Well, I did it again. It's been a long time since having fun with my glow-in-the-dark rubber squid. And now, from the same store--Archie McPhee--I recently bought a yodeling pickle! It's a large plastic pickle (batteries included), and when you push a button on it, it yodels loudly for about ten seconds. Believe me, everyone should have a yodeling pickle!

Well, of course I take it around my mail route. When I walk into a store or office and ask a woman alone, "Do you want to see my yodeling pickle?" she usually gives me a wary expression and hesitantly says, "Okay." If it's a group of women, they boldly say, "Sure!" If it's a man, he often says, "No."

Anyway, I took it into the barber shop, and asked, "Do you want to see my yodeling pickle?" The two barbers and two customers just stared at me, confused, and so I whipped out my yodeling pickle, pushed the button, and we listened to the pretty yodeling tune. They cracked up.

The next day, as I delivered mail to the barber shop, the two barbers were there, with customers, and one barber asked me, "Did you bring your yodeling pickle?"

I looked at him as though he were nuts, then asked the other barber, "Is he okay?" and walked out, leaving them to have to try to explain to their customers what a yodeling pickle is.

Check out McPhee.com. Last time my family and I were in Ballard, Washington, we spent hours and about $250 in their store, driving away with a car full of great unnecessities.
 

The following is one of my more controversial writings. Originally entitled "On a Tree in Lincoln Park" (referring to my initials carved in a tree in Lincoln Park in Blaine, Washington), a more accurate title might be "Ramblings of an Immature Seeker." Yet it's good that I've kept it all this time, for it behooves me to reread it whenever I'm being critical of the attitudes and behavior of my own children, knowing that I was at least as outlandish as some of them sometimes appear to be, yet I've grown into the perfect and wonderful person I am today. Keep in mind that this was written more than 38 years ago. If nothing else, it's an obscure lesson in recent history. If you're upset by something in it, be assured that I now know better and have changed. But if you find something in it that you consider really cool, know that I'm still into that.

ON A TREE IN LINCOLN PARK

Originally published by
TYPEWRITERSCRAMP, Inc.
Fayetteville, North Carolina

In Memory of
The Lady Across the Street
and her daughter Delilah

Copyright Ó 1970 by Dale Lund.
All rights absurd. Any part of this
book may be copied in any form,
regardless of written permission
from the publisher.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

"He goes around sniffing everything--from typewriter cleaning fluid to ammonia. He buys a bike for $126 and pawns it for $10. He's crazy." -Sp/4 Gary West

"As far as the work goes, he's a pretty good worker--he knows what he's doing. He's kind of slow at times, though. For a friend, you couldn't find a better one." -Sp/5 Gerard Cardone

"He laughs a lot when he does acid. He would've made a good sergeant-major in the army." -S Sgt. Joseph Kelley

"He owes me four dollars. I'd like to get paid." -PFC Len Adamski

"He's a pretty cool head. Everybody should read his stuff." -Sp/4 James Dorman

"A depraved junkie--strung out on himself and everything around him." -Sp/5 Steven Getlein

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to express my appreciation to Mik, Carolyn, Billie, Sandy, Jim, Chuck, Lenny, John, Dave, Rick, Susan, Tom, Sue, the people from Rowan Park, Henry David Thoreau, Mom, Dad, Catherine Marshall, Gottleib Daimler, Chris, Ludwig Von Beethoven, the prowler, the beautiful people in Alexandria, the people who attended Woodstock, Charles Schultz, Elliott Gould, Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, the Gastonia vice squad, Gypsy, the United States army, the congregation of the Bonnie Doone Baptist Church, Eunice, Jim, Cheryl, Gloria, Don, Kenny, David, Good ol' P.D., Mirella, Luca, Mark, Gloria, Bob, Tom, Tami, Terri, Alex, Dan, Al, Milt, Grandpa, the revolutionaries in 1776, Kirk Douglas, the Aqua Rama Pet Shop, Rennie Davis, Hugh Hefner, James Kunen, Linda Forsythe, the Neighborhood Law Office, Waldo, Saint Christopher, Fred, Dianne, Mike, Judy, the girl in the trailer, the lady across the street, her daughter Delilah, Vice President Spiro T. Agnew, all my grade school teachers, all my high school teachers, all my Sunday school teachers, and, of course, my sister Linda and her family, for if not for any one of all these people, this book could not have been possible. With all due respects, I do not necessarily wish to express my appreciation to Jacqueline Bisset, because she was not there when I needed her.

INTRODUCTION

The book which you are about to read is the first major literary work of our illustrious author. To be sure, this incredible work is the only one of its kind. ON A TREE IN LINCOLN PARK began as a small letter. Since Dale was so impoverished at the time, he couldn't afford an envelope or stamp to send it. He kept adding to it and then decided to make a book of it---a decision that could very likely change his life if he continues to nurture his writing ability.

Dale's style is quite unorthodox. Perhaps it is the reason why he seems to have very little difficulty holding the readers' attention. The book is written rather as a diary. His mood varies from serious, to amusing, to pensive and on and on... Dale covers a wide range of subjects and handles it well by the way in which he ties his moods together. This material is also informative. It is one of the few sources I know of where one can obtain the real inside story of a nudist camp, the true feelings of "Uncle Sam's Boys," etc. The book is enhanced by the way Dale injects his personality into every paragraph (be that good or bad).

Because this is Dale's first book, it is up to us to give him all of the encouragement he needs. He is full of vital, fresh ideas. Someday he may win the Pulitzer Prize, and all of us can say, "Hey, I know that guy!" Dale worked many long hours preparing his manuscript. For days he sat in his chair typing away. If his typewriter could speak, it would have begged for mercy. He even carried his work further by designing his own cover. Dale did put all of this aside occasionally to drink a cup of Oriental tea, play with the dog, and torment my husband with what Mik calls "Dale's childish humor." Once in a lax moment, I even got Dale to dry the dishes.

I was most pleased when Dale asked me to write his introduction. However, I did need ample time to think and Dale put me through considerable undue pressure.

Dale's book is written for the reader's pleasure (and possibly for his ego). So by all means do read ON A TREE IN LINCOLN PARK and enjoy every page. It was written for you.

- Carolyn Joyce Behr Davis

September 16, 1970

Dear Linda & Ron,

Sorry I disappeared like that

without even any word on whether or not I got back here OK,

but anyway I did ---

it was a great leave,

and thank you very much for making it great!

Now I'm sitting in the big, air-conditioned main-post library,

all alone

at this big hard-surfaced table,

using a fine-point PIC pen which I'm not used to,

especially on one-paper thickness backed by a hard slippery surface,

so the pen feels like it wants to slip and slide all over the place

--- so being shaky doesn't help.

I'm shaky because I haven't eaten decently in about five days

--- averaging one meal a day

which may consist of cabbage

or jello

or peaches, et cetera,

and not much of that.

I can't talk either --- literally;

I nod and shake my head, talk through my eyes, and use sign language.

Sounds pretty bad, huh?

It's because I got another sore throat,

that instead of deciding to turn into infectious mononucleosis again, or maybe tracheal bronchitis like while in grade school, it decided simply to become an abscessed tonsil

that's so big

that it pushed my shrunken throat over to one side,

fouling up my speaking

eating

mouth opening widely

whistling

head turning

swallowing

spitting

and so forth.

I've been a real invalid for about six days.

I went through hell last weekend

and finally went on sick-call on Monday.

They sent me to the hospital for professional attention,

where I was prescribed penicillin,

and darvon for pain

(depending on how straight and honest you are),

and they told me to get a penicillin shot (in the seat)

yesterday

and today,

and tomorrow I'm to go back to the hospital and if I'm not better

they're going to shoot some novocaine,

give me "a little incision"

and drain the gunk out of my tonsit.

Well, I'm taking the pills as directed,

but didn't get the shot yesterday,

I'm not getting the one today,

and I'm not going back to the hospital tomorrow

to take the chance of having a knife down my throat while I'm conscious.

