Author/Speaker

What are you afraid of?  What scares you silly?  
Rats?  Snakes?  Politicians?

Me...I've always been afraid of Dennis Hopper.  
He's a character actor who specializes in playing psychos. 
I vividly remember a scene where Hopper mashed over some 
dude with his bike.  It had a permanent effect on my young 
mind. And now I begin my tale:

 


It was day #1 of my interviewing adventure which would 
become my book, 527 Naked Men & One Woman - The Adventures 
of a Love Investigator. My best friend, Sal, had scribbled 
a list of eight men to start my interviewing caper.  It was
up to me to make them want to be interviewed.  From this 
starter-set list I chose one name - Dr. Timothy Leary.  
I've always been the type that jumps into the deep end
first. I figure it's the best way to learn. 
 
Leary was a professor who lectured in psychology at Harvard 
and explored psychedelic experiences and experiments; he 
espoused free-love and was the spirit of the 60's. Leary was
arrested and jailed by G.Gordon Liddy, escaped prison, was 
re-arrested and ultimately released.  He then went on tour 
with Liddy, as by then they were both ex-cons with a story 
to tell. He campaigned for governor of California against 
Ronald Reagan.  He hung out with an incredible array of 
names from The Beatles to Black Panther, Eldridge Cleaver.

 
I arrived at Leary's house, which was located up the road 
from the Beverly Hills Hotel.  Tim was in the final year of
his life - death danced naked before him; and yet he was 
full of piss and vinegar.  And this was to be my first ever
interview with anyone.

 
Leary complimented me on my courage for taking on this 
daunting task.  "The dehumanizing by males of women and 
children is the key issue." He lit a cigarette with shaky
hands.  "It's the number one cause of suffering, illness
and genocide. It is the pervasive, taken for granted, 
ever-present brutalization of women and children by men."

 
His mind darted like a mouse picking up crumbs of memory,
nibbling on them and then moving on.  I dared not interrupt
for fear of his anger, it seemed to turn on a whisker.

 
Someone took our photo as we sat together.  I wished in my
heart, I had known him when he was younger.  He was a pistol.
His memories were strings I must untangle.  Anger loops to 
pleasant memories, to passion and back to anger, and 
then tears.

 
"In the 1920's when I was born, it was a completely 
different age.  I was an only child and my mother was 
totally my friend and supporter.  And I caused her much
pain.  She wanted me to be a dentist and live next door.
Instead, I ended up escaping from prison." Leary cried.  

 
"It caused her a great deal of pain because when she would
meet with the women who were her friends they would talk 
about their children.  She could never mention my name.  And
that hurt her a lot.  We're talking about women who were in 
their 70's at the time I was in prison.  You didn't talk 
about things like that back then.  And it seems so tragic
now that all those older women were fascinated by me and my
life and my mother couldn't mention it. It robbed her of a 
high hope of her life because she was proud of me in a way.
Now, it breaks my heart."
 
Hours later, I am ready to leave after an emotionally 
exhausting day.

 

"Please come back," he begs.  I promise to return.

 
It is my third visit to Leary's home.  I carry bags of 
fresh fruit and juices for his health. "Put those things
in the refrigerator and then get back over here," he barks.

 
Leary's refrigerator is covered with photos held in place
by magnets.  They are all pictures of people he cared for
 - most of the photos are of twentieth century folk heroes.
I am mesmerized.  The photos bring these legends to life.
And then I do a triple-take.  Yikes! There is a recent photo
of Leary and me and clipped under the same magnet is a 
photo of Dennis Hopper and Leary.  My knees buckle.  
Is this a sign?  If so what does it mean?  This is not 
funny, God. I spent the rest of the day with one eye on 
the door in case Hopper stopped by.
 
Timothy Leary died the following year and his ashes were 
sent into space aboard a Pegasus rocket. I have never heard
from Dennis Hopper.