Ken, as I mentioned earlier, lived on the first floor of the Franklin Street loft. He was a Princeton graduate and as soon as he opened his mouth, you just knew you were listening to something important. This was the time of Dr. Timothy Leary and Ken went in that direction. He burned himself out early, hit the skids, and I last heard that he was in a recovery program.
I do remember, however, the time he decided that he was going to test the rules and deal some hash out of the first floor. There was a rule that any hash had to be sold on two... lol... (I know... crazy shit...) So... when word leaked up to the second floor that there was a hash deal going down on one, he had to answer to the unofficial Franklin Street court. They actually had a hearing where he plead his case. It was pretty damned funny and he won the case because the second floor folks didn't have his eloquence. His Princeton education wasn't entirely wasted. Bobby was a very fair judge and, as the king of the mountain on the third floor, was the final word on all conflicts. Meantime, it was a price-fixing scheme where they expected him to sell it to the second floor and then they would get their slice of the pie before it left the building. Bottom line, Ken was okay in my book... I remember smoking opium with him and getting the worst sore throat of my life. Brandy, Ken's lady, made this weirdo concoction that they took from some guru's recipe, and I swear, it cured my throat issue in about two hours... my drug intake went from zero to the roof in a few hours. I was, understandably very grateful. I was even more grateful when Brandy turned me on to her model girlfriend Donna... but that's a whole other story...
I do remember, however, the time he decided that he was going to test the rules and deal some hash out of the first floor. There was a rule that any hash had to be sold on two... lol... (I know... crazy shit...) So... when word leaked up to the second floor that there was a hash deal going down on one, he had to answer to the unofficial Franklin Street court. They actually had a hearing where he plead his case. It was pretty damned funny and he won the case because the second floor folks didn't have his eloquence. His Princeton education wasn't entirely wasted. Bobby was a very fair judge and, as the king of the mountain on the third floor, was the final word on all conflicts. Meantime, it was a price-fixing scheme where they expected him to sell it to the second floor and then they would get their slice of the pie before it left the building. Bottom line, Ken was okay in my book... I remember smoking opium with him and getting the worst sore throat of my life. Brandy, Ken's lady, made this weirdo concoction that they took from some guru's recipe, and I swear, it cured my throat issue in about two hours... my drug intake went from zero to the roof in a few hours. I was, understandably very grateful. I was even more grateful when Brandy turned me on to her model girlfriend Donna... but that's a whole other story...
Update (December 2014): Ken and Brandy, it would seem, made a complete and rich recovery. They are still together, living in the South. They have five grandchildren from three daughters, and the short correspondence was not only coherent but intelligent, as always. One thing, however, is interesting. He doesn't remember me. And, frankly, I'm not surprised. There are a lot of gaps that remain from those days, some of which I'm sure are mine.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment