This story is fictional,,, at least the most entertaining parts of it are. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely their own fault for having the misfortune of knowing me.

I was born in Honolulu Hawaii at Kapiolani hospital around 9am one Saturday morning in 1954. I was the first Grandson of my Grandfather who for the sake of not embarrassing any of the living members of my family I will call Braddah Burt, or just Granpaw. You can imagine his disappointment when his favorite son, of dark skin and coal black eyes brought to his family tree a blonde haired blue eyed baby which they affectionately knick named Snow Ball.

I'm talking about myself there, but the efflection did not last long. I think Nature loves irony. That's why the platapus lays eggs, and baby kangaroos are the size of a pee, and just as soon as my mom brought me to the main land my golden locks turned dark brown along with my eyes and skin. That wasn't a color that went down smooth in the south during the fifties and 60s.

So that is how I came into adolecenses in the 60's not quight white, and not quite Hawaiian. I think that lack of ethnic identity played a major role in my decision to embrace the counter culture.

I met the Christophers in the autumn of my freshman year. They were old friends of Stan Mack, who had gone through grade school with the older Christopher Jessie.

Jessie was a charismatic teen, and I mean that literally. He looked like the splitting image of the Christ in Davincci's last supper, and surrounded himself with an adoring audience of pot heads and over sexed teen age girls. Among his flock was one Verny Maccaffery, (or how ever you spell that name). Verny had just completed his first tour of duty in nam, and his eyes were wild. He was like a wild caged animal pacing around the periphery of Jessie's audience.

Verny was the ganga man. He smuggled duffel bags of Thai Sticks on those huge Hercules transports back to Jessie and his flocked, and although no one really loved him for it, everyone appreciated the effort.

Myself included.

I had learned quickly that there was a place where I could fit in, and no one cared much about what race I was, and that was with the hippys and pot heads. We called each other brother or sister, and spoke in soft voices when we met each other on the street. We socially groomed each other with commentaries about social injustice while snorting and smoking the products and hard labor of people living in poverty.

It impressed me that the irony of the situation wasn't lost on Verny, who mumbled feverish condemnations as he paced around with a huge joint in his mouth.

"God is corrupt! We are all two faced bastards who don't have the decency to kill each other for exploiting our fellow men. We're all hipocrits". Looking back, that wasn't the most eloquent statement I ever heard, but for some reason, under the influence and all, I felt strangely connected to Verny. We were the disenfranchised thinkers and poets of our generation. At least it seemed like it when we were stoned.

Of course Verny's alienation from society had nothing to do with ethnicity, and everything to do with killing his fellow man for 13 months just so he could enjoy a hot beer in the blazing sun and an occasional fuck in Saigon,,, at least that's what he told me.

So this went on for 2 years that I met Verny at the Christopher residence with an ever changing group of dicipels and sycophants. As Jessie drew more and more towards his delusions of Grandiosity, Verny surrounded himself more and more with the ghosts of his victims.

By the time Tricky Dicky announced the complete withdrawal of troupes from Vietnam, Jessie Christopher had all but canonized himself. He spent hours quoting from the bible. Most of us just got stoned and listen to the music he played as his back drop, while others lapped up the bullshit like hungry dogs on their way to heaven.

Don't get me wrong, I really loved Jessie like a brother, but his accent to heaven was more of a descent into insanity as far as most of his real friends were concerned, and protect him as much as we could, we couldn't help but reproach him too.

But I deviate. That really is another story, because this story is really about me and Verny and Bill Belchum, and how one drunken and stoned autumn evening we found ourself packed into Verny's banana yellow Volks wagon with Bill Myopic dog headed for Custer South Dakota.

I had just graduated from High School,,, well actually,,, asked to graduate from high school before I was kicked out,,, and as it were, I had a pocket full of money, and Verny had just received his first payments from the GI bill, and we filled up the tank, kissed Bill Bellchums mom good bye (She was about 35 and looked like Grace Slick and most of us only wanted to hang around Bill so we could get close to his mom,,, but that's another story too).

Anyways, I'm not sure, I think it was during Halloween, because Verny was dressed in his dirty Jungle Utilities and this bizarre field cap that had so much crap on it I thought his neck would snap from the weight. Someone passed us on the street, took one look at Verny and asked if he was dressed up for Halloween. I thought that was kind of an odd question coming from someone in Kafkan and love beads. But in those days everyone was in costume, myself included.

