Blog 16: Life in Santa Barbara in the 60's & 70's.

Attending Santa Barbara City College was a dream. The college was situated above the harbor and provided an ideal place for art students to find a visual plethera of subjects for paint and pen. I was fortunate to have incredible art teachers and it was a rich experience. My art teachers Atkinson, Frame, Nack, and Epstein made a notable impression on me. In Epstein's art history class, I first learned about the artist, Christo. He had not yet graduated from wrapping small objects to buildings to environmentally unique creations he is best known for.

The first year I lived in Santa Barbara, 1966-1967, I was within walking distance of the school. The next school year took up residence with my good high school friend in Isla Vista, near the University of California at Santa Barbara (UCSB). This added about 20 minutes to my drive time, but I had a bit more of a social life and a sense of community being in a college town. 
 

Make no mistake though, these were tumultuous times, where protests were commonplace due to the Viet Nam War and Civil unrest.

While looking for photos of that time period I realized these could have almost have been from last summer.  "We ain't done nothin' yet" is close to the truth.

Many boys I graduated with in high school had three choices: Defer the draft by going to college, join the service with hopes you wouldn’t see combat or wait for your number to come up to be drafted, destination Viet Nam. A number of classmates that did see combat, didn't come home. If they did, the physical and mental injuries they sustained would be lifelong reminders that war is hell.

 

The philosophies of that time period were often diabolically opposed. On one hand people became more focused on healthy foods and taking care of the planet, much like today.  On the other hand people engaged in risky behaviors amidst a pervasive drug culture. The drug culture influenced much of the music and art created at that time.  I look at Baez and Dylan as pleaders for change, later run over by more aggressive musical genre on the horizon.  The new age of psychedelics spilled into every aspect of life.

A friend who lived down the street from me in high school, moved to a commune in Oregon and ended up on the cover of Life Magazine.

Coming from a Catholic background, I felt conflicted as the observing the chosen innocence of the 50's drifting away. Adaptation to new norms was confusing and awkward and somehow even then the hippie movement felt pretentious.

I married in 1968, and moved to a bungalow in Santa Barbara on Mason Street just a couple blocks from the waterfront. While looking for the address and maybe an image recently for this blog I noticed there is no such address that I found on old letters mom had saved.  Instead my old address is the new location of the Mason Street Inn.  

On the boardwalk nearby, there was a restaurant called Sambos, popular dining spot. The seeds were growing even then that maybe the name should be changed because of its symbolism. 

I decided to take a semester off from college. In 1969, the infamous historical oil spill in Santa Barbara took place. It was horrific and at that time the worse spill in our nation's history. To observe the spill, I strolled to the water where volunteers were attending to sea gulls that had become drenched in tar. I took Barney, a shared pet with me.

 

When I arrived, I saw volunteers  attending to sea gulls that had become drenched in tar. I noticed that Barney had got tar stuck in his paws and proceeded home. 

Growing up I always had a soft spot for animals, but never was allowed to have one. People that know me now will likely have a hard time believing that, but it is true.  In elementary school, I had a good friend that lived in Eden Gardens, a small Mexican village outside of Solana Beach, California. Her family always had puppies. I brought a black cocker spaniel puppy home once but couldn't keep him. My father as grand as he was, was not an animal person. I even had a kitten for a while, but couldn't keep her either. It didn't seem fair. My older brother had a parakeet.
 

While living with my friends in Isla Vista, I decided to go look at a litter of puppies.    When I saw one of them, I fell in love. The girls and I named him Barney. He was part Labrador Retriever and part Australian Shepherd. Full grown he was about 60 pounds, an ideal size.

After my year in Isla Vista, my friends and I were going our own ways and without the means for us to keep him full time, we eventually surrendered him to a good friend. Although I was able to visit once in a while,  it wasn't the same. On one hand I was used to giving pets up, but I vowed to have my own one day.

When Barney and I returned from our walk I began to clean his paws.   He bolted out of the tub and ran to the screen door that was partially ajar. He bolted back to the beach. intrinsically, Barney loved the beach, and regretfully loved chasing birds. When I arrived at the beach I eventually caught up with him, but not before enduring the embarrassment of the volunteers screaming at me to control my dog. 

 

Sometime after that, needing a little more space we moved to 401 Ruth Avenue, in Santa Barbara.   See Below:  Pictures show the property on the right 50 years later.  I can tell by the image that the house is still there, now with hedges and a very tall tree.  

 

401 Ruth Avenue:  Today

 

 

 

 

 

NEXT BLOG:  More on the Isla Vista Experience.