guitars, tambourines, tablas, bongos, congas, sitars, and saxophones, and sang, harmonized, and reveled in their number and variety, aware that they were an emergent social force.The Diggers doubted that the event would benefit the neighborhood much or change its political realities, but a party is a party. It was our neighborhood and our community and also our receptive audience, so we were there too, giving away free turkeys donated by LSD mogul Stanley “Bear” Owsley. We had underestimated the impact this event would have on community solidarity and self-awareness and the ways it would trumpet the existence of the counterculture nationally. Individual freaks, isolated in heartland hometowns, were delighted to discover that there were thousands like them in San Francisco, who were prepared to embrace them as brothers and sisters; they wanted to be there too. More kids began arriving from everywhere. They served themselves up as sweatshop employees to the merchants and as customers to the dope dealers; they begged, scrounged, and hustled in order to survive. The Haight Independent Proprietors appeared at conferences with city officials discussing the “problems” of the community. People making money off the scene—the rock bands, merchants, and dope dealers—felt that publicity about the Haight would “change people’s heads” and automatically generate changes in economic relationships and political structures—a fond hope, easier to entertain than the nine-hundred pound gorilla of changing one’s own life.Time magazine coined the word hippie to describe the new pilgrims, juvenilizing the word hipster and trivializing in the same stroke those seeking alternatives to Time’s official reality. — Peter Coyote from his memoir, Sleeping Where I Fall
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Gathering of the Tribes. Human Be-In poster by Lorin Gillette.

Although it had been surfacing in the media for a while, the big announcement of the counterculture’s “arrival” took place earlier that year with a major event. The Human Be-In had occurred on a lovely day, January 14, 1967, and newspapers and magazines transmitted photos and stories of the mass celebration into America’s most remote communities. The nation knew that something was going on “out there.” Paisley banners and flags stenciled with marijuana leaves fluttered in the balmy winds that seemed to be blessing the fifty thousand people assembled before a single stage crowded with celebrities and Haight Independent Proprietors (HIPs). Jerry Rubin was representing the “political aspect” of the counterculture, while Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert represented expanded consciousness and bliss. There were also a few genuine seers and artists like poet Gary Snyder, back from ten years of studying Zen in Japan; his old crony, Allen Ginsberg; and Zen master Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, abbot of the nearby San Francisco Zen Center, solid as a rock, smiling and enjoying himself.

Fifty thousand people took drugs, danced, painted their faces, dressed in outrageous costumes, crawled into the bushes and made love, fired up barbecues, pitched tents, and sold wares—crystals, tie-dyes, hash pipes, earrings, hair ties, and political tracts. Fifty thousand people played flutes, guitars, tambourines, tablas, bongos, congas, sitars, and saxophones, and sang, harmonized, and reveled in their number and variety, aware that they were an emergent social force.

The Diggers doubted that the event would benefit the neighborhood much or change its political realities, but a party is a party. It was our neighborhood and our community and also our receptive audience, so we were there too, giving away free turkeys donated by LSD mogul Stanley “Bear” Owsley. We had underestimated the impact this event would have on community solidarity and self-awareness and the ways it would trumpet the existence of the counterculture nationally. Individual freaks, isolated in heartland hometowns, were delighted to discover that there were thousands like them in San Francisco, who were prepared to embrace them as brothers and sisters; they wanted to be there too. More kids began arriving from everywhere. They served themselves up as sweatshop employees to the merchants and as customers to the dope dealers; they begged, scrounged, and hustled in order to survive. The Haight Independent Proprietors appeared at conferences with city officials discussing the “problems” of the community. People making money off the scene—the rock bands, merchants, and dope dealers—felt that publicity about the Haight would “change people’s heads” and automatically generate changes in economic relationships and political structures—a fond hope, easier to entertain than the nine-hundred pound gorilla of changing one’s own life.

