I
first met Tony Hempstead twelve years ago, on my first day at the
University of Texas in 1970. We were both on the floor of Gregory
Gym, trying to pick out the classes we wanted to attend and create a
workable schedule. It was 103o outside and even hotter
inside. The giant box fans were moving air around but moving really
hot air didn’t seem to alleviate the problem.
I
was trying to decide on a course that could work into the schedule. I
had already attempted to get several courses and found out they were
full and had no availability. I was down to trying for Russian 401 at
8 AM M/W/F or an Egyptian Art Class that met Tuesday Thursday at 1:30
PM. I only needed one class. I didn’t care which, though I knew
my dad would freak if I took Russian so I was hoping it was
available. And, eventually as a Math and Physics major I would need
foreign language courses before I could graduate.
A
hand tapped my shoulder. A short man with stringy black hair stood
there. “Can I see your course guide?” he asked. “I
just missed getting my class. Now I’ve got to find another and
my course guide is back in my room.”
He
was Tony Hempstead and he was from Houston, trying to stay in school
and away from the University of Southeast Asia – Hanoi campus
where so many non-students of our age were studying. I passed the
book up to him. “My name’s John Charles Canales,” I
said, extending a hand. “What are you considering?”
“I’m
thinking my old man might freak if I took Russian,” he said.
“He’s a retired E7 from the Army and he would just shit a
brick if I took it. Sounds kinda cool, too. Dots feedonya!
Means ‘Goodbye’. Letters are weird, but what the Hell! It
is the language of Math and Science and Diplomacy right now.”
“I’m
considering that myself,” I said. “Want to go down in
Cyrillic flames together?”
He
considered it for a second. “Absolutely,” he replied and
off we went to find that the Russian class had plenty of room,
particularly with that early a class time.
I
worked hard in that class, eventually squeezing out a C. The first
one of those I had ever gotten in my life. The letters were hard for
me. With English characters I can see a word and have a fair idea of
how it is pronounced. With the Russian, I had to sound out every
letter like a preschooler first learning to read, which is sort of
what I was. Tony quit attending the class in October, just after
Texas –OU Weekend.
It
was a wonderful time to be young and in Austin. We protested the war
regularly and marched in the street. We got tear-gassed on a
semi-regular basis. We saw concerts by everyone of any importance,
sometimes for free. We got stoned. Often. We drove my small green
Gremlin, the Green Goblin, all over the state watching the University
football and baseball teams.
We
lived in a small house off campus after that first year and got
involved in local politics. We worked trash jobs and were frequently
broke; we stayed up until 4 AM playing bridge and Risk during Finals
Week. Somewhere I changed majors to Accounting. We took six years to
complete four year programs. In short, we had the time of our lives.
Eventually
Tony met Inez and moved in with her, which was fine with me. My
girlfriend Pat didn’t like Tony much anyway and Inez for sure
did not like me. So we drifted apart for a while.
I
got a job in Houston, Pat got one in Dallas. We went different ways
with the idea of finding out who won the best job and then getting
back together. Six months into my job I got a wedding invitation from
her. I guess she won.
Houston
didn’t work out so I moved back to Austin, taking an accounting
job with the State of Texas. Not a great job or great pay but a nice
leisurely atmosphere. And, it pretty much required an act of Congress
to lose that job. Once you had it, you had it for life. Regular
hours, lots of holidays and time off. State jobs, you gotta love
them.
So
it went for a while. I got a new girlfriend, Janice. Then Mickey and
Eileen after that. Karen and others followed. It continued that way
until Tony returned. I was dating Lora then.
I
was sleeping in that Saturday morning. I was hoping for a quiet
weekend doing very little. I wanted to catch a film, listen to some
music, and maybe check up on Lora for dinner. My clock radio had gone
off and I was listening to it while still half asleep. I became aware
of a small pressure on my chest. Thinking it was one of the cats, I
ignored it, keeping my eyes shut, hoping that I could doze off one
more time. Suddenly, the weight shifted and began dancing to "Light
My Fire" (the long version, not the wimpy single track). When I
cracked open an eyelid, there was this white rat dancing on my chest.
(Except he wasn’t really white.) He was a light purple paisley
in places.
I
screamed and threw the covers one way while exiting the bed on the
opposite side. I called for the cats, cursing them for not being
mousers. I looked for a broom to swat the beastie. The rat crawled
out from beneath the covers and stood on its hind legs. It balled a
front paw into a fist and began to squeak at me. Then it stuck out a
single digit in a universal signal.