I'd rather be an aching throatless mute for the rest of my life

(besides I'm getting better with just the pills -- otherwise I guess I would've faced the needles and knives).

I did get something good out of all this though --

three days quarters

-- so I've been lying around reading for three days;

but I have to go to work tomorrow.

But that's OK too, because

-- da ta da --

I like my job!

(Guess you'd better sit down, huh?)

Except for having to wear the drab clown suit,

it's OK,

because, for one, it's in a large, civilian office;

two, it's working with civilians;

three, there's no pressure or harassment;

and four, it's not picking up cigarette butts.

Asamatteroffact, I'm now

(and will be until I get out)

a "trained" key punch operator-type-thing,

working with key punch IBM data machines

with their tape

and computer cards

and paper

and whirs

and ticks,

where everyone thinks you're a real brain if you work there,

when really all you do is drink a lot of cokes

and flirt with the chicks across the room.

These machines are against my principles

-- like being friends with red tape --

but so is the army and I'm in it

and so long as I am in the army

I might as well keep drinking cokes

and flirting with the chicks across the room;

and then when I get out

I'll learn to create other things besides cards with holes in them,

learn to drink goat milk instead of coke,

and get married instead of flirt.

But for now

-- not underestimating my contempt for the army --

I am once more temporarily content.

I have two different addresses. I was transferred about a month ago to:

Svc. Co., U.S. Army Garrison Trp. Cmd.

Fort Bragg, N.C. 28307

But don't use that olive-drab address. Use this one:

Dale Lund, c/o Mik & Carolyn Davis, 113 Niagara, Fayetteville, N.C.

zip code: 28303.

A lot has happened, dwellingwise, since I left your place.

I think I mentioned "the trailer" to you when I was there;

well , the close relation formed there between friends

encouraged me

to get my own place

and start my own "thing."

One day I was hitchhiking to town

and was dropped off half-way

whereby I began to walk and noticed that to the right,

over the railroad tracks,

there was a little dirt road running parallel to the highway.

I caught a glimpse of a tiny little house on this dirt road

with a "For Rent" sign on it.

I hopped over the train tracks and across the little road

and looked it over.

It was a small house all right -- just one or two rooms

(depending on whether or not you have a large curtain)

-- with a kitchenette,

folding table,

hutch,

double bed,

couch,

coffee table,

a few chairs,

a large closet,

and a trailer-sized bathroom.

It had a large front porch/patio

and a little front yard with a big tree in it.

The entire front of the house was glass and window partitions,

except for the door.

It was kind of old so I thought it'd be cheap.

I called Squires Realty about it

and it was

-- only $60 a month plus electricity,

with a deposit of $15.

On payday I got it,

but because of unexpected financial shortages,

went in on it with another guy,

Jim Wade,

who at the time was awaiting an "unable-to-adjust-to-military-life" discharge,

due to AWOL and extensive drug use.

He was a little kid -- 18 -- but a little kid.

It turned out all he was really after was something for nothing.

He also began dropping acid like it was going out of style,

and it got to this point where I began to doubt his sanity.

I was surprised when he paid me the $20 he owed me on the day before he left for Los Angeles.

That was the first month ---

just Jim

and me

and a lot of company.

The second month was more or less the peak of my generosity.

No longer was I the

"don't touch that -- that's mine" Dale Lund of Blaine.

I paid full rent and declared it an "open house"

--- whoever needed a place for anything ---

escape,

sleeping,

smoking,

reading,

writing,

getting mail,

balling,

anything

--- it was their house too;

and as long as they took care,

the record player,

records,

typewriter,

radio,

books and magazines

were also theirs.

And people took advantage of it;

have you ever slept 25 people in a tiny one-room house?

There were

grass-heads,

acid-freaks,

skinny speed-freaks,

addicts,

drunks,

people from the barracks,

long-hairs from the park

-- with only one thing in common:

escape.

The third month welcomed Chuck Sweeny (Dallas, Texas),

Lenny Debella (New York City),

and John (California)

-- which cut the rent down to $15 a month.

Soon after the beginning of the month,

Chuck and I went to the park,

got stoned,

and went to the Pink Pussycat with its bands, black lights, et cetera.

When we returned the house was so full that there wasn't a place to stand,

let alone sleep.

A few minutes went by and I noticed Chuck had left.

I looked out and saw him sitting on the R.R. tracks,

watching the cars going by.

I left too, and went for a walk.

In the same week it happened again with the people.

I was staring at the alarm clock I wanted to set and go to bed,

but there was no place to sleep,

not even a place to set the clock down

where it wouldn't get knocked over.

I stared at the clock and listened to the chatter

--- then BANG!

I roared out some primitive human growl,

threw the clock across the room,

and slammed out of the house

--- leaving behind a crowded room of now silent bewildered people.

I walked down the road where Lenny passed me, walking toward the house:

"Hey Dale, where're you going?"

No reply.

"Dale! What's the matter?"

No reply -- I keep on walking -- he turns and chases me down.

"What's wrong, Dale, what happened back there?"

"Nothing -- it's just too crowded -- there's not even a place to lie down -- let alone sleep!"

"Where're you going now?"

"I don't know."

"Wait right here -- I'll go get Chuck -- wait here --will you?"

"OK."

So soon he and Chuck came back and we had a powwow.

It turned out that we all felt the same way,

but each of us thought that by getting uptight about the guests would offend the one whose friends they were.

We declared the house closed

-- open only to people

invited personally

for that particular day or night

by one of the four owners.

After that, things were beautiful.

Of course things weren't limited to us four,

but people were fewer and much more careful

-- and we could finally select our guests.

Soon we had a regular commune.

There were Chuck

Lenny

John

Rick

Dave

Susan

and Tom and Sue

and me

-- and we were as one --

as compatible as roommates could be

and we were all happy.

We also became rich

with nine people focusing their funds on one little commune.

I bought a nice RCA stereo console;

we had so many record albums they had to be stacked in three piles,

a stereo tape playing system,

enough dishes, silverware, etc. to fill all the cupboards,

two nice fans,

two portable record players,

bedding,

strobe light,

black light,

three cars, et cetera.

Chuck did the cooking (was a cook in a restaurant in civilian life)

and some dealing (drugs) for extra money.

Lenny did the heavy dealing ($50 a day wasn't uncommon).

John did the philosophizing and gave encouragement.

Dave did the communal law enforcing (his dad's a Los Angeles cop).

Rick did the brainwork -- extremely intelligent -- and intends ..ing an anti-army paper here (used to write for and print an anti-airforce paper he started, called the "Star Spangled Bummer" -- may call this one coming up "Nothing to Bragg About").

Susan did the occultism with Tarot cards and the housework.

Tom & Sue made love in bed and practiced nudism --- they're from the park.

I didn't do anything but supply the stereo and 1/3 of the albums.

Then Tom & Sue moved back into their former commune (later I found out that Tom had deserted and turned himself in, and Sue went back to live with her parents),

and Susan went back to Charlotte to begin her senior year of college.

I started getting paranoid about all this drug dealing going on -- even though it was most of our income.

One night I was visiting with a friend and Chuck and Rick came storming in with "I've-just-been-through-hell"-looks on their faces

and said that they had just had a big bust at the park

(the park is where Lenny and Chuck do their dealing).

I asked where Lenny was

and they said he took off in the other direction.

Then they left again.

A few minutes later

a young long-haired boy came to the door and said,

"Chuck said I might be able to crash here."

"Are you from the park?"

"Yes."

"Come on in."

Later Lenny, Chuck, Rick, and at least 15 people from the park

came walking in

and began arranging

all their money and dope

after the bust.

Now for a guy like me,

who was a little paranoid to begin with,

this was an awesome experience.

I forgot to mention the grass party we had a while back

in which we even ended up with the neighbor children in the house

watching us smoke.

So, the night following the bust (third one in two weeks),

September 9th,

I went around the corner and down the street to

Mik & Carolyn's.

