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The Fourth Annual California Posse Dinner
Peace. Free love and hugs for all. Dates decked out as if going to their
first teen dance. Partygoers mugging for the camera like hippies at a love-
in, posing for “Life” magazine. A baby down to only his skivvies, running
between rows of grown-ups who are listening to rock music. No, this wasn’t a
clip from Woodstock or a Sixties retrospective. These were images from the
Fourth Annual California Posse Dinner, held at Kuleto’s Trattoria on April 19,
2008. The atmosphere had all the earmarks of the Mindbenders’ tune, “A
Groovy Kind of Love.” And even more—the place had STYLE.
A full moon cast its spell on the delighted, as once leather-clad riders
emerged from four-wheel vehicles, in their new-found splendor. The banquet
room looked more like a posh wine cellar, bottles of the various blends edging
out of wooden shelves along the walls. Sounds of The Doors and the song
“Light My Fire” filled the cozy enclave as Posse members, as well as special
guests, trickled in for a touch of magic or the “spirits” of choice. The
greetings, so warm and friendly, brought me back to another time, when love
was in the air once more (co-mingled with incense), and groovin’ was the way
to be.
In seconds my mind had reentered the Sixties. Then too, we were protesting
a war, and our parents for their way of thinking. I was pounding the
pavement, knocking on doors, fighting for the right of eighteen-year-olds to
vote, backed by the Kennedy Action Corps and the thought that if one could
be old enough to die for our country, why shouldn’t he, or she, be able to
vote on the outcome.
I remembered lava lamps; bellbottom pants; Navy Pea coats; tie-dyed shirts;
hot pink fishnet stockings; mini skirts; Neru jackets; turquoise chokers;
paisley prints; Peter Max art; Andy Warhol’s Marilyn; musk oil; Yardley’s
glossy, pink bubble gum lipstick; glacier-white Nancy Sinatra boots; Beatle
dolls; bubble-head Barbie dolls; Betsy McCall paper dolls; Caroline Kennedy
paper dolls; troll dolls; my freckle-faced Chatty Cathy doll; Archie comics;
baseball cards; phonographs; record albums; my silver and Lemans Blue
Schwinn bike; Volkswagen buses; my first transistor radio; foot-long lemon
taffy; “Catcher-in-the-Rye”; JFK; Princess Grace; both Peggy Lipton’s and
Cher’s long hair; princess pink miniature key chain phones; hunter green rabbit’
s foot key chains; Iron Butterfly; the Sharks and the Jets; yellow daisies;
and the freshly pulled daisy whose petals seeped out of a riffle—most likely a
symbol of hope after Kent State.
Places to hang out included: Lyon’s Coffee Shop in Millbrae; Farrell’s Ice
Cream Parlor in San Mateo; Woolworth’s in San Francisco; the Great American
Music Hall in San Francisco; La Pinata Restaurant in Burlingame; the Fox
Theater on Burlingame Avenue; the San Mateo Fairgrounds in San Mateo; and
the Circle Star Theater in San Carlos.
There were the “mellow” flower children; face-painted flowers (as exposed by
Goldie Hawn in Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In) and the “Sock-it-to-Me Baby”
push out windows. I even recall Bobby Kennedy’s face peeking out, and the
frightening, beady eyes of one Richard Nixon appearing as “tricky” as ever—
all I could think of then was, what if women were drafted and his two
daughters had made the list. It was quite a time not unlike the present.
The promise of love was overpowering. Love beads; the peace sign; the “Love
Bug”; the slogan: Make love not war; Janis; Jimi; Jim. I couldn’t forget my
favorite love songs: “A World Without Love” by Peter and Gordon; “Can’t Help
Falling in Love” by Elvis; the Troggs “Love is All Around”; Jackie DeShannon’s
classic “What The World Needs Now Is Love”; Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t
Have to Say You Love Me”; the Beatle’s “All You Need Is Love”; the Rascal’s
version of “Good Lovin”; and the unchallenged number one make-out ballad--“I
Love You” as sung by the band “The People.”
As much as I enjoyed Shelly Fabares’ “Johnny Angel,” and all the antics of
the Petersons, the model family was no longer in the mold of Donna Reed—
whose pearls she wore for everyday wear, set the tone for “Pleasantville”
moms. I sat down weekly to watch “Gidget”—Sally Field’s Frances Lawrence.
And my favorite witch, Samantha Stevens on “Bewitched.” I had been
moonstruck by Audrey Hepburn’s voice as she softly muddled through Henry
Mancini’s “Moon River” in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Her cigarette holder was
a quaint reminder of Morticia Addam’s own smokes on the tube, although I
doubt Holly Golightly spoke French, but she, no doubt, had a yen for French
fashion designers.
