My Summer at Spahn Ranch
In 1968, I unexpectedly befriended a group of people that came to be known as “the Family” at an old movie ranch near my house, and the experience made a lasting impression.
The first time I met them, I’d ridden my bike, as I often did, along a trail, the Old Santa Susana Stage Road, that started near my house in Chatsworth (on the far northwest edge of LA’s San Fernando Valley) and led up into a boulder-strewn canyon that stretched out over hundreds of acres in all directions.
Usually I’d ride for about twenty minutes up the trail until I got tired, stop and look back down at the massive valley, which seemed to go on forever in all directions. I could always see my house because it was right on the corner of our street, beige, and had a weird-shaped flat roof.
The canyon was itself peaceful, and even though you could hear and sometimes see the cars racing along State Route 118 (later they named it the Ronald Reagan Freeway), it was as if you were totally submerged in an area that had been left untouched by the hand of man.
In the canyon, I’d sometimes hike down to a small creek, look for fish (usually all I’d see were tadpoles) and come back up, jump back on my bike and coast back down the trail as fast as I could, working hard to avoid riding over any rocks or fallen branches that might throw me off balance and knock me off of my bike.
That day though, late August of 1968, I stayed at the creek a minute or two longer than I usually did, and started to hear voices coming towards me. It sounded like teenagers, probably local kids having a mid-day summer hang out, but as they got closer, I could see they didn’t look like ordinary teenagers, like the ones in my neighborhood.
There was about five or six of them, three or four girls and two guys. The guys were very scruffy and looked look they hadn’t showered in two weeks or longer. They had beards and long, stringy, greasy hair.
The girls looked like typical hippies, no make-up, very “earthy”, which was common at the time, but they were very thin, and none of them were wearing clothes. They literally walked right down to the creek from wherever they’d come from completely nude! The guys had shorts or pants on but no t-shirts. At the time I would have said they were eighteen or so, but I found out later two of the girls were fifteen and the guys were on the older side, like nineteen or twenty.
The came down to the creek and started splashing water on their face. They hadn’t seen me yet, so I thought about running off before they did, but realized I would make too much of a ruckus and they would definitely noticed me. I figured I’d play it cool and stand still, and maybe they’d just get refreshed from the water and walk back up the trail going the other direction.
But that didn’t happen, because after a minute or so I must have caught one of the girl’s eyes, because she pointed at me and said, “who’s that?”, to which they all looked at me and started laughing, almost hysterically. I didn’t know it at the time, but they were all on an acid trip, and those kinds of reactions to unexpected things are apparently pretty common.
One of the guys, with frizzy reddish-blond hair and a dazed look in his eyes, started walking — no, more like hopping — over to me. I froze up, and he got close to me and started cackling like a hyena, pointing his finger at me. That was all it took for one of the girls to tell say “knock it off, Clem”, and come towards me herself, pushing “Clem” out of the way.
“I’m Gypsy,” she said, leaning in towards me. She had big brown eyes. “What’s your name?” “Scott,” I told her, because, why not?
“Live around here?” she asked.
“Down in Chatsworth, yeah,” I said.
“Right on. Hope we’re not disturbing you, we like to come down here to cool off when its hot out.”
“Do you live nearby?” I asked, not because I really cared that much, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yeah, we live at Spahn’s, just moved there in fact,” she said. “Ever been?”
“No,” I told her.
“It’s the old movie ranch up on the highway, I’m sure you’ve driven past it.” I know the one she was referring to, it had a big chuck wagon parked close to the road with a sign that said “movie ranch”. There was also a stable of horses visible from the street. I always wondered what went on there.
“Cool,” I said, trying to plot my getaway back to my bike. By now, Gypsy had walked back over to the rest of the group, who were giggling and enjoying the water from the creek as the mid-afternoon sun beat down on us. They looked like a group of kids playing around at recess, and I would know, because that’s exactly what I was. Even though I’d never encountered real hippies up close, only heard about them and seen them on TV and in the movies, they seemed like really nice people, and despite Clem’s odd behavior initially, I had no reason not to trust them.
“Hey, we’re going back up to the ranch for zu zu’s, why don’t you come with us?” Gypsy asked.
“What are zu zu’s?” I responded. Gypsy smiled.
“Candy, we got all kinds.”
“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” I said, ironically, sort of. They all laughed.
“Do we look like strangers?” said Clem to himself, to nobody. One of the younger girls was quick with a reply. “You do,” she said, and they all ganged up on him, playfully pushing him around, to which he responded with his own show of force, the kind that seems passive but looks like at any moment it can turn violent.
“Don’t mind him, he’s a little slow,” Gypsy said, and, as if to illustrate the point, Clem gave her no response or reaction.
They started gathering their things and walking back up the trail. Gypsy was the last one to turn away from the creek and as she started walking, she turned to me. “You coming, or what?” she asked.
My parents knew I was out riding my bike. Dinner wouldn’t be until seven or so and there was plenty of light left, and I really had nowhere else to be. “Sure,” I said, and started following behind Gypsy, unaware of the doors I would be unintentionally opening for myself leading me straight into the heart of madness.
To be continued…