We began our trip to South Dakota that night, covered by a shroud of blue smoke from Bills bong, and the sound of Moody Blues on the 8 track. Bills dog passed out quickly in my lap. I thought it was the second hand smoke.

The dog turned out to be a total light weight when it came to smoke, and by the time we hit 80, he had relieved himself twice without even setting up or opening his eyes. After the first time, I insisted that Bill spend more time bonding with his pet.

It was Bills dog that started the cascade of events that was to typify our sojourn if I can call it that. For some reason, Vern got lost in Sacramento, while we were all in a hashish stupor, and 6 hours later we found ourself in Big Sur looking at the most spectacular sunset we had ever seen.

Bill decided it was time to let his Dog air out. I know this sounds cruel, but I can't for the life of me remember the name of that dog. The really sad thing is, that none of us realized just how stoned that poor animal had gotten, or why. He had been around it before covered in shrouds of hashish smoke and never been effective so , so , dramatically. It wasn't till days afterward the horrible incident that we realized just why the dog was so stoned.

No one could have anticipated what would happen, the horrible incident. It was a good suggestion. I made it, and in view of the dogs condition, I thought it made perfect sense. We pulled into one of those cliff side turnouts that are every where around the coast of big sur. You know those unguarded perches thousands of feet above the rocky shore. All three of us were sitting on the edge of the cliff, our legs dangling over, looking at the most spectacular sunset I had ever seen, when I noticed that the wind was coming straight up the side of the cliff with pure ocean air. It was chilly and sobering.

I told Bill, "Man, if you put that dog of yours on your lap, and hang his nose over between your knees, he is for sure gona sober up fast." Bill and Verny both thought it was a good idea and in seconds the dog was retrieved from where he was curled up along the rear tire of the bug and carefully placed in Bills lap, with his nose between Bills legs.

The dog hadn't been there long when without warning the horrible thing happened. All at once, Bill shot up from his siting position on the cliff clutching his knee and hopping around. I didn't see the hoping around stuff, my eyes were transfixed by the small body of the dog as it swirled down to the rocky beach and splattered on the rocks like a ripe watermelon.

He did not struggle, he did not move. He floated down like a leaf carried by the wind. But this leave splattered when it hit the rocks.

I puked. Splattering the contents of my last meal all over my pants and my mocassins. The sound of me puking brought a sudden realization to Bill, who must have still been in pain, because he was clutching his knee as he came back to the cliff and peered over.

But there was nothing left of the dog. Just as soon as he splattered, a flock of seagulls descended on the parts and fighting and flapping at each other they carried each part off. That's what got to me, not so much the Splattering, but the carrying off of pieces of the poor animal.

"Well", said Verny, " Let's go get em".

"Get what?", I wanted to say. but every-time I tried to form the words that horrible sight formed in my minds eye, and threatened to evoke another tech-no color yawn. I hated the taste of vomit, and I wasn't about to taste any more, and just kept my mouth shut and followed.

We followed the hair pin curve of the road where it turned away from the ocean and created a narrow valley that slanted gently to the beach. There was a road going down to the beach, and we followed it.

It turned dark quickly. Verny reached into one of the pouches of his Jungle Utilities and pulled out a flash light, of all things. This was a good thing, because it was getting too dark to navigate the road safely. I was relying on the shine of Bills white socks to guide me in the dark, and that was a mistake because Bill was one clumsy son of a bitch and I just about broke an ankle.

All the time we were walking down there all Bill kept saying over and over again was,
"Man, I hope he's okay, Man, I hope he's okay".

I wanted to say "Of course he's not okay you stupid prick! His carcass was splattered on some jagged rocks, and carried off by a bunch of murderous seagulls" But the thought of it made me il so I just followed and kept quiet. I can't stand seagulls to this day, so help me Kane.

When I could finally get it together enough to speak I said, "Bill, why the hell did you shoot up like that"?

"I got a cramp in my leg, and I forgot he was in my lap."

A cramp in his leg, and here am I thinking a yellow jacket or a bee flew up his pant leg and stung him. He got a cramped and automatically he had to spring up and jump around like he had just been run through the leg with a hot iron. I couldn't see how Bill's mother, who was so beautiful, and smart could have conceived such a stupid cretin.

I guess Verny was thinking the same thing. Without a word he walked up and slapped Bill in the back of his head so hard snott flew out his nose and on his t-shirt. But then Verny said something really strange, that made me a little uneasy, and most certain would bring question regarding his sanity to most rational people.