I even had a taste for a most intriguing, fun-measured nanny in Mary
Poppins, who believed in giving sugar as a reward, rather than restricting it.
Amid all these influences I was coming to my own, swooning over Frankie
Avalon, Kurt Russell, Steve McQueen and the motorcycle scenes (rollicking on
a 1967 Triumph Bonneville) from “The Great Escape.” And there was that
fabulous Shelby Mustang fastback in “Bullitt” and the Sixties Mustangs in
general—which were all the rage to me (as well as the Beach Boys’ T-Bird).
There was that bitchin’ biker movie “Easy Rider” starring the ever “mod”
Peter Fonda. Now every time I watch the film and see his extended arms on
the red, white and blue Harley chopper, and the ease with which he cruised
down the highway, I immediately flash back to Ray Bray, our former leader,
and the way his hair flowed from the helmet breezing in the wind. It was
uncanny the resemblance between the two. I can hear our Ray now, while
chowing down scrambled eggs and bacon at the Peninsula Grill, ready for a
ride, listening intently to his peers. Then it would come, the acknowledgement
of an idea, and his familiar response: “Groovy.” Yes, he was always in the
moment; always in the groove. For us, this night had just begun. But the
memories of one gone so soon were ongoing—without closure.
After helping Fabby with decorations, I was asked to join the “cool chicks”
for a photo op. I have never considered myself part of the “in” crowd, but I
was happy to be asked along with Lory, Berni and Fabby. I can now hear the
echo of my son’s voice saying, “Mom, you’re so straight.” If he could see me
now! Sparky, ever the stunner, made an entrance in a chic leopard fur
jacket. Now that was beyond “cool.” The threads were outta sight, Janis-
worthy. Maybe the glam after meeting Julie Andrews gave her red carpet
fever? And then there was that secret spot under the lapel for raffle
tickets. Who knew?
Following “the shoot” Rick and I took our places at a table near the projection
screen. Ed, his wife Jane, and daughter Samantha came next. Lastly, Ray
and Dina sat to our right. Directly to my left was an empty place setting and
chair, a perfect nook for extra purses and jackets.
Walter started the festivities by showing us his version of “being formal.”
Our President unzipped his black jacket to reveal his black leather Posse
vest, a crisp white shirt and an impressive Harley-Davidson tie. Oh, and that
haircut—he reminded us that in my meeting minutes it was noted that Aris
would be paying for the cut.
He spoke about the club losing Ray, its founder.
“Ray had a vision,” Walter began. “He was my best friend. He taught us
that family comes first. We were his family.”
Walter mentioned how much Liz Davis meant to us and invited her to speak to
the group.
Dressed in a sparkling black velvet outfit, Ray’s true love began to speak,
thanking everyone, and especially Walter for his leadership.
“Ride safe you guys,” she said in closing.
There were kudos from the President for Aris, who he referred to as his
“right arm.” And Sparky, who Walter praised as one who would got things
done. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” He emphasized she would
make certain that would happen.
Nadine, he stated, “is the most honest person I know.” Rick was next as the
one whom he said, aided in running the operation. “He helps out anywhere he
can.”
Big Sweaty D was congratulated on his efforts with the website. “Dave
volunteers for just about anything the Club needs,” Walter said.
He continued by bringing up Pete’s work as the Senior Road Captain and his
patience with training new members.
Walter then surprised me by sharing with the audience his gratitude for my
writing the meeting minutes in a timely fashion.
“Liz is very open on her ride reports. You can get to know her by reading
them.”
I was moved by his words.
“Light My Fire” began shortly thereafter, as an accompaniment to Dave’s
slideshow presentation, paying tribute to Ray Bray. There were photographs
of many of us as we rode with Ray and Liz to the Marin Headlands and a tour
of the missile silos. It was moving every time I saw Liz gazing into Ray’s
eyes with the emotion of one in love.
The Doors’s “People Are Strangers” brought us into the next set, and we are
taken via photos, to Monterrey, where Walter and Ray are seen standing on a
deck overlooking the clear, blue water. Many pictures were of family as well;
people smiling in winter, in summer in spring, at Christmas, the fourth of
July, and Ray’s birthday. A lot of these scenes were reflected on the
picture-collage placemats—a treat for every guest.
While waiters took orders for salmon (my choice), steak, and pasta, Sparky
made her way to the microphone and announced “Certificates of Appreciation.”
She gave recognition to Liz Davis as a charter member and to Walter, “for
bringing us into our future. He is not in this for himself.”
