Flower Power

The old man was curled up on a bench in the bus terminal in San Francisco. His eyes were red from lack of sleep. He hadn't eaten in 4 days. "How the hell did I ever get to this?" he asked himself. Years of drug abuse and alcoholism had taken a great toll from him. He was sixty five, but he looked like ninety five. His hair dragged down his back to just under his shoulder blades. In the front, he had no hair. When viewed from the top, he looked like a furry toilet seat. He was just dropping off to sleep when station security showed up.

"Get off the bench, you bum. This isn't a hotel," ordered the big, burly agent. "Scram, get out of here!"

"I have nowhere to go."

"Tough, this isn't a charity house. Go find a soup kitchen or a flop house. Get out!"

The old man got clumsily to his feet and headed for the door. He knew there was a soup kitchen around there somewhere, but his drug softened brain wouldn't tell him where. He stumbled out onto the sidewalk and started down the street.

He only went two blocks when he recognized the soup kitchen and staggered inside. The evening meal was about to be served but first he had to listen to a sermon. After the sermon, he and all the other lost souls lined up at the serving line and got a ration of fresh food.

He gulped his down quickly and then wandered over to the admin officer. "Sir, do you have a flop available?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to do four hours work in the kitchen. Can you do it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Report to the chief cook," he instructed and pointed to a door.

The old man stumbled through the door. He was very tired, but he needed a place to rest.

The chief cook assigned him to the garbage deck.

He worked his shift and then went to his assigned bunk. As he lay down, he remembered the good old days. He had been a brilliant high school student, He maintained straight "A's" through his junior year. Then he started to listen to Dr. Timothy Leary. "Tune in, turn on and drop out," was the master's message. So in a moment of extreme stupidity, that's exactly what he did. He never graduated high school. He was too busy with the drug scene. His parents were really frustrated with his new attitude and were getting ready to put him in rehab.

So he bummed a ride to San Francisco. Yes, he wore some flowers in his hair. Soon he was a regular in the Haight-Ashbury hippy community. Drugs, alcohol and easy sex made staying worth his while. They would go spit at the servicemen returning from Viet Nam. They called them murderers and rapists, baby killers and all manner of nonsense.

It took years for the war to wind down. When it finally went away, there were thousands of "flower children" just like him with no guidance and nowhere to go.

The old man remembered how deserted he had felt. The leaders of the hippy community either drifted away or went to prison. By the time he realized there was no hope and almost no dope, he had forgotten who he was and where he came from.

"I'm not doing another winter on the street," he resolved. A small part of him could recognize the futility of continuing on year after year with no end in sight.

He had an epiphany. He didn't have to go on like this. There was definitely something he could do about it. He drifted off to sleep.

The wake up alarm sounded at 6:30 in the morning. "Everybody up," the admin officer ordered.

He went downstairs to the soup kitchen and had breakfast after another sermon, of course. As he walked out of the door, his goal was clear and his resolve was strong. He walked up the highway toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

A police officer stopped him short of his goal. "Where are you headed, old man?" he asked.

"I'm just walking for exercise; I don't have any particular place to go."

"You look like you might need help. I'll give you a ride to the station."

"No, that's okay officer, I'm just out strolling."

"Well stay off the highway," the young policeman admonished.

"Yes sir," the old man replied.

As soon as the police car was out of sight, he resumed his walk to his final destination. He crept along the highway toward the bridge. When the bridge guards were distracted by an accident, he slipped through the gate and out onto the bridge. He walked all the way to the middle. Then he stood up on the railing and looked at the water far below. A feeling of peace washed over him. A patrol car screeched to a halt beside him. Two officers got out and started toward him.

"Take it easy old man, you could get hurt out here," chided one of the cops.

The old man looked at the young officers and said, "Good." Then he stepped off the rail. It was slow motion as the water drifted lazily up to engulf him. His last thought before he slammed into the water was, "Free at last."