Posted on 07/25/2007 2:50:59 PM PDT by SeenTheLight
This summer marks the 40th anniversary of the so-called Summer of Love, that mythical three months in 1967 in San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury neighborhood when visions of peace, love and harmony -- aided by bountiful quantities of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll -- reigned supreme.
The Summer of Love has since become legend-- an expression of countercultural revolution, particularly in the minds of those recollecting the glory days of their youth. However inaccurately, this three-month period encompassing a tiny fraction of the population and an eight-block stretch has become a symbol for the entire decade.
Among '60s disciples, it's an article of faith that everything that came out of that summer was a boon to American society. This has certainly been the impression conveyed through popular culture. Rarely are the more pernicious offshoots of the social and political experiment known as the Summer of Love referenced in the glowing and groovy portrayals seen on PBS and the History Channel.
But in its haste to dispense with all tradition that came before, the Summer of Love generation threw out much of the good along with the bad. The attempt to live in a manner that is essentially unsustainable led to a proliferation of divorce, drug-use, promiscuity, sexually transmitted diseases, and all the perils and problems associated therewith. Too many people left their families, became addicts, and in some cases, lost their lives.
When all social boundaries are tossed aside and self-fulfillment becomes one's raison d'etre, society breaks down and, with it, all sense of morality. Seen in this light, the Summer of Love starts to seem more like the Summer of Folly.
(Excerpt) Read more at sfgate.com ...
CS Ping
I remember in 1973 walking into a countercultural country house in the woods upcountry.
Everyone was stoned. There was a 11 month old being cared for by its mother and a friends. If I recall correctly the child had been born in the mandatory treehouse.
I was about 16 and newly married. The women had just gotten off the phone with a doctor who had told them to bring down the childs fever with a cool bath. The potheads drew up well water and plunged the baby into it. It convulsed, and fortunatly came out of its convulsions.
I was the youngest by far of this entire household of PhDs, musicians, motherearth types, and trustfund suckers. All scrabbleing around like kittens.
I had to leave.
The “summer of love” was “led” by narcissistic,self absorbed bums who were destined to hold top positions at DNC Headquarters and live off of the trust funds that their daddys and mommies set up for them.
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