Sparky went in alpha order handing out certificates to Ed, Dave, myself,
Rick, and Nadine. She gave special acknowledgements to Tina, representing
the HA, and her own son Chris, President of the Noble Creed, for each of
their organization’s support of the Posse. And lastly, gave a big thank you to
Fabby: “She said we needed to have an anniversary party this year. And she
stepped up to the plate.” Then Mary presented a pastel bouquet of spring
flowers to the event chairperson.
Dinner and dessert (tiramisu) were awesome. For me, the chocolate cake just
melted in my mouth. In the background, while we stuffed our faces, Dave’s
slideshow of nearly 2000 pictures kept us occupied. At our table, as Jim
Morrison sang “Touch Me”(and I touched Jane Breault’s silver angel charm
necklace for good measure), we reminisced about the good-old-days when
there were free concerts in Golden Gate Park—and the Jefferson
Airplane/Starship were frequent participants.
As strong as Grace Slick belting out a tune, Berni took the mic and began
shouting out raffle tickets numbers. Our table was especially fortunate.
One, by one, each of the members at our cozy little corner, took turns
winning. Jane was sandwiched in between the lucky Ed, and her daughter,
Samantha (who was sharing duties by also checking Walter’s tickets). Ray
and Dina were no slouches, winning almost as often. After Samantha had
multiple wins, her mother said she felt lucky just sitting there, and
commented that her young girl was always lucky. I made a point of sitting in
the empty seat and handing Sam (not to be confused with Elizabeth
Montgomery’s spellbound character) my raffle tickets.
“Will you touch this row so I can have some of your lucky energy?” I asked.
She obliged, saying, “You’ll win. You’ll see.”
I wanted to be as confident as she was. I actually was more concerned about
when we would be getting home so I could kick off my silver “Mootsie Tootsie”
princess pumps which were getting awfully uncomfortable, and take steps to
doze into Fantasy Land. Still, I placed the row of newly enriched raffle
tickets next to the 50/50 spread and hoped for the best.
The numbers kept coming; several more winners left our table for the prize
patrol, like the Duracel Bunny that just goes on and on. Rick and I
entertained ourselves watching almost-as-bad-as-creepy-mug-shots-of-the-
stars photos of each other (Michael Jackson, to name one) on the screen,
taken during different excursions, and thinking the next time Big Sweaty D
has a camera, neither of us wanted to be photographed with food in our mouth.
All done. Every last raffle number counted. Aw, shucks! There was always
next year. Pretty soon the 50/50 would be completed and it would all be
over. Samantha turned to me and said, “You didn’t win yet, because you’re
supposed to win now.” I kept wondering, “Is there something she knows, that
I don’t know?”
Everything is a blur from here. Nadine said something about the amount of
prize money being $110.00 or it might-as-well could have been “$1,010.00.
I just wanted them to read the numbers so I could go catch some z’s, already.
Then the winning ticket numbers came over the mic: “The number 72100ll.”
“Yes!” I yelled. Rick stared at me and asked, “Didn’t they say 111?”
“No!” I shrieked, with the enthusiasm of someone who has just won bingo for
the first time in their life.
Samantha told me: “I’m so glad.”
I jumped up to claim the stash. Nadine was all smiles. Liz Davis shouted,
“Didn’t you win last year?” I shouted back, “No. I never win ANYTHING!”
When I reached our table to a round of applause, Samantha congratulated me
again. Her mom said, “I’m glad you won.” Mary Cochran came by and
whispered, “Don’t spend it all in one place.” Of course, Rick and I had
already reached consensus on a 50-50 split. But all I could think about were
those words from the mouth of one so young; that we were next.
I don’t know if it was Jane’s lucky angel. Or perhaps we had an empty place
setting for a purpose—maybe as a spirit, Ray had been with us as an honorary
guest and was watching over his friends—bringing them good energy. Or
maybe it was because of the full moon—which often made so many strange
things happen, similar to those youthful days when San Francisco could come
together at a moment’s notice like at
Haight-Ashbury in the Sixties (And how people gathered in Golden Gate Park
for the Human Be-In, to mark the official Summer of Love in 1967).
As we observed a moment of silence for Ray, I wondered about the
unexpectedness of the power of moonbeams, like the night Rick and I met
(1972), and the last time he wore a tux for me--celebrating his Christmas
formal that same year. This wasn’t prom night, by any means, but it was
close.
There were two words that came to mind in describing the Posse party
tonight: As Austin Powers would say, “Groovy, baby.” I’m sure Ray would
agree.