Oxford College was a step forward from Tift County’s time warp, but not by much. I stepped in to a world desperately clinging to antiquated rah-rah week starting with Freshman Hell Week, definitely another story. Luckily for me there were a few left over beatnik, proto-hippies among the entering freshman and among rising sophomores, the rulers of the insular world of Oxford isolated from the main campus and retaining some rules from another century. One being that the town literally closed about 7:30. Even the stoplight was turned to blink. A college student had nowhere to go on nights the snack bar wasn’t open. Women had to be signed in and out after 6. They had only recently won the right to sign themselves out for a weekend. Formerly a parent had to be responsible. Men were free to roam, but only sophomores could have a car and they were suppose to be kept in a controlled lot. Lucky people had an outside source of escape.

On weekends I was rescued by Pixie Ujhelyi  or someone she had sent in the faithful turquoise dart, another story. During the week I was imprisoned, so I was very happy when Jan Jackson, quintessential daffy hippie chick, said her boyfriend Martin about whom I had heard so much, was actually coming tonight and we could all ride somewhere for food and hangout. Well that meant riding to the Huddle House in Conyers since it was all that was that was open on Monday nights except filling stations for about fifty miles.

I got money and was headed to the girl’s dorm when this wiry little guy came out of the shadow. “Hey hippie, where you goin’?” He had a wide, smug grin and looked like a brown haired greaser gnome moving with angular lope.

Spider sense tingling. I had lived this scenario, where are his buddies hiding? But he grinned and laughed then walked back in the shadows. I raced to find Jan and my friends.

When I told her what had happened, she got a twinkle in her eye and said, “Meet my boyfriend Martin!” and the wiry guy again stepped out of the shadows laughing to himself.

“You hippies ready to ride for some chow?” With that, six clambered into his VW bus to go for coffee and sandwiches and a jukebox.

This was my introduction to Martin who was to become my beatnik hippie guru.

Shortly after, on a weekend Pixie had come for me, but would be unavailable to give me a ride back from her apartment near Oglethorpe. Calling around Oxford students I knew to be in Atlanta, I got Jan at Harvey’s house on 14^th. She said Martin was taking her back and they’d come get me.

Gabi and I were sitting around the living room, where we had begun sharing one sleeping bag, much to the stern displeasure of her mother who stayed upstairs with Pixie in the one bedroom, which featured an opening so you could overlook, and overhear, everything that happened down below in the living room in a single sleeping bag at night. The thought that her mother was just above us listening was almost enough to extinguish the lust of two eighteen year olds in love. Almost enough,  Mrs. Ujhelyi wasn’t overly fond of this guy that came on weekends to extensively make love to her daughter.

There came a knock at the apartment door and in breezed Martin followed by Jan and two others talking and in a great mood. Martin sat at the table and pulled out a workmen’s lunchbox with a curved top. Jan had said he was always hungry. He was crumbling up some sort of relish and rolling cigarettes. Ohmigod, he’s got marijuana and Mrs. Ujhelyi is just up there and can see us! I realized with a shock.

Gabi saw my alarm and shrugged and smiled. Soon we were passing around the joints. Pixie acted shocked but made sure she got some good hits. My first time smoking and I was getting very high, but didn’t know it. Martin was a great guide to both of us about what was happening in my mind.  He was a bridge to the lingo of the beatniks, which strangely was suddenly not strange.

Bidding Gabi and Pixie an altered goodbye. We piled into Martin’s blue VW bus Ol’ Baby and were off down the length of Peachtree to catch I-20 at the capitol. The lights of traffic were a phantasm to my newly stoned mind. The trip back to Oxford lasted a joyful eternity with Martin giving his own Casady style rap on life as he drove. Jan added comments both sardonic and hilarious. Oh what a ride.