To be perfectly clear, I’m not a fan of movie theaters. Periodically, there’ll be a new movie that I really want to see, but with life’s distractions, I rarely follow through. This weekend, MM asked me on a movie date and I accepted. Sunday afternoon would be the perfect time to share a matinee and some popcorn. Something we hadn’t shared in the six months we’ve known each other.
The little town to the east has the loveliest little theater. Run by the Paiute Tribe, this little theater is clean and fairly new. Ticket prices are lower than those at regular theater and it’s small and usually uncrowded. Other than the opening of Top Gun, which was filmed just miles away, the theater rarely has crowds. It was the perfect venue to enjoy our first movie together.
Jesus Revolution starring Kelsey Grammer.
If you were a child of the 60’s and 70’s, this movie will bring back lots of memories. The music alone is worth the price of admission. From Janice Joplin to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, the best songs play throughout the movie. The movie focuses on who three men from very different backgrounds connected unexpectedly.
I remember talk of the “Hippies” when I was growing up in my Volga German farming community. I’d seen lots of animals but never seen a Hippie. I’d want to steer clear of someone just this side of the local farm dogs. There were so many descriptions and warnings about THESE creatures that, to a square farmgirl like me, it seemed they’d been dropped onto the earth from another planet.
According to farmer lore in my area, the Hippies used Burma Shave signs to direct them to a small church right down the road from our farm were they could rest a spell. This little church. long ago abandoned, was set among very tall eucalyptus trees. The white paint was peeled and faded. I’m not sure if the church was left unlocked because weren’t allowed to poke around any property that wasn’t ours.
Then it happened.
One day, a hippie strolled right by our front picture window headed down the road towards the church. My mother had already been alerted to the presence of Hippies. They were following the signs to the church. Beware. Keep the girls inside. Hide and watch for any evil doing. They might be coming to steal the children. Sex. Drugs. Rock and Roll. All being carried in by those #$%$ Hippies.
During the parental chatter, I watched as a few random Hippies walked by, going in the direction of the abandoned church. Mysterious. Very road-weary. Walking slowly, they talked quietly or just hung their heads in thought.
On that very mischievous and adventurous day, I decided to investigate for myself. On that day, I could’ve disappeared and ended up dead and floating down the river. On that innocent childhood day, I just had to do what I had to do. I got my bike and headed north, towards the church and the river.
In under a minute’s time, I was standing in front of the steps of the weathered and worn church. The structure itself was a beautiful. A perfect little country church that was built in the 1920’s or 1930’s. Wooden siding. German construction. The choir had long since gone. What would be inside an abandoned church? My mind raced with possibilities, being the young writer I was.
Looking up in wonder at the bell-less steeple while deep in thought, I was startled by two Hippies. REAL Hippies. In the flesh. Not child abductors. Not murderers. Just two 20-somethings with long straight hair just like mine. A young man and woman. And no, they were not dirty nor did they smell. They’d been startled by my presence.
“Hi! Were you looking for something?”
Now, it seemed it was ME that was trespassing and interrupting their quiet and peaceful day. It was ME that was nosing around. It was ME that was making assumptions about their lives and intentions. It was ME that’d listened to rumors and formed opinions before meeting even one real Hippie.
Hmmmmmm. A lot to consider at a tender young age.
“Stay in your own lane, you young, little square,” I told myself.
“Well, I saw you walk by my parent’s place and wanted to come and meet you,” I said out loud them.
That was all it took. Up the stairs we went. They showed me around the interior of the church. So many sleeping bags and guitars. As far as I could tell, maybe six or seven Hippies were resting there as they journeyed on towards San Diego. It seemed they had something of interest they wanted to see at Pirate’s Cove. One thing I knew for sure was that Southern California was a place I’d never been. Having heard about the wild things that occurred there, it was a place I’d probably not see for a very long time, if ever.
Then, they gave me a huge gift that day. Something I hadn’t expected. They offered to take me up into the steeple to see the view of the place I’d lived since birth. Immediately, I accepted their offer. Almost like an inmate needing to know blue prints of the prison in order to figure out a quiet escape. Surrounded by thousands of acres of vineyard, there still had to be a way out. Accepting their offer, I went up the tiny stairs towards the belfry. One Hippie was in front, one behind, while I was sandwiched between the two.
It was right then that I did wonder, for just a second, if they would push me out once we got to the top. Some sort of Hippie sacrifice. These people were far too nice to be evil.
The bells had been sold long before. The little room was no more than 6′ square with a window on each side. There, I saw my entire world before my eyes. To the west, I saw the little German Protestant church in which we worshiped. To the east, I could see the town in which we shopped. To the north, I saw the great river. To the south, I could see my best friend’s house. The in-betweens held the vastness of vineyards that made me realize something. Without an education, I would be trapped by vineyard tendrils for the rest of my life.
Un-Acceptable to my young square self, even then.
No one was pushed out of the windows. No one was harmed in the visit. No drugs were exchanged. No random sex occurred. These Hippies were just some friends taking a long walk to San Diego. The church happened to be a stop on the way, known to anyone making the pilgrimage.
While watching the movie, I remembered my own experiences in our prim and proper German church. People fearful of change flashed through my mind. The movie reminded me of what great times we enjoyed back then. Hope. Faith. Love. There were lots of times, it caused me to tear up when the memories hit a little too close to home.
Whatever you do today, call a friend and go see a really great movie. Kelsey Grammer does such a fantastic job. Have some popcorn. Enjoy some Bon Bon’s. Don’t be square. You might enjoy it.
More tomorrow.