Mik is a sergeant E-5 and used to be a pusher,

but he's still a nice guy,

and Carolyn's a Lutheran and has taken two years of college (Mik too).

We had been good friends for two months

and for quite awhile they had been trying to talk me into

moving out of the little house

because of might-be busts,

and they even offered to let me have a room in their house

-- so on September 9th

I took them up on it,

and Mik helped me move all my stuff.

Chuck and Lenny were the only ones I talked to

and they didn't really understand how I could think the place might be busted.

In a way, I was kind of flattered when I moved out though,

because the commune is falling apart.

Also on September 9th I quit all drugs except grass and THC and hash (which is all the same thing, more or less, just different parts of the plant), and I might as well have quit these -- because now I'm just sitting around waiting for them to become legal.

Well, I have a new interest

-- oh, not so new --

I remember telling you a little bit about it,

but it's grown quite a bit since then.

Have you heard of the "new alternative?"

That's how they refer to the "hippies" moving off into the

forests and prairies and so forth

and colonizing and making new settlements --

communities rather than communes.

Well I've made two commitments -- not just plans,

because you know how I bounce those around --

but commitments (in hopes that I'll hang on to these at least a little longer than plans):

1) I'm going to college.

Now, if all goes well, I'll attend the University of Washington for four years or until I get my B.A. degree. But I may hate it, which I doubt, and only stay in a semester -- or maybe until I find a wife, etc., but I will go to college.

2) I will start or help start a commune(ity).

Now it's easy to join one -- asamatteroffact I just have to look up one that wants new members in my directory, stick out my thumb, and there I be.

But this is becoming the new way of life for "New America" and it by all means should spread

-- and is --

but it would help more if I started another one.

It can be easy or hard, depending on how you look at it.

Two main problems are

buying the land (and you need about 100 acres),

and finding compatible people who are willing

and not easily discouraged.

By studying the movement

I've learned why some have failed

-- so I learn by their mistakes.

You said that if I get land in British Columbia

you wouldn't mind at least having a summer cabin on it.

That'd be great!

Hopefully it'll be more than a summer cabin.

But it may not be in B.C. ---

Canada is great already,

so I was thinking of staying to help change the U.S.

I guess I might be somewhat patriotic after all.

If I were to send you a Do-It-Yourself-New-Alternative-Kit,

it would include the following:

The book The Alternative - Communal Life in New America by William Hedgepeth and Dennis Stock;

Either a copy or subscription to the "Modern Utopian";

Either a copy or subscription to the "Green Revolution";

Either a copy or subscription to the "Mother Earth News";

A copy of the Whole Earth Catalog;

The book Walden by Henry David Thoreau.

That's good for a starter -- too bad I'm not rich.

You wouldn't believe the growth of this movement.

The "Modern Utopian" comes out every two months

and it has a complete-as-possible directory of communities.

My first issue listed about twenty

and the second issue's list was about five pages long,

and it's still growing even faster.

If I ever get around to it,

I've gone back to the motorcycle plan.

I can't get over the fact that Triumph Bonneville 650cc bikes

are only $1195 here and over $1400 everywhere else;

and that I can get one for $350 down,

with no credit references

and no co-signer.

And that they go 115 mph

and that they're easy to convert into a chopper

and that they sound good

and look good

and feel good

and last

and are economical

and...

I just can't get over that.

How was Dad's visit?

He sure enjoyed it, I heard.

I've had another spiritual experience

-- or more inspiration --

since I left your place.

If you're ever sad,

read Beyond Our Selves by Catherine Marshall.

It's a great book --

first thick book I've ever picked up

and couldn't put down.

September 17, 1970

I forgot to tell you about the great deal I've got at Mik & Carolyn's.

I have my own private room,

privileges to the rest of the house,

home-cooked meals,

an extremely open-minded couple to rap with,

my laundry taken care of,

a telephone where I can be reached (give you number later),

a dog to play with,

color TV plus my stereo,

and countless other advantages -- even a "home" atmosphere,

all of this for $50 a month.

And they're glad to have me there because Mik works every other night and he worries about Carolyn there alone in that neighborhood (has had prowlers, etc.),

and Carolyn is afraid to be alone,

and they feel OK with me there.

Mik and I are both crazy with ideas so we get along great

--- he was thinking of starting a community in Minnesota ---

I'm getting the Triumph and modifying it

and both he and Carolyn are bike enthusiasts,

and so forth.

They make everything seem so all right;

like, for instance,

I felt guilty having her do my laundry and I told her so,

and she said, "Mik's laundry is almost a waste --- with yours too, I can fill up the washing machine."

I've got a new music interest too --- would you believe

Beethoven?

Last payday, Mik & Carolyn and I went up to Chapel Hill (university town -- great place)

and bought "The Beethoven Album" for nine-dollars-and-something

which consists of four albums of his best works.

It's beautiful!

I didn't tell you that before this job I worked for 546th Trans. Co.

as a driver.

I drove ROTC guys (stupid) around in a 2 1/2 ton truck,

was a post taxi driver in a sedan with a radio and everything,

and drove a jeep TDY (temporary duty) up to Aberdeen, Maryland,

with a great guy who in civilian life lives in a commune

in Alexandria, Virginia,

so we stayed there.

This was beautiful!

They rented the second and third stories

of a Victorian-style townhouse in beautiful Alexandra

on a brick sidewalk

and narrow quiet street

with a small dock sticking off into I think it's Chesapeake Bay just three short blocks away.

There, I had my own private bedroom,

full of posters

-- and ate steak and pie,

listened to music,

drank wine,

and bought the new issue of the Whole Earth Catalog

and a big fat hardcover book of Thoreau's writings.

The girls there were great and in a late night talk

told me they liked to hear me talk

because of my northwest accent (?).

And tearing around in an army jeep,

wearing nothing but an undershirt and blue Levi's

was fun too;

and to top it off I got an extra $70 pay just for the drive.

Then when I got back I was eventually given this civilian office job.

Other than being in the army,

I can't complain just now.

If you get the chance, please see at least one of these movies:

"Woodstock" (best movie I've seen -- saw it four times so far),

"A Boy Named Charlie Brown" (great -- created my interest in Beethoven -- saw it four times),

"Getting Straight" (starring Elliott Gould -- the guy who played Ted in "Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice" and the guy with the mustache in "Mash" -- it defends college protests -- it's like "The Graduate" only it's the "post-graduate"),

and also, of course, the must,

"Easy Rider"

if you haven't seen it already

-- if not, shame on you.

Movies are getting a lot more realistic.

Well, my throat's better today;

I can talk a little bit

and eat hard foods if I have something to wash it down with,

and it doesn't hurt much.

This is the day I'm supposed to go to the hospital

but amn't going

but nobody knows I amn't going

so here I am

spending the morning in the snack bar

and this afternoon in the library.

This library has become my favorite hang-out.

I guess I'm fascinated by their copying machine.

About three weeks ago, Chuck and John and I went camping

in the mountains.

It sounds easy, like in Washington you just go up in the mountains and camp,

but here we had to hitchhike 200 miles just to get to the mountains

-- and camping here is so commercialized.

All you see are gigantic signs saying something like:

HERE IS A LOVELY SPOT

ONLY $5

PAY AT OFFICE

SET UP YOUR TENT

CAMP - FISH

FISHING POLE RENTALS - $1

PICNIC TABLES - 50¢

Whoopie! We had no money

and not even enough supplies to keep us dry if it rained.

Also, on the way to the mountains, during the night,

Chuck was standing and thumbing cars,

John was sitting on the curb thumbing cars,

and I was sleeping (no one picks you up here at night -- even though hitchhiking is legal here).

The next thing I knew, Chuck was waking me and saying,

"Wake up, Dale --- police."

I opened my eyes to see a billy-club held over my face.

There were four plain-clothes pigs -- the vice squad,

standing all around us.

