CHP 16 -1 �Mindless In Melbourne� and 16-2 The Great Melbourne Grass Drought�

 

CHP 16 -1      ”Mindless In Melbourne”

Next day around 4pm I came home and was told by Ringo,

"That chick you're crazy about is asleep upstairs in the front bedroom."

Ringo was about 16 and looked like the Beatle. He’d been discovered lonely on a park bench by Irish John. Irish noticed Ringo had a pocketful of money and bought him home to share with us. We let him crash on our carpeted floor. Ringo slept all the time and became a nuisance as we had to step over his body to get anywhere.

Ringo looked so much like the Beatle that he attracted chicks to our pad. When they couldn’t get him to talk, they stayed a while and we males had a chance to chat them up.

That money in his pocket (100 quid) led us to give him leniency and put up with him lying under our feet. I think he had narcolepsy. Even when awake he didn’t do much except lie down. After a few days we began borrowing money from him. Eventually, when his money ran out, he became a good hippie who did house chores and eventually (years later) returned to his hometown and got a job.

Deciding to grasp life by the thighs and do what I knew was right; I made sure I was physically perfect and Buddhist ritual clean, ran a warm bath and washed. Sweet and pure, I took a few deep breaths to centre my courage and, after climbing the stairs, paused outside Lesley’s door listening for the sound of voices. Hearing none, I combed my wet hair and knocked softly in be-bop rhythm.

"Come in," she said .

 

Les was in one of the two actual beds in the house reading Aldous Huxley and looked glad to see me. I chose to channel Errol Flynn, undressed with casual elegance and slid (unashamed and snakelike) into her bed. Never would I take such aggressive action if I hadn't been sure Lesley was uninhibited enough to tell me 'desist' if she didn't want me. She moved over to make room in the bed. We embraced and it wobbled.

 We melted together like a jigsaw puzzle and made love like we’d known each other in a past life. I hadn't yet learned the advantages of cunnilingus so it was not the most creative love making.

However, Lesley seemed to get pleasure from my action, and I sure as hell was satisfied by hers. Fourteen minutes later we rolled apart and lit each other a charcoal filtered Lark cigarette.

 Les was famous for her unique brand of f**s. If you saw a red discarded packet of Lark, you knew she'd passed that way, because no one else smoked that brand: except Little Africa and he folded his up like origami and put them in bins.

 After we'd laid there for an hour there was a knock on the door and in walked big Chris Heald. I thought,

"Oh s**t!-I'm going to be bashed or killed!" Then awareness I was in the right place at the right time swept over me and fear ceased to be. I thought,

"I dig this chick. Romance is the meaning of life and I must have the courage to even fight to the death for her if necessary. If I am killed, I’ll go after having made excellent love and Buddha will think me worthy to enter Beat-Heaven."

Fundamental Islamists are fanatical but this little Buddhist was equally as nuts.

It was confidence building to live through this, but I needn’t have worried. Heald just looked at Lesley and me and said,

“So that’s how it is huh?" Then left the room. From then on Lesley and I were inseparable.

    

Les was the only child of a very clever SP bookie / gambler / price assessor. Her parents had both been raised in poverty and as a result, made sure not to lose their dough in later life. Lesley’s mother was non-sexual in the bedroom and, after 3 years, her dad gave up trying. At 6, Les wasn’t allowed to play with "common" kids. Her dad had a gorgeous house overlooking Coogee, and Les went to nearby Brigadine Catholic School but never swallowed the Catholic dogma. She told me,

“Although we lived only 200 mtrs away Jack (my father) dropped me off at school and picked me up after it, in his big car. My one joyous act of freedom was being able to ride my own pony around Centennial Park. I didn't like the way the nuns at school bossed me around. To avoid them, I made sure I studied hard. "

 

Les played flute in her school orchestra (classics only) and began10-pin bowling at the age of twelve developing (at 15) into a State Champion-. She often accompanied her father to the exclusive Tattersall’s Club in Sydney where she noticed him collecting envelopes full of money from politicians. As soon as she found out her dad was a big shot in the illegal gambling industry she became quite proud of him.

