COMMENTARY: JOHN KELSO

Head shop turns 40

Oat Willie's survivors have a new dealer: Walgreen's

By John Kelso
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Sunday, May 18, 2008

The folks who attended the 40th anniversary of Austin's legendary Oat Willie's head shop on Saturday probably were holding just as many drugs as they did back in the day.

It's just that these days, at their age, the drugs they're holding come in small plastic bottles with their names on them.

So what do you suppose the average age of this bunch is? "I'm 48, and I think I'm on the low end," said Robert Ettinger, an attorney who plays poker regularly with Oat Willie's owner, Doug Brown. Ettinger was one of a couple hundred people who gathered at the Moose Lodge on E.M. Franklin Ave. in East Austin to celebrate one of Austin's longest-running businesses.

Just 'cause you're old doesn't mean you have to act your age, though. Artly Snuff, who performs with a funny local band called the Uranium Savages, came to the affair wearing a Haight-Ashbury pin on his shirt. "I'm hoping to get a lid here for $10," Artly joked.

Some of these people, though, weren't joking, I don't think. "Speaking of the spirit of the occasion, Bill and I are going to go out and smoke dope," said a gray-headed guy as he headed out the door. Hey, they had two huge cakes and Blue Bell ice cream. So could you blame them?

This Oat Willie's business started in 1968 when Doug Brown, who had come back to Austin to attend the University of Texas to get a business degree, decided to withdraw from school and make a living by selling rolling papers to hippies. Brown kicked in with his buddy George Majewski and bought what had been a head shop at 1606 Lavaca St. called the Underground City Hall. The place was renamed Oat Willie's Campaign Headquarters, after a comic book character with a long nose that the previous owners had run as a joke for governor of Texas. Majewski thinks they paid $75 for the place.

"That's what I remember," Majewski said Saturday as people sat around swapping stories, drinking beer and eating a cake with a likeness of Oat Willie decorating the top of it. "It might have been $7 and 50 cents, but I'm not sure. It sure wasn't $750."

Not in those days it wasn't. Back in those days you could have rented four apartments for $750.

Brown, who gave out free Oat Willie's comics and other memorabilia at Saturday's party, doesn't remember what he paid for the place. "I borrowed the money from Judy, though," he said. Judy is Brown's wife.

Forty years later Brown is Oat Willie's only owner. These days there are two stores — one on West 29th Street near the University of Texas, and Oat's South, on East Oltorf. It's been an up and down ride. There was the year in the '80s when the Legislature passed a law governing the sale of drug paraphernalia, including rolling papers, an Oat Willie's staple.

"We had two Christmases that year," Brown recalled. "We had Christmas season, and a few days before the law went into effect we sold a lot of stuff."

I didn't run into any boring people at this party. Wayne "Catfish" Smith came in all the way from Bastrop. He had a bumper sticker on the back of his truck that discourages tailgating by saying, "Unless you're a hemorrhoid get off my (keister)."

"I got that in North Carolina and I've never seen another one," said Catfish, who says he was at the grand opening of Underground City Hall in the '60s when the police came to bust up the party.

Also on hand was Raymond Frank, Travis County sheriff in the '70s. Frank is running for sheriff again, this time as a Republican.

"I've known Doug for all these years, so I got invited," Frank explained. "He's an admirer of mine, so I'm real thrilled to be here."

Frank is the sheriff who, back in the '70s, was at Soap Creek Saloon on Bee Cave Road when a hippie tried to hand him a joint. "No thanks, I'm enjoying wine this evening," Frank said.

Anyway, it was a great party and everybody had a good time.

"Look at all these people," Doug Brown said, surveying the crowd. "I've got 10 or 12 ex-employees here, and friends who went on to do their own thing, and we didn't have to call everybody together because somebody died."

John Kelso's column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays. Contact him at 445-3606 or

jkelso@statesman.com