I was scared because I had no pass (I was therefore AWOL).

Chuck was scared because he had four tabs of STP (like LSD only stronger),

and John was scared because Chuck had four tabs of STP.

So without showing I.D. or explaining why, they began their illegal search.

I was frisked and had to take off my shoes.

Same with John.

On Chuck, they found his pipe (with marijuana cake in the bowl)

and his rolling papers,

so they took him behind the car,

made him strip,

looked up his asshole and in his linings;

then started to ask us questions.

When they found out that I had no pass, I gave them the

I-was-just-transferred-to-another-company-on-fort-bragg-and-haven't-yet-been-issued-a-pass-but-they-know-I'm-gone-Just-haven't-finished-the-dumb-paperwork routine

and got away with it.

They couldn't find any dope except the grass-caked pipe

with which Chuck used his routine,

and so they left us alone.

As they were leaving, two more police cars came to harass us

but the vice squad told them we were OK

and all the pigs left.

Chuck calmly reached down into a pile of leaves by the curb

and pulled out the little package of STP,

stood up, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Then a car full of eight black guys pulled up and someone inside said,

"Wanna ride?"

We knew these guys were going to be the cats with the mice,

so I unprejudicely said,

"If we can fit, sure."

The black guys smiled down their noses and slowly drove around us

-- then parked.

We had that Oh-shit-we're-going-to-be-beat-up feeling.

Then a car screeched up in front of us with a guy and two girls and the driver said, "C'mon!"

and we piled in and took off down the road,

like some magic chariot.

The guy-and-two-girls said that they had parked down the street

and watched us being searched by the vice squad.

Then they saw the "car of niggers" come

and thought they'd better save us.

As it turned out, they went over a hundred miles out of their way to take us up into the mountains.

The town of pigs-and-niggers is Gastonia, N.C.

I'm still not prejudice.

I'll even like a cop, until he harasses me.

Three of my best friends are sergeants.

And I like the black man, unless he's a Black Panther who hits me a couple times.

That's another reason why I like the new alternative movement so much.

In these communities, everyone is equal.

Oh yes, about the mountains ---

we went beyond the establishment's signs and beyond civilization.

We spent two nights and one-and-a-half days in paradise.

In Cascade beauty,

we swung nude from vines (they have vines here) into icy-cold fresh clean water,

sunbathed on gigantic flat boulders,

played with waterfalls,

found a cave with an underground waterfall,

talked late into the night around a campfire,

drank coffee and ate hot oatmeal, beans, bacon, and bread.

If we all weren't nature lovers when we went up there

we all were when we came back.

There's nothing more relaxing than fishing with a string, hook and worm,

off a big rock

surrounded by forest

-- your only music being the birds

and whatever soft tune you may hum to yourself;

with freedom to shout

and not have to drag clothes around on you to get dirty and feel funky,

with freedom to get wet when it rains

and roll in sand

and not comb your hair

and to lie down in shallow river rapids

and drink the water you're swimming in

and watch deer and rabbits

and climb trees

and tremble at night when you hear a bobcat

and he heated by a campfire without having to use presto-logs

and eating the fish you catch

and writing poetry

and singing songs

and being with friends

and dreaming

and laughing

and having no problems or responsibilities other than to survive.

There is you

and the land

and God

and that is all you need.

I found that you don't need drugs to get stoned

--- you can be stoned on trees

or wind

or water

or birds

or anything that is natural,

and it doesn't take yoga either.

It's funny how people have been calling different interruptions

to nature

"progress"

for all these years.

True progress is a new tree breaking through the soil,

a new stream trickling down a mountainside,

a new island erupting up out of the ocean,

a cocoon,

birth

and death,

and a child growing up

to sense the life around him.

That's progress.

A new problem just came up.

I went over to my old company to eat

just for the fun of it

and saw Chuck.

He told me that Lenny had moved out too,

and now there's just himself, Dave, Rick, and Gypsy,

a new girl from the park whose shacking with Chuck,

doing housekeeping, etc.,

and that they've stopped dealing, and if it is ever done,

it'll be away from the house

-- and that they're moving into a two-story house behind the little one,

so there'll be room for everyone,

and he wants me to come back in.

Also, they have a new puppy,

and the cat will have kittens any day now.

I hate decisions like this.

If I go into the 2-story house:

- I'll have my own room

- I'll be with good friends

- I'll have a dog, cat, and kittens

- I'll be in a commune and learn to share

- I'll have to do my own laundry

- I'll come in contact with more drugs

- It'll cost me about $20/month

- I can visit Mik & Carolyn.

If I stay at Mik & Carolyn's:

- I'll have my own room

- I'll be with good friends

- I'll have a dog

- I'll always feel like I'm invading their privacy

- Carolyn will wash and iron my laundry

- It'll be easy to stay away from drugs

- It'll cost me about $50/month

- I can visit the house.

I don't know what to do.

Mik & Carolyn are really nice,

but Chuck and Dave and Rick are like brothers to me

--- but Mik & Carolyn are fun to be with too,

like in that trip to Chapel Hill

and going to see "Z" and "Woodstock."

Chuck, Dave, and Rick sacrificed dealing for me to come back

which brought them their best income

but which was the reason I left;

but Mik & Carolyn gave their labor in helping me move

and sacrificed their privacy.

And I can't say no to either party

because each would take it personally.

Chuck has always liked to have me around

since he was once on a bad trip

and I pulled him out of it

--- and somehow he thinks I disowned him as a friend

because he got drunk one night and we got into an argument.

Another thing -- Gypsy is a nurse and works at the hospital

-- which could come in handy sometime.

Chuck and I have talked a lot ---

he wants to help me in starting a community,

and even said that after he gets out of the army

in a couple months

he's going to stick around here until I get out (in 8 months).

Dave took it personally that I left too,

because he feels everyone's against him

after a scandalous rumor that he had an affair

with Chuck's wife (she and Chuck are now divorced),

but little does Dave know, I guess, that everyone believes him.

Rick wants to start that paper, but needs help

--- I said I'd help him and then I moved out.

It looks like I'm talking myself into the two-story house.

I don't know.

Tonight I'm going to have long talks with Mik & Carolyn

and with the commune

(by the way, it's called the Seal and Crow Headsquarters Commune)

and decide then.

September 18, 1970

Well, I've decided...

to stay with Mik & Carolyn.

I went out there last night and met Mik walking up the road.

He said that he and Carolyn had been worried and wondering about me,

because no one, not even the headsquarters,

had heard anything of me in the past week.

Mik had just finished locating my company by phone

(not even knowing what company it was to begin with)

and finding out that I had been on quarters for tonsillitis.

He was just on his way over to the headsquarters

to tell them what happened to me.

Well, I sat down and talked with Mik & Carolyn

and they definitely wanted me to stay there

and not go back to the S.C.H.C.

Then I went over to talk to Chuck -- with the welcome

"Dale! Come on in -- this is your house."

I met Gypsy

and she seemed to lack emotion

-- no smiles, no friendliness, no anger, no sadness,

just there -- and it was depressing.

Chuck was the same ol' Chuck, only more eager to shake hands.

Dave's face was blank.

I was mistaken --- it was John instead of Rick

(Rick has started his paper, without help, in a trailer across town).

John was happy to see me, and since he was on leave when everything happened,

his mind had stayed solely on the great time we had in the mountains.

I've decided that Mik & Carolyn's would be a better "home" for me

while I'm here

and that the S.C.H.C. would be "a great place to visit, but..."

Mik & Carolyn have accepted me as a member of their family.

Last night, after some tangerine sherbet, we went to a record store and Mik and I went in together on a $25 collection of classical music dating from medieval times up into the 20th Century, consisting of ten albums; and when we get them on payday (just got them on lay-away so far), the first weekend we're going to force ourselves to sit through both sides of all ten albums, one right after the other -- from 2 p.m. until about midnight.

Now the other side of my throat is getting sore. AARGH!