While studying medicine at Sydney University , 18 year old Lesley ( in '65) read about LSD and the enlightening effects it was said to give. She searched the Kings Cross coffee shops in a vain attempt to find some but met an "older man “of 30. They became lovers. Meanwhile her dad was going insane worrying why she was sneaking out every few nights and heading toward her lover’s Edgecliff flat. Her father thinking Les crazy to want to get out from under his wing had her put into a private clinic for psychoanalyses. The doctor who ran the joint gave her the stimulant Methedrine to help her communicate and bring her out of her 'strange' behavior. Les dug that Methedrine the most. 

 

 

 

CHP 16-2 “The Great Melbourne Grass Drought”       

 

     A week passed. I came home one night to find everyone gathered reverently around a table. On it was spread 20 lbs (320 ounces) of pot. Grey-haired Jeff said,

"I found it near Singleton. There's tons of the stuff growing wild near Maitland as well." They split it into two lots: one for group use and one for selling to pay the rent. Long Haired Billy had just hitched in from Melbourne with information there was a terrible shortage of grass in that city, so a vote was taken about who would travel to Melbourne and save the city. Back then heads and leaves were all mixed up together. There was no insistence (like these days) on wanting only the strong heads of the plant. People would buy anything as long as it smelt like grass and was green.

 

Although I knew no one in Melbourne, the house took it for granted I did. American Jack asked,

”Who knows their way around Melbourne ? “

 I said,

“I lived there for a while.”

“Cass, could you sell 160 ounces down there real quick and split back here with the bread in a week?”  Our rent was due in 8 days and the landlord had threatened eviction. I still had my Kerouac affectation in which I said 'yes' to every question.

Without thinking, I answered,

‘‘Sure could”..

 Lesley Mindless would be in the house with 10 male hippies while I was gone.. She might fall for someone else! The thought caused my heart to ache so, addressing the assembly, I added,

“Lesley Mindless should come too. If I have a chick with me the cops'll think we’re a innocent young lovers. They'll never think we've got dope."

The house agreed it was a fine idea and Lesley Mindless looked happy.

Pirate Ted and Push Cyrus (he was big, black bearded and real old...about 40) divided the grass into 160 paper envelopes that each held an ounce. We stuffed them into Tony Kelly’s old duffel bag. Les and I took the bag on the train to Liverpool then began hitching.

Back in ’65, no one I knew owned a car. It was normal for young folk to hitch hike. There were no freeways yet and cars would happily stop to pick you up. 80 Km an hour was considered fast.

In Mindless' duffle coat pocket rested 4 Methedrine pills.

"We’ll only take one every 8 hours," she prescribed.

"That'll keep us moving right along."

 Rides did not come easily that night and by 4am, thanks to the Methedrine, I was receiving “psychic “messages from passing road signs.

ROAD NARROWS A HEAD   (I'd get thinner the more I hitched)

 SOFT SHOULDERS   (Mindless sure did have them)

 KEEP TO THE LEFT (must not loose my socialist values)

ROAD TURNS AHEAD (well I’ll just turn my head and kiss Les)

ROAD SPLITS AHEAD (Hitching may lead to us parting)

 BEWARE OF BOULDERS (Don't stare at tits)

 I was new to speed so I'd get a little paranoid after 12 hours on it. My imagination ran riot, but I controlled my fear and didn't let it show..

 "Super-energy multiplied by spiritual knowledge must have led me to discover a new form of ESP."     Similar ideas drifted in and out of my consciousness. They were held in check by   knowing most speed freaks get these thoughts.

     

"We are the next step in evolution. We "heads" have the courage to take speed and LSD and "they" haven't. We are bravely taking the next leap toward evolutionary self knowledge." I knew speed could lead to paranoia so I kept these messages to myself. It was two years before Mindless woke up how close I was to schizophrenia.

          

A day later at 11 am a ride let us off north of Albury. Mindless felt ill and lay down on a shady footpath. It was the hottest day of the year and I think we were sun struck. An hour passed and she felt no better. Hoping she’d recuperate with something in her stomach, I set off to bum some food.