I
looked closely at the rat and took a deep breath. It was an ordinary
laboratory rat, about three inches long. Or so I thought. The rat
blew some smoke at me and then he spoke. I recognized the smell of
the smoke.
"About
damn time you woke up, Charly, old chum. We got lots of work to do
today and it's already damn near noon."
Now,
I do not answer to "Charly". Period. I am strictly John
(not JC, John Boy, or anything else) and have been ever since I got
out of college. And, no one (I mean, no one) ever called me Charly or
even “old chum” except Tony Hempstead. He was also fond
of calling me “Chuck” or in weird moods “Chuckles”.
I stuck my finger out toward the rat and poked it in the stomach. It
turned out to be solid and fell right on over.
"Not
fair, Charly. You're way bigger than me. C'mon, get up and let's us
go bite a bean. I'm hungry and I need to eat a lot! I got the
metabolism of a rat. Scurry, scurry, eat, eat, scurry. What a life!"
I
poked the rat again. "Bite a bean" was another signature
Tony phrase. "Tony, is that you? I mean, really you?"
The
rat cocked his head at me. "The one and freakin’only. In
the fur and that rah-rah. Now, can we go eat?" He turned away
from me and headed toward the edge of the bed. When he got there, he
jumped off and I watched the tail trailing behind him. He marched
toward the kitchen. I followed, not quite sure of what was happening.
“Tony,”
I said, “Not to belabor the obvious but you appear to be a
small white and purple paisley lab rat. I don’t think I’m
stoned though I smelled some pot a little earlier and I do not appear
to be dreaming, so what’s going on here?”
“Food
first, then history,” he said.
Tony
began his story while munching on some Cheerios. “After Inez
split, I sort of drifted along for a while – Dallas, Lubbock,
Wichita Falls. Finally ran into Jerry Lawrence one day in Sonora. You
remember Jerry? Always had some great shit. He and I were indulging
in some chemical alterations to our perceptions of the universe while
he showed me his lab. Guy was a fricking Chemistry major! I never
knew that. He had a great set up out in Sonora where he was working
for some Chemical Company from Houston. Anyway, he had a little
greenhouse out there with some incredible foliage of the hemp
variety. He showed me some seed he had developed. Damn things are the
size of an apple seed.
“Plant
it, water it and watch. Within seconds you see shoots coming out of
the ground and a fully developed plant is there before you know it.
‘Super Grass’, he called it. Sweet and mellow too. We had
to do a little quality control work you know.
“Later
when we had come down a little, he showed me the lab and some blotter
acid he was developing. When I took the acid it had a really weird
effect. The universe swirled kind of like 2001: A Space Odyssey
only wilder and faster. Then, I passed out. When I woke up I found
myself like this, in the body of one of the lab rats. My human body
was still there, just sitting slack-jawed while I was fully aware and
operational here in the rodent form. Jerry and I tried to reverse the
mind transference. All he could think was that it must have had
something to do with the combination of acid and Super Grass and a
small peyote button I had taken just before we had met up.”
“Peyote
button! Jesus, Tony!”
“Well,
I wanted the meeting to be … you know … interesting.
Nothing we tried could reverse the process. I even took the same
combination of stuff but all that happened was I acquired the ability
to change the color of my fur just by thinking about it. I can fade
into the background like a chameleon or I can stand out like a
shining beacon.” While he spoke, he matched the color of the
countertop effectively fading away and then stood there pulsing in
bright rainbow colors. “Oh, I can produce some amazing smoke
when I chew the Super Grass seeds.” He ate a seed, exhaled and
suddenly I was ten years younger, listening to early Cream music and
remembering a fabulous light show, wild pulsing colors all around.
We
sat around all day reminiscing. Tony put away an amazing amount of
junk food for a rat. I guess he did have a weird metabolism though it
still took only a little beer to get him drunk on his butt.
We
watched Japanese monster movies for a day then switched to cartoons.
We saw a Disney cartoon about Johnny Appleseed and that was when our
lives changed forever.
Tony
sat up and said, “That’s it, man! That’s what we
need to do.”
“What
do we need to do?” I asked.
“I’ve
got a supply of Super Grass seeds from Jerry. We should get the rest
and wander the country, spreading it out and letting everyone get a
little mellow and stoned.”