We had an inspection this morning:

"You're not ready for inspection!" the first-sergeant said.

I opened my mouth.

"What happened?!"

"Well, I..."

He walks away.

"What's your name?!" asked the little brown-nosed sergeant behind him.

"Lund."

"Duh, what?"

"Lund -- L-U-N-D."

"L-A-U-N-D."

"No, L-U-N-D."

He wipes the mucous from his ear and walks away.

After harassing the other guys, they pass me again.

"IwantyoutotrimthatmustacheItshouldn'thangovertheedgesofyourmouthandgetahaircutandcutthosesideburnsuptothemiddleofyourear and next time clean your locker!" Starts walking away.

"I did."

He stops short, turns around slowly, and comes back.

"Are you insulting my intelligence?!! Look at this crap along here!!" He rubs his eye along some weird little edge on the bottom of the door.

"That's the only place I didn't clean."

He steams a little and stammers away, with the little brown-nosed sergeant behind him.

That was the inspection.

These inspections help create pride in ourselves and in our government. Long live inspections! Long live shit! I've cut out all the revolutionary anti-army parts of my letters to Mom & Dad, because I know it upsets them; and so I might as well hold it inside for all letters to the family -- and try to make my letters more-or-less happy letters, so the family won't shudder when they get a letter from me, and they can sit back and relax while they read it. I hate the army as much as the draft-card burners in the prisons do, and if I could do it all over again I might be in with them, but I'm not stupid -- in that going as far as I have made the mistake of going, with just 7 1/2 months to go, I won't let my emotions, beliefs, or ideas get the best of me, and I'll remain cool and quiet to avoid hassle. When I get out, I'll work with the Resistance in helping others. Too many "veterans" have the if-I-had-to-do-it-they-have-to-do-it attitude, and it makes me sick. The army does not build men, it builds animals and puppets -- and some become men despite the army. What pisses me off is when I go home and people always say, "My, you look well -- it looks like the army treats you pretty good," and they go home thinking that the army's great.

Before the army, I was more-or-less innocent of everything. Since I've been in, I've learned to swear like ordinary English vocabulary, have had two cases of V.D., have taken LSD twenty times (don't tell Gloria -- please -- I promised her after the second time that I wouldn't drop it anymore), mescaline, speed, red-devils, amyl-nitrate, STP, cocaine (cured in grass), opium (straight and cured in grass), heroin (snorting it up my nose), and of course the mild ones -- grass, hash, and THC,

I've been vomiting drunk four times, have been in the hospital three times, have broken into five houses, have thrown a Molotov cocktail into the middle of a busy road, have broken into three newspaper machines,

and now I'm tired.

I'm not saying that I couldn't have done these things out of the army -- and I'm not blaming everything on the army --

but it sure was a big help.

In the army everyone swears (except presumably the chaplains);

and they keep you in close contact with whores, and in Korea (and Nam and Europe) for the army it's an organized way of life -- they even number the girls;

and the army turns many guys to drugs by giving them a strong need for escape -- your choice, neurosis or drugs -- and many guys after they get out never touch drugs again;

and drinking is an army way of life everywhere --- the army breeds more alcoholics than anything else;

I wouldn't have had the bilateral hydrocele operation if I hadn't been in the army; civilian doctors told me it wasn't necessary -- army doctors considered it a must --- it turned out to be unnecessary;

I wouldn't have been in the hospital the second time because I never would have been in Korea, where malfunctioning stoves give off carbon monoxide;

and anyone could've done for me what the hospital did for me when I had infectious mononucleosis -- prop up my head and give me medicine;

if I had had a civilian job, where you're paid a decent wage, I wouldn't have been so tempted to break into five houses (never found any money anyway);

that also goes for the newspaper machines (each averaged $2);

and the Molotov cocktail was just because I had been badly screwed that day, and the only way I saw to get back at the army was to block one of their roads.

"The army builds men." Ha! But despite the army, I've grown up.

By reading three books that the army does everything to discourage you to read -- the Bible, Beyond Our Selves, and Walden,

I've turned into what a real man should be.

I no longer swear,

no longer make love to anybody (next woman will be either my wife or fiancé e),

no longer take strong drugs,

no longer drink more than one can of beer at a time,

now only get what I can easily afford so no longer steal and will go into deep debt before I'd ever think of doing it again, and

no longer do idiot things like make "implements of destruction."

But I'll always hate the army

and I have reason to.

September 23, 1970

Mik & Carolyn and I just got back from swimming at Smith Lake.

I finally learned how to do the "Australian crawl" --

not well -- but I know how, so I can practice anyway.

Carolyn said that I'm not invading their privacy;

she says I'm not interrupting their wild sexual orgies or anything.

Oh well.

I just got your beautiful long letter today!

THANK YOU FOR WRITING!

I thought you were mad at me for not writing.

What a relief -- I thought I might have loaned somebody my peace medallion and forgot who it was --

so thought it was lost for good.

Please keep it there for me, T-shirt too, until I come to pick it up.

That's great you finally found a nice church to go to.

I stopped going to the Nazarene church here because I have no transportation,

and now go to the Bonnie Doone Baptist Church (not southern Baptist)

about three blocks from Mik & Carolyn's.

The only thing wrong with this church is that they have an altar call at the end of each service,

and they prolong it for the length of two long hymns

and make you feel like a wretched sinner if you don't answer the call.

But it is kind of beautiful when for example a little girl, about 6 or 7 years old, walks up to the white-haired minister with a giant smile on her face, and tears come out of the minister's eyes as he embraces her.

A couple times the lump in my throat got so big that I couldn't sing.

Someday I plan on answering that call.

It's a good church with very friendly people,

even when I do go in raggedy cuffless blue Levi's

and torn suede shoes,

and the sermons are good -- and it makes me feel good inside when I go.

CONGRATULATIONS on your success too!

Believe-it-or-not, Dad himself has recently written me a letter

and a big postcard.

He told me about your church.

I finally invited mail from him,

and there's something about getting letters from him

that makes me feel extra good.

To have someone respect you and be proud of you can do wonders.

We do have a great family.

I was losing myself for awhile

and finally began to get scared

but now I don't feel like a black sheep anymore.

Sometimes when I have nothing to do

I sit down and make out our family tree on paper.

Sometimes I feel like getting married so I'd be able to introduce my family to my bride.

Oh well.

How was Mom's visit?

YOU HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO AFFORD SEEING "WOODSTOCK" --

PAWN THE TV! You've got to see it!

I missed "Kelly's Heroes" -- it came and went -- I had heard nothing about it and thought it was just a war flick,

so didn't see it.

I did see "Airport" though and really liked it!

I'm supposed to get out (that is, I'd better get out) on May 2, 1971.

Surprisingly enough, time is going pretty fast,

especially since I've made the decision to get my bike,

chop it

and fix it up and everything, before I leave here.

This payday I'm hopefully starting the first bank account I've had since I was a little kid.

I'm going to get the Triumph Bonneville 650cc,

rake the frame,

extend the front forks 8",

put on semi-high-rise handlebars,

a small teardrop gas tank,

a "Cheetah" seat for two people,

leading up into a sissybar

that forms into a wide shiny metal cross at the top,

baffled mufflers (so I can adjust the noise),

and an ecology flag design paint-job.

I'm going to do everything myself (in the auto crafts shop) except for the welding.

On the way home I plan on going to Fort Knox, Kentucky

(to see my friend, Alex Lovato),

Alexandria, Virginia

(to visit the commune again),

Washington, D.C.,

Wyoming, Michigan

(to visit another friend with a chopper),

your place

(to maybe stay a couple months -- but no mooching),

Albuquerque, New Mexico,

Mexico,

San Diego

(to visit a rich friend),

Los Angeles,

San Francisco,

Berkeley,

and then home.

By the way, Carolyn is going to embroider the ecology flag

on the back of a white dress shirt for me.

She already embroidered a big picture of my horoscope sign

on my pillow case (two fish -- Pisces)

-- and it's all her idea to do these things.

