My take on the generation gap
Great question. Since I put up around 30 eBooks (most very short), I suggest people go through them in chronological order. The first (very brief) story to read, East Village, was my first serious attempt at fiction, written at age 17. It takes place in New York’s East Village in 1967, a very important year in counterculture history. For over a year, thousands of male teenagers had been pressing their parents to discontinue the ritual of visiting a barbershop, so they could display locks like their rock role-models. For many parents, however, having a well-shorn male child was just as—if not more— important as having a well-trimmed lawn. The biggest battles may have taken place in the fall of 1967— many could escape haircuts during the summer, but not when school started.
My friends Bugsy and Maarten pulled off a daring escape for a few weeks, landing in a crash-pad in the East Village, which was experiencing an explosion of teenage runaways, and celebrating up a storm, all of which came to a sudden halt when a society teen was found murdered in a speed-freak shooting-gallery. Their adventures inspired me to write my first short story.
Next, read The Steam Tunnels, which will only cost you 99 cents, and you’re already registered, so the entire process is painless, just click “download eBook” and download as many copies as you like (in any format you desire for the rest of your life) including all future updates and additions (I like to keep improving my eBooks every year). But please don’t share them. I’m a single dad with two kids and the eBook revolution hasn’t really taken off yet, so I haven’t seen any return for the immense amount of effort I made to get these important historical archives available to the public.
The Steam Tunnels takes place in 1967 and involves my climactic confrontation with my parents. After this day, I’d never be forced to get another haircut. I soon moved down into the basement and transformed it into a psychedelic playland. It became the rehearsal studio for my band, The Knight Riders, my art studio, and a clubhouse for all my friends. My mom called it “The Den of Iniquity,” so I painted a sign on the entrance: “Are you sure a nice person like you belongs in this Den of Iniquity?” I was exploring the steam tunnels at the same time, and actually did consider moving down there permanently for a second. One night we thought we’d been caught by the University police when the lights came on unexpectedly. It turned out to be Guy Maynard, lead singer of the Seeds of Doubt, and a friend of his. I had to run away from home twice before I could negotiate a liveable arrangement with my parents, one that afforded me the freedom that I needed. I was branded “emotionally immature,” because I wanted to be in charge of my life’s trajectory. The threat of reform school, military academy, and/or the dreaded “electro-shock therapy” was always hanging over my head. I wrote The Steam Tunnels at age 20, five years after it happened. Wesly Pinter is a composite of Bugsy and John Hayes, founder of the Knight Riders.
The third eBook to read is The Stockholm Manifesto, written while living in Sweden trying to evade the Vietnam War, which is free to download in any format.
I’d eventually get kicked out of Sweden and flunked my physical thanks to a sympathetic psychologist. I just told him I didn’t fit in the Army and they wouldn’t want me. He asked how I knew that and I told him I’d gone to Valpo University and been put in a dorm, and ended up in a huge conflict with a lot of people in the dorm who didn’t like my style. Then I began to shed a few tears. Hey, I was on the chopping block—an impeccably-groomed master-sergeant had escorted me to the psychologist’s office. Very few potential inductees even saw the psychologist. You had to demand to see him! I’d already been identified as a flight risk. You had to sign an oath right off and I refused, saying I was sympathetic to the Viet Cong, and considered the USA the aggressor nation and refused to fight. After that, they kept a eye on me. What I was counting on was my weight. After days of fasting, I was probably around 125. I had some magic number in my head that if I was under that, I would be 4-F. The weighing-in however, was extremely fast and sloppy and they were taking everybody they could get by 1971, so my fasting was of no avail. The sergeant guarding me was already letting me know I was going downstairs in ten minutes and getting on that bus to boot-camp! Just as soon as you get out of that office, hahaha, you dirty hippie! He didn’t say that, but I knew he was thinking it. It was a spider looks at the fly moment. But that sergeant was positively crushed when the psychologist branded me 4-F and his little fly flew out the front door, back to freedom! It was one of my peak ecstasy moments and it had allI been a lot easier than I’d thought. I sure could tell that sergeant was pissed this little fly got away and the Army never got their claws into my brain.