“An
interesting proposition, but won’t the Russians or someone
invade us and enslave us and rape the women while we’re all
happy and incapacitated?”
“No,
I don’t think so. You been listening to President Ray Guns
again. They’ll probably join in as soon as they get here.
Troops are troops and young guys make up the majority of the force.
They see weed, they’ll smoke. And, if we do it right, they’ll
see weed everywhere. Same with the Chinese troops.”
“And
we won’t do just the US. We’ll do Europe and Asia and
China, too. And Viet Nam, for Christ’s sake. The whole freaking
world will really be … freaking. Peace, Love, and
Understanding. One giant hippie world working together. Maybe then we
can build the starship and go cruising out to the stars, like Grace
and Paul wanted us to.”
I
looked at myself in the mirror. Gone was the suit, white button down
shirt and tie. The beard was raggedy and so was the hair. If the
beard had been a little fuller, I might have passed for one of those
portraits of Jesus. Good old JC, same as me.
I
had an industrial strength pouch slung over my shoulder, filled with
the Super Grass seed. We had been out to Sonora and visited with
Jerry. He had trouble looking Tony in the eye. We checked out Tony’s
physical body. Jerry had moved it from the lab and then called the
police anonymously. It was taken to a hospital and hooked up to a
million wires and tubes. Looked sort of peaceful.
The
hospital staff asked me questions which I answered to the best of my
ability. They didn’t have a name so I told them this was Tony
Hempstead and gave them information on his folks, etc. He looked OK,
just not very aware. Tony (the rat) seemed fascinated by the process.
He watched the body – his body – with detached ease.
When
we left, he looked up at me from my shirt pocket. “They’re
going to let him die, you know.” A small tear ran down his fur.
“Him”,
I noticed. Not “me”. I found this to be an interesting
choice of pronouns.
“There’s
not going to be anyone to pay any bills and they will either just
taper off feeding him or ‘accidentally’ trip over a plug
or something. No one will notice or even care.” Another tear
and maybe a slight sniff. “Well, maybe my mom, but not even
really her. Tony Hempstead was a loser. But, Tony the rat! Now
there’s a winner. Small but powerful. Ready to conquer
the world. Bwahh, ha ha ha!”
I
shivered involuntarily. Tony felt the shiver. He punched me with his
little rat fist. “C’mon. You’ve seen those old B
movies and serials. I’m joking with you here. Who ever heard of
a white lab rat conquering the world? We can’t conquer the
world. They’d stop us from doing that. But … we can
sure change it.”
He
started dancing slightly and singing a jingle from an earlier time
“I’d like to buy the world a Smoke and teach it Harmony
…”
I
quit my job with the state and removed all my retirement funds. It
wasn’t much but it would keep us on the road for a while.
Eventually we could trade Super seeds for food and lodging if we
needed to do so. So now, we were ready for our first foray into the
worlds of Peace, Love, Understanding, Chaos, and Community.
We
went to the Governor’s Mansion in Austin. It’s right by
the capital and moderately accessible. I wore my long hair, beard,
sandals, jeans, tie dye t-shirt, and seed bag. Tony and I were about
to change the world. At least, our world and it had the feeling of
DESTINY attached to it.
As
we approached the building, I noticed that there were Texas Rangers
all around. This mansion was old and accessible but it was a
historic landmark for the state. Tony was riding in the seed bag,
staring out as the world passed before his eyes.
A
group of school kids were touring the building, mostly bored, and
looking for trouble in ways that would not implicate themselves.
Several stared at me. One saw Tony staring from the bag and pointed
at him, yelling to his comrades. I had reached into the bag for my
first handful of seeds to spread in the front gardens. The closest
Ranger saw me with my hand in the bag and began to pull his gun.
“SIR!”
he said. “PLEASE REMOVE YOUR HAND FROM THE BAG! Slowly! Raise
it where I can see it! One false move and there will be
trouble!” Kids began to scatter.
I
did as I was told. Tony stayed in the bag. No reason to start a big
fight and possibly hurt the children.
With
my hands in the air, I dropped the few seeds in them as they cuffed
me. “Name?” cried the Ranger.
“You
can call me Johnny,” I said.
There
were still too many children around, so we were lead to the Ranger
station where I was photographed and fingerprinted. The Captain
himself came over to talk to me. “They call you Johnny, eh?
Johnny What?”
“You
can call me Johnny Cannabis,” I said.
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