:lamo
I've never smoked tobacco, pot, or used any drugs of any kind, but totally support the right of others to use. ****, I didn't even like alcohol and believe me when I say I've tried.
But, somehow, imagining Superfly and my Mom using peyote together brings a smile to my face.
You just never know.
My parents met in a bowling alley in 1947. 6 months later they were married, I was born in Feb,49. My mother constantly busted dad's chops about that game for years. One of his sisters set the game up as a series of blind dates. My mom looked like a young Liz Grant, my dad looked like a much younger John Wayne. She left him dumbfounded, had her eyes on an older feller named Archie. My dad was considering punching Archie's lights out, especially since he had a British accent. Along for the ride was a very young Barbara Harris, someone's younger cousin who had a fascination with Archie. Archie was in the middle of a divorce. My mother was along as her older cousin's chaperone (don't ask). These were days when nice girls did not give their phone #'s out, nor did they mess with divorced men, or men in the process of divorce. LSD was legal. The party, as all parties who remembered, believed there about 80 guests who left the bowling alley together for an apartment in Brooklyn Heights borrowed by Archie with a phone call. The apartment was in then Hotel George. A very glamorous at the time party place well known for celebrity peccadilloes.
Everyone who entered the party at the St George downed a glass of grape juice liberally dosed with LSD. Archie was Cary Grant. My father, still in his Captain's uniform, when he realized what was going on, knocked out Grant, grabbed both my mother and her cousin just as Cary yelled out "Everyone get naked! There's a pool downstairs!". With one complaining on each of his shoulders, he returned them home safely against their wishes, and dressed. (There's always a jerk around when he's not needed.)
My grandfather waiting at the door for his oldest daughter, gave my father an invitation to dinner in return for his good manners, not knowing he was from one of Brooklyn's well known criminal families. My mother was furious with grandpa until she saw my dad in uniform standing at the door. His number was up. In her words, she had to get out of that house, too late for grandpa. MP's busted Grant's party after local police got their butts kicked by some officers and earned some fine gratuities. I believe, without certainty, that the party was engineered by my Aunt Lily, who went on to gain her own fame, a member of the Polar Bear club who had 18 boys of her own, before giving my uncle a second daughter, and who slept with 14 lap dogs so i don't know how he found room in the bed. And whenever I asked her about bowling, he would yell "Shut up Lily." She was a hot number "Miss USO Brooklyn" 4 years running.
Grant married Barbara about 10 years later.
I make no claims to veracity. My cousin Roy still raises dogs. I've lost count of cousins and their names. Let alone all their kids' names.