"Don't ever let anything cause you to reveal your position."

Verny said a lot of strange shit like that, and usual it meant nothing, but in retrospect, I should have suspected that it was a warning of things to come.

It seemed like after days of walking, though the moon had only just shown it's face, we were on the beach, and we made our way to the rocks beneath the cliff where the dog had peacefully descended.

Verny and I hung back as we watched Bill pitifully go out to the rocks and call for his dog. "Dawwgg!"

"Dawwwgg!"

Or what ever that poor creatures name was. This went on for almost an hour. The whole ocean and all the sand along the cliffs was illuminated by the full moon. Bill climbed around the rocks like a shadow except for his white socks. His stringy hair blown around his head like a decaying shroud.

Verny stood in the shadow of the cliffs. I could only see the whites of his eyes, and they were bulging out, and unblinking. He was like in a hypnotic trance. Staring at the ocean. Quiet, and then I hear it. Just as Bill stopped calling for that damn dog, I heard it.

It was like distant gunfire at first, and I felt a bit unsettled. Why would that much gunfire be going off in Big Sur? Then I realized, it wasn't gun fire at all. It was the waves picking up thousands of tiny black stones and crashing them down with all its force on top of each other.

I laughed and turned to Verny, who I thought was making the same conclusion by now. But his face was so pale it shown like a ghost in contrast with the dark cliffs.

Just then Bill appeared sobbing, in his hands was what was left of the battered carcass of the dog. In the full moon light, I could see that his myopic eye was dangling out of it's socket. "Man Bill", I started to say "Throw that thing away" when Verny rushed from his darkness, grabbed the carcass from Bills hand and in the same motion bringing Bill to his knees and placing the barrel of a small pistol down his throat.

"You son of bitch, your stupidity killed him! You're gona get us all killed" Verny was screaming at Bill who, kneeled down with the gun his mouth petrified.

Maybe it was the long hash filled ours in the vw, maybe it was something in me I never thought I had, but whatever it was, what I did next might of quite possible saved Bill's miserable life, and I thought afterwards that Bill's mother should owe me a great debt of gratitude. But that's another story.

Of course, maybe Verny was just putting us on. I wouldn't be surprised if he was.

A great peace came over me. It was as if I was out side of myself looking at an incident in which I was in total control over.

I walked calmly up to Verny, stood in his face and said,
"Vern" I called him Vern, because it really pissed him off when people called him Verny, and I thought that in his fragile state, it might not be too smart to piss him off. "Vern, what are you doing?"

"I'm gona kill this fuck!" he answered.

"Vern" I continued calmly, "take the gun out of Bills mouth, he's just pissed his pants, and from the smell of it, I'd say he's shit his pants too". I explained.

This news seemed to be the tension breaker that the situation needed. Verny started laughing like a donkey just before it farts. He removed the gun from Bills mouth. Bill collapsed on the Ground saying "Thank you Lee, thank you lee," Over and over again. I immediately began to fantasize about what Bill's mothers reaction would be when she learned that I had saved her only child.

"Christ, Bill, you smell like shit" I said. "Man, you both stink" said Verny.

Of course he was right. So much had happened in the eternity of hell, that I had completely forgotten that I had vomited on myself. I started towards the ocean. "Come on" I called to Bill, "We better wash these rags up before we get back in the bug"

"No way" complained bill as he took off his pants. "There's sharks in those waters man, and sharks are nocturnal"

"Well, I'm Hawaiian" I boasted, "and sharks don't eat Hawaiians"

"You're only part Hawaiian", Vern laughed "Which part do you think he'll eat, and which part do you think he'll leave alone?"

Fair question, and I felt a little uneasy in the water as I cleaned off my clothes. I refused to clean Bill's no matter how much he pleaded.

The walk back to the car was cold an uneasy. The question on my mind, and Bill's mind was ; "Is Verny safe to be around". Vern never talked much about Nam. He was uneasy around real peaceful types. Once a young girl of our acquatance had a accused Vern of being a baby killer. He didn't even blink at her, and it gave us all the creeps, because maybe Vern had killed babies. We heard all kinds of stories, maybe Vern was like that.

Concerns about Verny's stability plagued me all night and the next day. I did not fall asleep until we hit Utah, and it was my turn to drive.

To be continued