 We had no money, but I thought someone would be happy to help out. It was a Saturday and not many people were about. I asked passing pedestrians for a few pennies but no Albury folk acknowledged me.

 I went into a butcher shop, nervously explained our situation and asked nicely,

''Could you please spare just a small piece of Devon?"

(a very cheap aussie sausage )

The lady behind the counter snarled,

“We’re not here for you bloody hippies to bludge off." Three customers in the shop nodded heads in agreement.

Tears formed in my eyes from hunger and frustration.

Returning to where Mindless rested I felt immense sadness for the poor squares who’d refused me.

We lay there until chilly nightfall forced us to trudge the remaining 3 km through the sprawling town.

On Albury's south side we came to a service station that looked a good place to hitch. We were faint with hunger but the next driver shared biscuits with us..

Next day we arrived on the outskirts of Melbourne. We had just enough dough to 'phone our Push contact in South Yarra.

 

I was delighted to learn it was the divine Marcia. She was real "old push". I'd first met her at Cheverells Hotel (see chapter 11) and later, by chance; at the Royal George.

 Like me, Marcia often drifted interstate. She was living in an old Kew mansion and it was to be our base. She told us to get a cab and she'd pay.

 

We hailed one down, hopped in and cradled my duffel bag.

After passing through a few suburbs, I began to smell the unmistakable odour of marijuana.. The cab driver was making sniffing noises with his nose. I thought,

"Oh s**t, he can smell the grass.”

Cars in the busy afternoon traffic had their lights flashing. Maybe our cab had its lights flashing too.

I thought,

“Melbourne cops must signal about drugs by flashing their lights in the daytime. Our driver is an undercover cop!"

Now I'm old and smart I realize "the lights" must have been those newly invented turning indicators.

 

They were setting a trap for us. I had to warn her. But how to do it without our driver hearing? I whispered,

”We'd better stop here and get some meat.”

Mindless, blissfully unaware, was drumming her fingers in time with the Rolling Stones'

"19th Nervous Breakdown” on the cab AM radio. 

She glanced across and smiled. More urgently I said,

“We must stop the cab here so we can get some topside steak from the butcher!"

She looked puzzled for a while and asked,

"What the hell you on about? Why do we need meat?"

Alliterating carefully I snarled,

"If we don't COP some meat we won't able to GO to your Uncle JACK’S tonight! We've got to GET OUT at the next corner and go shopping for lamb chops!"

We argued back and forth until she flipped her wig,

"Shut the f**k up about meat and lamb chops and steaks and uncles we don’t have and whatever crap you're on about."

So I shut up.

”Boy," I thought,

"She’ll be so sorry she didn't get out and go to the butcher shop when all those cop cars surround us in a minute. Then she'll realize how perceptive I am…when we're in jail.

Oh s**t, Pentridge’ll be a tough bloody place."

 

What turned out to be a run of the mill 3-day Methedrine taxi paranoia lasted until Marcia’s place. When I saw the girl pay the cab and it drove off, my fear went with it.

Marcia welcomed us and unloaded the 160 envelopes of grass and hid them in a cupboard. She filled a large hookah pipe to “have a test sample" then played Manfred Mann's new LP “Mann Made”.

That night many hippies, gypsies, musicians, pirates and holy monks came into the hookah room and sampled greatly.  Musicians played, gypsies got stoned, hippies changed chairs, pirates spoke wisely and monks told jokes. One by one they disappeared into the night with a free envelope or three. We now had 141 envelopes left but had collected nil dollars. The great Melbourne Grass Drought was over..  

 

Around one a.m. I got into Marcia's bath tub. I was a little obsessive about keeping clean. I couldn't do hippie love god stuff if I smelt like B.O. Plenty. The travelling speed had blended with the pot smoked and my “great lover” persona mixed with my subdued paranoia. Wallowing in the warm water I sang "Splish Splash",

"Rubb-a-dub, just relaxing in the tub

Thinking' everything was all right."

