"Jesus Burgers". It's in today's paper on the front page, about an evangelical Christian group who serve free hamburgers and then hold service at their place in Isla Vista. The notorious adjunct location to UC Santa Barbara and SB City College has had nationally reported massacres and in day to day life a reputation for heavy partying---and the dark accessories to same.

Gary was a fellow I knew in high school and stopped looking up 40 years ago. One of his oh so clenched counter cultural sayings was, "[You] are into movies, I'm into film," delivered in a Ratzo Rizzo voice darkened by some Don Vliet. In high school he was going to make the film that would shock and revolutionize the industry and society: Christ Burgers, look for the smiling (and of course burger bearing) Jesus.

Gary had a brief turn in the city school custodial department before I entered. One day during during probation, which most spent as substitutes, he was sent to Kennedy High School. Not trained and definitely not assigned, he took the football field tractor out and rolled it---twice. Summoned before an iron jawed Navy veteran Area Supervisor who would have been easily caricatured by Mad Magazine's Don Martin, Gary was originally going to receive a scalding lecture but be sent out for another chance.

Behind a curtain of hair he was belligerent and Mr. P. decided to cut anchor right there.

Gary went back and forth in his broadly displayed avant attitude between living at home and some kinds of work that gave him enough to buy such as a Norton 750 motorcycle, handy for fleeing his Dad after a flare up, and an Arp 2600 synthesizer. I stopped hanging around, but heard about his Mom coming home after someone nicked a tail light on their 1960's Dodge Dart. He broke the other light saying he'd make it symmetrical.

Last spring I saw what probably was him getting out of probably that Dart in the parking lot at a Fresh & Easy. The hair and clothes could have passed muster at St. Gen's of 1968. I did not approach.

I had done searches on his name here and there and came up with him variously living back with Mom, at a rehab place almost across the street from where I was signed in and out as a custodial substitute in 1972, in the Pacoima projects, and recently in Orinda. I didn't get the latter address but a fellow named Tom (mentioned in another Gent blog entry), who used to be with Gary, me and another fellow in a truce-filled and truculent foursome in high school, lives in Orinda with his sister. I am intrigued but also inhibited.

About 40 years ago Tom met Gary at a party; Gary was working "blow" fueled nearly 20 hour days pouring concrete for home add-ons of rock managers and the like. Later when my doctor brother was doing his time at County General he spotted Gary's name on the floor list. Gary and a contractor partner were in their truck over the peaky part of Laurel Canyon he knew well and even had lived along for a while and rolled down a hill. He broke ribs, among other things.

I knew Gary's sister as an amiable air head; she went on to manage in retail and treat her folks to European vacations. Gary I'm not too filled in on.

Once Tom and I were at visiting Gary at his folks' and he served us some buttered zucchini. In between bragging of his knowledge of Bunuel and Zappa he said, "Better than burgers."

I can roll with that.