I wish she wasn't married.

She's blond,

20-years-old,

used to play guitar in a college rock band

that toured the states

getting $500 a night per performance,

a good cook and housekeeper,

et cetera et cetera.

Mik's really lucky.

I've got to stay in the barracks tonight because I have KP tomorrow

and have to get up at 3:45 a.m.

I hate KP -- but looking on the good side,

which I now have the habit of doing,

I won't have it again for at least a month.

Well, I think I'll stop writing for now and browse around the library for a book.

Besides Mik & Carolyn's, the big, three-story main-post library

is my favorite hang-out.

I come here often, but I've never even looked at its books

nor have ever checked out a book.

I just got a library card day-before-yesterday,

so might as well use it.

September 26, 1970

I got two books at the library: Peanuts Treasury and the

Sunset Travel Guide to Washington

(that really makes me homesick).

I'm sitting in Mik & Carolyn's living room now listening to

Bob Dylan on my stereo,

after coming back from seeing "Myra Breckenridge"

and after eating supper.

"Myra Breckenridge" is a fair movie,

but about as much worth all the publicity as

"I Am Curious (Yellow)" and "Z" were.

I've been rethinking about the name of the commune(ity)

in Washington (or maybe New Mexico or South Dakota).

I'd like to call it

"Something Good"

A Christian Community for

Better Living on Earth.

The commune's motto would be

"Let Us Create Something Good for Our Creator."

You can get a tipi for less than a hundred dollars

out of the Whole Earth Catalog

large enough for a small family

-- so that's what I'm going to live in --

for awhile anyway.

Wow, right now I'm writing this,

and a letter to my friend in Fort Knox,

and reading Walden

and The Alternative

all at the same time.

(Music has changed from Dylan to Beethoven.

Speaking of Beethoven, that's what I'm going to call my bike.)

Right now Carolyn is figuring out the diagram for my horoscope

after finding out about what time of day I was born.

This place is really becoming mystical

-- with astrology --

and on payday we're going to get into Tarot cards.

Also I'd like to get into palmistry.

If nothing else, it can always create conversation.

September 27, 1970

It's 1:00 p.m. and here I sit listening to Jefferson Airplane

right after a many-slices-of-like-back-home-French-toast breakfast.

Carolyn scared me last night with my zodiac.

She worked it all out for about a half-hour or so

and then had me read several chapters in her book

on my personal zodiac traits:

Ascendent -- Sagittarius

Moon in Aquarius

Mercury in Aquarius

Venus in Aquarius

Mars in Pisces

Jupiter in Aquarius

Saturn in Leo

Uranus in Gemini

Neptune in Libra

It sounds like just a bunch of pseudo-mysticism, but out of all the chapters she had me read, everything matched me perfectly. Being skeptical and thinking that maybe it could be as generalized as every chapter fitting everyone, I read some others and they were almost opposite from me. I haven't studied much astrology, so can't understand how it works, but it does, at least as far as personal traits go. I thought the Masterjohn Family shook me up in Seattle by telling me all about myself, but this is ridiculous -- reading several chapters about myself that match me to a tee. I'm so interested in it now, that I'm going to type a copy of all the chapters as one long essay-like thing, and buy two fish at the new pet shop opening up a block away from here, to have by my bed. Also, I've already started studying the astrological traits of every member of our family, including Grandpa, in-laws, nieces and nephews -- so when I come riding up to your house on "Beethoven" I'll be able to tell you all about yourselves if you want -- tell your fortunes with Tarot cards and maybe even read your palms. OK?

Tonight comes one of the only three TV shows that I like -- "The Young Rebels"

(the other two are "The Young Lawyers" and "Sesame Street")

but Mik took the TV to work so I missed it last week,

when it premiered,

but tonight I can watch it!

It's about the first American Revolution

-- like around the Boston Tea Party and everything

-- when America was becoming free

and before it lost its freedom.

Mik saw it and said it was good.

It's really been hot here lately -- for the past couple weeks at least.

If it was Washington I could just go swimming

in the Sultan or Skykomish Rivers,

or Winters Lake

or Mud Lake

or the pond

or even the two lakes in the nudist camp

and keep cool;

but no --- this has to be North Carolina.

I hope you forgive me for my next (and last) leave.

I won't go to Wichita during this leave

-- please don't hit --

but instead I thought I'd do something

really different.

I'll have my bike when I take this next leave

-- it won't be chopped yet, but I'll have it

-- and I'm going to ride down to Miami,

visit Miami Beach, et cetera,

and then spend about a week in the

Spartans of Tropical Gardens Health Club.

I got all the information in the mail.

It's one of the most expensive nudist camps in the U.S.

Where others are about $40-$75 a year,

this one is $12 a night.

You have to make reservations,

and I'm going to rent a whole apartment with kitchenette and so forth.

They have a swimming pool and a lake,

badminton,

volleyball,

horseshoes,

a health clinic,

massage,

et cet.

They take singles gladly, and it sounds pretty nice.

It would be a good retreat from the army.

While I'm there I'll write you all about it

-- maybe send a postcard. haha

I'll make up for not spending the leave in Wichita when I get out.

I'll spend some time there

-- get a job if I can't get unemployment compensation from the V.A. --

and this next time I won't mooch off you for a month, either.

Good! It looks like there's a big storm coming.

I hope North Carolina slides into the ocean.

Linda -- you're a Scorpio -- born on November 5, 1943, right? This means you're determined, strong, and able to concentrate. Your energy is intense and your purpose in invincible. You know what you want and go after it. Like the scorpion, if you are surrounded by a ring of fire you would sting yourself to death. A loyal friend to those you have decided to accept, you're helpful, tender, and sympathetic. You're inclined to be possessive. You're secretive about yourself, intuitive, and concerned with money.

Ron -- you're a Sagittarius (which is humanitarian enough to put up with Scorpios) -- born on December 13, 1941, right? This means that you're athletic. Open air, sunshine, and exercise are essential for your well-being, and also travel. You're forceful in speech, philosophical, optimistic, good-natured, democratic, honest, friendly, and affectionate, and join in enterprises to help others. You're fortunate in health and you'll keep your alert mental powers until the end. You'd do best operating as your own boss, and have little patience with being supervised or with red tape.

Steve is a Pisces -- born on March 14, 1963, right? This means he has a dual personality. He's very receptive to outside influences. He's sensitive and has great psychic ability, likes people, and can become very jealous. He may seem to be unemotional on the surface, but not down deep. He likes animals, is idealistic and philosophical, sometimes a dreamer. He's a perfectionist and has appreciation of the arts.

Ronda is a Sagittarius -- born December 8, 1966, right? So she'll take after Ron, or at least holds the same traits.

This is pretty general,

but it's about all that can be done

without knowing what time of day you were born.

Well, we had our storm, and now it's soon going to pass. Rats!

Now "Ulysses" is on TV, starring Kirk Douglas,

and I'm getting involved in it,

so it's hard to write,

so I'll quit for now.

September 29, 1970

I finally checked on my phone number at Mik & Carolyn's:

868-3255 and the area code is 919.

If you ever think you can afford to call me sometime,

I'm here almost every evening, from about 6 p.m. to the next morning,

but the phone is in their bedroom,

so it's best not to call in the late night or early morning.

Best possible time to call is Sunday evening.

It sure feels good to be able to be contacted now

if something happens that can't wait for a letter.

Is it OK if I stayed in Wichita for a couple months or so when I get out?

If not, would you mind if I send all my stuff to your address

bit by bit?

This would eventually include a typewriter,

a bicycle,

many record albums,

and a stereo console.

Part or most of my stuff would have to be shipped by freight

and then you would have to pick the stuff up,

and then store it until I get there

-- so you probably wouldn't want to --

but then again maybe you wouldn't mind --

would you?

Well, tomorrow's payday! So I'm going to go with Chuck to

Squires Realty and change the little house over to his name.