Time magazine coined the word hippie to describe the new pilgrims, juvenilizing the word hipster and trivializing in the same stroke those seeking alternatives to Time’s official reality. — Peter Coyote from his memoir, Sleeping Where I Fall

Free New York - Fuck The System by Abbie Hoffman for New York Free Press (1968) Click here to read it I’m a huge fan of the Yippies in general and Abbie Hoffman in particular, but you can’t ignore the fact that he made a name for himself by ripping off the Diggers and routinely dry snitching on the counterculture. Here’s Peter Coyote in Sleeping Where I Fall: The deeper implications of anonymity were lost on Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, both of whom came to investigate our activities in 1966. Abbie returned to New York and published a book (for sale) called Free, which catalogued every free service in the city of New York that supported truly needy people; these services were immediately swamped by an influx of suburban kids into the Lower East Side. He plastered his own name and picture on the book, thus advertising himself as a “leader” of the free counterculture. While egocentricity may be as authentic as anything else, performing under its influence does not represent a new form of any kind, and we criticized Abbie for confusing the issue. Abbie was and remained a close friend of mine until his disappearance underground after selling drugs to an undercover narcotics cop, but a friend with whom the Diggers had pronounced disagreements. One morning he woke up Peter Berg by pounding on the door and shouting in his pronounced New England twang: “Petah, Petah, I bet you think I stole everything from you, doncha?” This was indisputably true. Berg stumbled to the door, regarded the cheerful hairball before him as if he were sucking a lemon, then responded sleepily, “No, Abbie. I feel like I gave a good tool to an idiot.” He closed the door, and that was the last time they spoke.
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Free New York - Fuck The System by Abbie Hoffman for New York Free Press (1968)

Click here to read it

I’m a huge fan of the Yippies in general and Abbie Hoffman in particular, but you can’t ignore the fact that he made a name for himself by ripping off the Diggers and routinely dry snitching on the counterculture. Here’s Peter Coyote in Sleeping Where I Fall:

The deeper implications of anonymity were lost on Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, both of whom came to investigate our activities in 1966. Abbie returned to New York and published a book (for sale) called Free, which catalogued every free service in the city of New York that supported truly needy people; these services were immediately swamped by an influx of suburban kids into the Lower East Side. He plastered his own name and picture on the book, thus advertising himself as a “leader” of the free counterculture. While egocentricity may be as authentic as anything else, performing under its influence does not represent a new form of any kind, and we criticized Abbie for confusing the issue.

Abbie was and remained a close friend of mine until his disappearance underground after selling drugs to an undercover narcotics cop, but a friend with whom the Diggers had pronounced disagreements. One morning he woke up Peter Berg by pounding on the door and shouting in his pronounced New England twang: “Petah, Petah, I bet you think I stole everything from you, doncha?” This was indisputably true. Berg stumbled to the door, regarded the cheerful hairball before him as if he were sucking a lemon, then responded sleepily, “No, Abbie. I feel like I gave a good tool to an idiot.” He closed the door, and that was the last time they spoke.

America is a nation so incredibly wealthy that all morality is based on EXCESS: True American career counselors now ask only one question. ‘Do you want to produce garbage or do you want to collect garbage?’ Industrialist or politician? Fishfarm or junkyard? The young people want no part of it, what with garbage their natural matrix and medium. Produce it? Collect it? They want to fuck in it! …It’s just THINGS, it’s garbage, it’s overflow and the young people know it. They throw the career counselor out the window. Who’s going to collect the garbage? who knows? who cares? - The Digger Papers
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America is a nation so incredibly wealthy that all morality is based on EXCESS:

True American career counselors now ask only one question.

‘Do you want to produce garbage or do you want to collect garbage?’

Industrialist or politician?

Fishfarm or junkyard?

The young people want no part of it, what with garbage their natural matrix and medium.

Produce it? Collect it? They want to fuck in it!

…It’s just THINGS, it’s garbage, it’s overflow and the young people know it.

They throw the career counselor out the window.

Who’s going to collect the garbage?

who knows?

who cares?

- The Digger Papers

Emmett Grogan.  Photo by Bob Campbell.For the next couple months my posting is going to fall way off as I’m just starting the process of moving across the country.  I’ve barely cracked the surface of the collection and have found this process of posting images with no context to be curiously cathartic, so have no fear because once I’m safely on the other side I’ll pick right back up with the scans.“Be Seeing Ya!”
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Emmett Grogan.  Photo by Bob Campbell.

For the next couple months my posting is going to fall way off as I’m just starting the process of moving across the country. 

I’ve barely cracked the surface of the collection and have found this process of posting images with no context to be curiously cathartic, so have no fear because once I’m safely on the other side I’ll pick right back up with the scans.

“Be Seeing Ya!”