My mind joyously imagined that (after my ritual cleansing) I'd be honoured by Marcia and Mindless in a ceremony of holy Karma-Sutra yab-yum in Marcia's love-bed. I washed extra carefully, making sure if the girls got to work, I'd taste sweet. Back when I'd read Lin Utang’s "The Art of Living" it had said “nothing in the love-act should be considered dirty".

I took that lesson to heart and made sure my orifices were exceptionally clean in case I met a really uninhibited lover.

Glancing up at the 1920 style decorated plaster ceiling, I became aware a large winged crawling insect was watching me. I telepathed “Hi there high bug. Have you been sent to lead me to the yab-yum session?" As soon as my brain waves hit the bug it unfolded its wings and slowly crawled across the ceiling above my head. Fear entered the bathroom

Now I’m old and wise I realize this innocent insect was a symbolic representation of “Spanish Fly". I’d read about it in a Lawrence Durrell novel.

Paranoias of the sex-drug that made women p*****s sore and itchy filled my head. I jumped out the bath and put distance between the Spanish fly and me.

 I opened the door quickly so as not to let it escape and bite the girls.

Two days passed and more Melbourne folk came to turn on and then left with an ounce or two. About 60% paid for it. The rest gave such excellent reasons why they’d pay later that we gave credit.

 Potheads were all hippies back then: a real extended family. When “our” Bob Dylan sang about "the Ship coming in" we though he was talking about grass and we were “the ship’s wise men”.

On the 3rd day we rose from the mattress and Marcia took us to Carlton where Abraham Dave, Big Lilly and a really famous Melbourne wild-man hipster whose name I can’t recall lived.

 (Anyone from the British Lion hotel in the 60s and 70s will know who I mean.)

 

 Chris Heald, Lenny Carroll, Johnny Bates and Les Robinson were in their lounge room, having just arrived from Sydney. They were concerned we'd "sold” 130 ounces but had collected no money. Two months rent was overdue on our 98 Hargraves St.

 "How much you got left?" asked Heald. Lesley took over,,

"Cool it man: we've been doing some wonderful PR. Everyone will be back to buy when they realize how good it is."

Lenny smiled,

"Luckily for Melbourne’s pot heads we've brought up another lot. But Mindless, please, this time you must sell it: no more samples!"

Two days later, we still had collected only 160 bucks. There was only 42 ounces left including the new stash.

Heald was keen to get going. He said,

"We'll post 140 bucks back for the rent and sell the rest at the pubs." By ‘'pubs', he meant the Continental in the city and Her Majesty's at South Yarra:

 There was another Push pub in Carlton called The British Lion, but I never went there. 

We moved to another push house in Fitzroy containing 4 rock musicians, two girls who worked for Go Set magazine, old Cliff (not the singer) Richard, Long Haired Billy, Sydney Sirus, Michelle Mainline, Abraham Dave, Big Lilly and Johnny Bates.

More and more Sydney hippies were heading for Melbourne after hearing rumours of free grass. I felt great. Wherever we went I was immediately accepted, and it wasn't just the grass. After so many lonely years seeking the "beat" world, I at last belonged. 

 I was worried some cop might search me and find dope so, to look innocent, I decided to disguise myself and sell grass dressed as a little old lady.

“You can take the money from people and tell them to pick up the dope from your auntie on the corner --that’ll be me. They come over and I give it to them and cops will think I’m just an old lady and I won’t get searched.” Some thought it an insane idea but the girls joyously made me up to look like  a granny.

 

We headed to the first pub with the gear down the front of my dress and in my handbag.. Grass buyers gave money to Heald and he signaled me how much they’d given and I dug in my bra for the amount. It was hard to calculate as most of the gear had dried up and trickled out of the envelopes. (This was in the days before baggies) Often I had to measure it out a pinch at a time.

The pub patrons must’ve thought I was a cross dresser with a fetish for old age and any cops watching would have not been fooled.

 ----------to be cont------------

 

Author's Note

I was a cross dresser with a fetish for old age