Thank goodness -- every day I expect a pig to pull up

and tell me there has been a bust at my house

and give me a summons or whatever

-- because the little house is really getting hot

-- it's known all over Fort Bragg among the heads,

and everyone in the park knows about it,

and so forth,

and it's always full of drugs.

I'm not that worried though;

if there is a bust, I would have to go to court,

but with my testimony,

and with Mik & Carolyn

going there to testify that I moved out of it on the ninth,

there's no problem

-- but it would be a hassle anyway.

Thank goodness for tomorrow.

September 30, 1970

Well, payday has finally come!

Today I bought a 5 1/2 gallon aquarium,

all the weird bubbly supplies,

and two tropical fish (forgot what kind)

to illustrate Pisces

and a tiny catfish (originally imported from Trinidad)

that cleans up the mess in the bottom of the tank,

which I've named Sagittarius

because of my rising sign

and also Sagittarians are very helpful.

Altogether it was twenty-some dollars worth of fish stuff,

and next month I'm getting more fish,

seaweed,

and a light.

I think I was the first customer of this AquaRama Pet Shop

that just opened up today about a block from here.

The owner is a young German guy with a strong German accent

and he's real neat

--- his wife, too.

I bought a Tarot card deck and book too,

and that'll keep me busy in study for quite awhile.

And I finally got the ten album set of the

Seraphim Guide to the Classics

which I'm listening to now.

The guys are moving out of the little house tomorrow

and into a two-bedroom house,

so I'm reprieved.

October 17, 1970

I went to the Haymarket Square last night

(the coffee shop of G.I.'s United)

to hear Rennie Davis speak

(one of those tried for conspiracy in the Chicago Conspiracy 8 trials, being dictated by Judge Julius Hoffman of the American Nazi Party, better known as the A.N.P.).

The large room was packed with people listening to Rennie's ideas for revolution.

I think I told you about the May 16th Counter-Armed Forces Day Rally that I went to

in which he spoke, along with Jane Fonda.

(During this rally, I was filmed dropping acid on channel 5, but I don't think it was nation-wide.)

He started out last night by saying,

"Last time I was here I was arrested for profanity

-- and I have now been rehabilitated by the

'long arm of the law' -- so tonight I'm just

going to talk about this mutherfuckin war!"

Later on he said,

"If the United States government won't put an end to this war,

then we'll put an end to the United States government!"

The evening was topped off by me shooting a girl in the butt with a big rubber band.

Today I was to go to Chapel Hill with a couple friends,

but this morning when I woke up to the alarm clock at 8 a.m.,

like I do every morning except weekends, only at 4 a.m.,

and when I slammed my finger down on the button

to shut off the interfering alarm,

I suddenly had the thought,

What in the world do I want to go to Chapel Hill today for?

and I went back to sleep.

So today I'm burying my face in the new "Playboy" magazine

and tonight I'm going with Mik & Carolyn to see

"The Love Bug"

and "The Jungle Book."

In a recent letter from Mom,

she suggested that while I'm going to college

I should commute to and from home.

I thought some about it,

and came to the decision that I can't live at home like that anymore,

unless Mom & Dad won't mind rock music on a stereo console

late into the night,

and strange guests visiting me all the time,

and I don't want to have to explain every time I come home at 3 a.m.

or every time I don't come home for a couple days -- and so on.

And if I go to college around home she expects me to do this.

It's bad to be the youngest child

because I'm her last link to "her baby" and when I go

she gets lonely.

It's good that so many grandchildren live around them.

But I've decided to go to the University of New Mexico.

It's the most beautiful university I've ever seen, and Albuquerque

is the most beautiful city I've ever seen, and New Mexico

is the neatest state I've ever seen,

and my two best friends live there,

and you don't have to wear a helmet there,

and land is ridiculously cheap there,

and there are white people,

black people,

Indians,

and Mexicans there,

and not much prejudice,

and the Sandia mountains are there,

and clear healthy weather,

and everything that a tipi freak would love.

For a hundred dollars down and $10-$20 a month

you can buy 5-10 acres of land.

You probably wouldn't be able to grow much of anything on it,

and you might have to bring in water,

but at least you can live on it without being hassled.

I've already told you about the tipi.

I can think of no better dream

than for me to live in a tipi on dry New Mexican land,

and everyday ride my chopper to and from my part-time job

and the beautiful university,

being a mystical Christian who,

when not studying,

spends time sitting around an evening campfire with friends,

listening to guitar music

and maybe sometimes accompanying it with my concertina.

There are stars shining on brightly above the New Mexican desert,

and the faint glow of the campfire and the music

can be seen and heard for miles.

While I am away,

my large white hound, Exodus, will protect

the dwelling-place of realistic dreamers.

It does sound only like a dream,

but the entire dream would cost only $200 to come true

($550 counting the bike).

Speaking of dreams, I had a heartbreaking nightmare last night.

Christine Burnham

(the girl back home I really thought was cool)

enlisted in the marines

(this is true -- not in the dream)

and I felt like telling her to **** herself,

but when I saw a cool wac yesterday,

my hopes were lifted in that maybe

Chris is still good for something,

despite the marines

-- so I began my away-from-home I-can't-get-her-out-of-my-mind blues,

and dreamed about her all day.

Then last night I dreamed in my sleep that

I was still in 12th Support (where I was before Garrison)

and while walking on the way to my barracks

I thought I heard Chris' voice.

I sneaked up to a window

where the voice came from and sure enough

it was a women's barracks ---

Chris was in bed and rolled over and saw me.

She seemed happy to see me,

jumped up,

threw on her clothes,

and came outside.

We walked down the street

talking about the good ol' days.

She told me she had a bicycle

and so we made plans to go bike riding

when I get my bike out of the pawn shop.

She led me to this house and we went in.

She walked up to a group of guys in the house,

hugged and kissed one of them,

turned around and laughed at me,

and I was thrown out of the house.

That was my dream

-- enough to make a guy buy a blanket and take up thumb-sucking.

Oh well -- my dream made me realize that she's gone for good,

and I'll find someone in Albuquerque anyway.

October 18, 1970

Well, we went to "The Love Bug" and "The Jungle Book" last night;

both were good,

especially "The Jungle Book"

--- Carolyn cried in part of it,

and I even got a lump in my throat.

Now I know I'm still a little kid.

I haven't got up yet.

I'm just sitting under the covers writing this.

To take up space, I think I'll tell you what I see around my room right now.

It's kind of cold,

so my legs are holding the weight of a sheet,

two blankets,

one of Mik's jackets,

a pair of my pants,

a shirt,

a leopard-skin vest,

and this typewriter.

Beside me on my right is the typewriter case

and what I've written so far,

and to my left is not Jacqueline Bisset

but instead

my briefcase containing my BIC pen,

the Whole Earth Catalog,

the "Visions" magazine,

the "Progressive" magazine,

the "Guideposts" magazine,

a letter and monthly paper from the War Resisters League,

the book Christy by Catherine Marshall,

the book Strawberry Statement by James Simon Kunen,

a small stapler and staples,

notebook paper,

an address book,

Bible,

and dictionary.

The walls in the room are made out of brick,

one wall against the head of the bed and one against the left side.

The door is in the opposite corner, leading to the rest of the house.

The curtains over the two large windows are plastic,

with an indescribable design on them.

Above and behind me, hanging on the wall, is the

1971 Playboy Calendar opened to Linda Forsythe of April,

the month I get out (last day of April, because May 2nd is on a Sunday).

Straight ahead across the room, hanging on the wall,

is a calendar from Chatfield's Insurance Agency.

To the right of that is a small closet

full of Mik's clothes.

The closet door is partly open because the three hangers hooked on the top of it keep it from being closed.

The bed-stand is on my right, so piled with books, newspapers, and magazines,

that it's a wonder it can hold them all.

The books, newspapers and magazines are enough to make a library for

a Christian, a nature-lover, a revolutionary, and a nudist.

