The streets of Greenwish Village, in those days, were dirty. I looked back at some photos taken back then and was surprised at how much I had forgotten. It was almost depressing, except in the most beautiful Spring weather, to walk the dtreets. For one thing, the vast majority of adults smoked anywhere they were. I think, too, industrial pollution must have been much less controlled then. There was a certain amount of public desperation visible, too , mostly in the faces of thoe older adults, who had survived the losses and traumas of the war, but who often seemed unsure of where they were bound, and not too happy with what they had or where they had arrived. For the most part, those of us who were young (say, 17-25) did not have a lot of understanding or compassion for how these older folks had arrived where they were, what made them sad or grumpy. We were full of promise, and better ideas.

When you made the transition from a cold and dirty sidewalk to a warm, smoky, somewhat crowded "in-scene" in one of the well known coffee places on MacDougall or thereabouts, it was a relief. But there were odd undercurrents of tension even within those hip, laid-back places. Even then there was a sense that some poeple would become movers in the arena, some would fail, and there was plenty of judgement around for those who cared for it. :>)

My favorite scene there was Washington Square on a Saturday or Sunday. Anyone might be out and up and playing, and anyone could play. The tension of the performance and pass-the-basket venues dissipated in sunlight and the wonderful randomness of mixing circles from every point of the compass. You could trip over Ritchie Havens or Bruce Murdoch, or spend the next hour listening to high-schoolers figuring out a banjo song. The undercurrent of happy agreement that this was our music, and that it was a Great Thing, cured many ills.

Looking back, it has to be acknowledged that such a scene was possible because of an enormous economy, able to support the vagaries of so many young, irresponsible people indulging themselves. ALthough parents and middle-class lives (which most of us had connections to one way or another) were not "hip", they were a lot more hip than starving to death, which was really square, and would often be called upon in times of need to make the difference. Interestingly, this dependence was perfectly justified because we were the future, and we knew where it was at.

A