Also on the bed-stand is an alarm clock and two rubber bands.

Leaning against the corner straight to my right is Carolyn's guitar

that she played in the rock group she was in.

To the left of that is a chest-of-drawers full of their stuff,

except for the second drawer which is full of my stuff.

On top of the chest-of-drawers is my aquarium, bubbling away,

and I notice that the fish are staring at me because it's past their breakfast time

and I haven't been out of bed to feed them.

Next to the aquarium are my Tarot cards and a book on Tarot cards.

On the floor to the left of the chest-of-drawers is my dufflebag full of stuff

the army issues you that you don't need,

and to the left of that and to the right of the door

is a big cardboard box full of magazines,

and on top of that is my fan.

The room is a pale green with white trimming and white ceiling.

This is my room.

Well, I think I hear Carolyn is up. If I get up now, by the time I get dressed, take a leak, blow the night out of my nose, brush my teeth, and comb my hair, she might have some French toast started.

So I'll quit for now.

September 25, 1970

Well, it wasn't Carolyn who was up, it was Mik

-- but we waited around until she did get up and did have French toast.

I recounted my leave time the other day and figured that I don't have any time left after all.

I felt miserable because I'm really getting desperate to get away from Bragg -- even considered AWOL.

So day-before-yesterday I went to finance to check on my leave time,

just in case,

and found out that I have two weeks left!

So tomorrow I'm going to put in for a leave starting either the 5th or 15th of November

(depending on whether the inspection next month is on the 10th or 20th, because I'm not too anxious to have to stand it);

and tomorrow after work I'm going to call the

Spartans nudist camp at Miami to make reservations.

I didn't think I'd be able to afford a leave next month,

but figured it up and found out that I'll have enough

for the camp and at least $50 left over for food and souvenirs.

Mom called me the other night and I feel terrible.

I had had KP that day and was really tired.

I went to bed,

slept an hour,

and Mik woke me up to come to the phone.

I was so groggy that I didn't even remember she called until noon the next day,

and don't even remember what was said.

All I remember is that she asked me how I like my job and I said "fine"

-- and all I did was say "yeah" and "no" and "okay" after that,

and I remember her saying,

"I guess you can't say much, huh?"

Oh, it made me feel miserable --

she called because she hadn't heard from me and was worried,

and I didn't even say anything.

To try to make up for it I wrote her a short letter the next day and apologized.

October 26, 1970

Well, it's the beginning of another great week in the army.

I found out today that tomorrow I have to get a flu shot;

Wednesday I have a PT test (physical training or physical torture);

Thursday I have 24-hour guard duty;

Friday I'm off but have to stick around anyway to get paid;

Saturday I have 24-hour guard duty again;

Sunday I'm off (whoopie);

and Monday I take off hitchhiking south to Miami.

I put in for a leave today and got it

-- a two-week leave from November 2nd through 16th!

After work when I got to Mik & Carolyn's I called the

Spartans of Tropical Gardens Health Club:

"Hello?" (woman's voice)

"Hello, is this the Spartans Health Club?"

"Yes it is."

"This is Dale Lund, calling from Fort Bragg, North Carolina,

and I was wondering if it'd by possible to make reservations by telephone."

"Yes it would."

"Would the fifth of next month be too soon?"

"That's next week . . . just a minute, honey,

I'll let you talk to Mr. Beauman"

(I forgot his name, but it was something like that).

[ pause ]

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Dale Lund calling from Fort Bragg, North Carolina,

and I was wondering if it'd be possible to make reservations by phone."

"Uh -- yes, what was your name again?"

"Dale Lund -- L-U-N-D."

"Are you a member of a camp now?"

"Uh -- no I'm not."

"Oh, you're not a nudist?"

"I'm a nudist -- I just don't belong to a camp; I'm in the army."

"I see, have you ever been in a nudist camp before?"

"Yes I have -- Fraternity Snoqualmie and the Lake Associates in Washington State."

(I didn't mention the fact that I had sneaked into both these camps illegally.)

"Uh, there's one question I have to ask . . . Are you white?"

"Yes, I am."

"I hope you understand -- we have to ask this -- we can't by mail, you see, and..."

"I understand."

"Well, Mr. Lund, we have two accommodations -- either..."

"Rooms or apartments, right?"

"Yes -- the rooms are four dollars a night and the apartments are seven dollars,

with a daily ground fee of four dollars."

"Wow, prices have gone down since I got this information."

"Uh huh."

"Well, would an apartment be available for the fifth through the twelfth, for one?"

"Yes, that would come to seventy-seven dollars total."

"Fine. Am I supposed to send fifty percent?"

"If possible, could you mail fifty dollars now and pay the rest when you get here?"

"Would the second be too late? Payday is Friday and if I mail it then you should get it on Monday."

"That'd be fine. How are you getting here -- car? bus?"

"I'm hitchhiking."

"Oh, well there's a city bus that goes right by the front gate -- bus number fifteen -- do you know the address?

"Yes, I have a little map here."

"Fine, well if you get lost just give us a ring."

"Okay, thank you very much."

"Surely, we'll see you soon then."

"Uh huh, thank you -- good-bye."

FINIS

So my leave is all taken care of -- pretty unique, huh?

It's going to be weird -- waking up in my apartment,

fixing some breakfast for myself,

and walking outside stark naked in front of a thousand people.

This'll be the first time I do it legally,

without having to sneak in.

Who knows? It might even make me forget the army for awhile.

In a half-hour comes my second favorite TV show,

"The Young Lawyers"

-- so I'll quit for now a little early.

October 27, 1970

Well, today will always be remembered as the day good ol' Dale Lund spilled a coke

on the keyboard of a keypunch machine.

It was really professional -- hit it dead center

so all the coke poured through the cracks around each key

and played waterfall inside the several thousand dollar machine.

Four people had to take the thing apart and clean each part,

and still they say that it'll probably corrode and wreck the machine eventually.

Oh well, no one is holding me responsible

and there are no bad feelings

and I won't lose my job --

so "Let It Be."

I was supposed to get that flu shot today,

but decided not to go until somebody drags me.

I can't get over this place.

What would you do if you were lying in bed alone, Linda,

and you saw a silhouette of a man staring at you through the window?

You'd probably shudder a little, huh?

I would too.

Well, for the past several nights,

while Mik's working and so the car's gone,

there's been a man looking through the house windows

when all the lights are out.

He's been peeping around a lot of houses for a long time in this neighborhood.

Carolyn says that the first couple times she was scared,

but now she's so used to it that it just makes her mad.

Mik would like to stick around and beat him up some night,

but Carolyn just wants to make him feel like a fool.

She suggested that next time he comes to the window,

she take her Teddy bear (an old ragged one)

and make it peek around the edge of the curtain and make it wave to him.

He was here last night.

First he stood at one window,

but the dogs were barking so much that he moved around the corner of the house to the other window in her bedroom.

She said that he was really noisy last night

and that he's usually quick and quiet.

His feet bumped against the outside wall of the house

and she could hear his clothes rubbing the house as he went to the other window.

Waldo (their outside dog) was barking loudly at his feet,

and all-of-a-sudden yelped in pain, as if the guy kicked her

(Waldo's a female, believe it or not).

Then Carolyn heard him slip and fall with a big thump.

Then he left.

This morning they looked outside at the ground by the windows

and saw deep tracks where Waldo jumped around,

and a pile of dog shit flattened out and looking as if someone slipped on it,

and another pile that looked like an elbow had rammed into the middle of it.

That poor guy must be a real pervert.

He's most likely the same guy who's stealing women's underwear off clotheslines around here.

I don't know whether to feel sorry for him

or set a trap for him.

It'd be kind of neat to sit up outside hiding behind a bush

some night when I have the next day off,

and when he comes (which is almost certain),

just calmly have a talk with him.

That'll end all problems

and he won't even get into trouble.

I've come to the realization that I won't be able to afford the down payment for a bike before I get out of the army.