Monthly Archives: February 2014

Lucky Me

Lucky Me is a self published autobiography by Linda Peacock Reynolds that can be purchased on Amazon as an e-book or paperback. Linda was a waitress at the Trident, and eventually married one of the owners – Nick Reynolds of the Kingston Trio.

This book is 520 pages of the Life and Times of Linda Peacock Reynolds. No punches are pulled in this fun read of life “back in the day.” There is also some serious venting here (not a fan of CS&N), and, some curious insights into another time.

Here is an excerpt from the back cover, ” Morphing into the colorful and exciting Bohemian world of 1960’s San Francisco, where life is a commune dedicated to Art and Entertainment, informs a life long mind set. Chance encounters and a free-stylin’ lover brings me to Marin County, the Sausalito waterfront and the infamous Trident Restaurant where I meet and have love affairs with some of the fabulously famous celebrities that frequented that spectacular venue. Eventually I marry the owner, Nick Reynolds, of the Kingston Trio fame and fortune.”

For Trident afficianados Linda’s adventure at the Trident begins on page 120 and then rolls iinto Chapter 8 – Part Two 1966-1971 – Report from an Alternate Universe. Her adventures at the Trident continues through Chapters 9 and 10. This book is a very personal accounting of Linda’s life prior to working at the Trident, and thereafter. For fans of the Kingston Trio, and the Trident Restaurant :”Lucky Me” is a flash back to another time from one woman’s perspective that’s very revealing in it’s passion and honesty.

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Trident Artisans

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Frank Werber

Frank Werber (1930 – 2007) for more information about please go to:

Frank Werber  and   Frank Werber Memorial

On May 20, 2007 Ken Flagg wrote, “Hello, I found your web site while searching for Frank on Goggle and thought you would want to know that he passed away Saturday in Silver City, NM. He suffered a stroke in February of 2004 and his health had been on the decline ever since. He is survived by his children Chala, Bodhi, Aari, and Miska and two grandchildren. I think it is wonderful that you are keeping his memory of the Trident alive, as that was one of his proudest accomplishments.

From the Kingston Trio web site: “We are sorry to report that Frank Werber, the Kingston Trio’s original manager, passed away at his New Mexico Ranch Saturday afternoon, May 19th. His loss is deeply felt by us all. Frank helped make the Kingston Trio what it was and is today, and was our dear friend for over 50 years. Frank we will miss you greatly, and you will live on in our hearts and souls forever.MUSIC mogul. Trend-setting restaurateur. New Age guru. Back-to-the-land pioneer. Holocaust survivor. Small-town newspaper editor. Defendant in a star-studded Marin County drug trial.

ALEC PALAO on FRANK WERBER:

KING OF COOL’S WILD REIGN By Paul Liberatore, Marin Independent Journal’s June 15th headline

Frank Werber, who died May 19 at 78, was all of those things. To hear the stories being told about him in the wake of his passing, he was a few others as well.

Werber made pop music history as the savvy manager of the Kingston Trio, turning three clean-cut college boys into superstars, the biggest singing group in the world in the early ’60s, igniters of the folk music boom.

He was the charismatic creator of the Trident, a jazz club that he transformed into a legendary Sausalito fern bar and organic restaurant, a “Hooters for hippies,” as one former employee describes it, where the braless waitresses wore see-through blouses, a young Robin Williams worked as a bus boy, the Rolling Stones celebrated Mick Jagger’s birthday, Janis Joplin had a special table by an arched window overlooking the bay and Woody Allen shot a scene for his 1972 movie, “Play It Again, Sam.”

The Trident closed in 1980. The building, at 558 Bridgeway, is now occupied by Horizons Restaurant.

“There was a time when Frank Werber was the center of what was going on,”
recalled comedian Tommy Smothers. “The girls were cool, the place was cool, the music was great. He was a guru, a Svengali kind of guy. He was a guy who could spin a story and make you laugh. With Frank, there was always something interesting going on.”

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Kentfield psychiatrist and jazz pianist Denny Zeitlin was one of the musicians Werber booked to play for the Trident’s fashionably hip clientele.

“Frank’s spirit pervaded the whole place,” Zeitlin recalled. “I remember his energy, his sparkle, his openness to music. I thought the Trident was one of the all-time great jazz clubs. It was as special as any place I’ve ever played.”

In a 1990 interview, Werber told the Independent Journal that those days were “like riding a hurricane.”

“The Trident was definitely a manifestation of its time and a forerunner and trendsetter for multitudes of restaurants,” he said. “Its effects are still being felt.”

Werber’s reign as the king of cool began to thaw in 1968 when he was busted for having hundreds of pounds of marijuana stashed in his lavish Marin County home – an ultra-modern mansion on Richardson Bay’s Da Silva Island.

Reflecting the tenor of the times, his 1970 Marin Superior Court trial was a counterculture circus. Pot was so pervasive in those days that half of the first 10 prospective jurors admitted that they’d smoked it.

With a half-dozen of his comely, miniskirted girlfriends in the front row of the courtroom, the bearded defendant would often appear in court with his long hair pulled back in a pony tail, wearing leather pants and embroidered shirts with hippie beads around his neck.

His attorney, the combative celebrity lawyer Terrence “KO” Hallinan, argued, unsuccessfully as it would turn out, that his client used marijuana for spiritual purposes and therefore was protected by Constitutional guarantees of religious freedom.

Among the character witnesses were philosopher Alan Watts, prostitute union founder Margot St. James and Smothers.
“I testified that I’d had some religious experiences with Mr. Werber,” the comedian remembered. “As I recall, we went out and smoked a joint between one of the sessions. That was the mindset at the time.”

The jury, which included two admitted pot smokers, found Werber guilty of marijuana possession. He was fined $2,000 and sentenced to six months in jail. In San Francisco, a federal jury acquitted him of marijuana smuggling charges.

Even as a child, Werber’s life was extraordinary. Born in Cologne, Germany, he arrived in the United States in 1941 with his father. The story goes that they escaped from a concentration camp after the elder Werber was spared execution – along with his son – because he was such a good cook that the Nazi commander didn’t want to lose him.

In San Francisco, Werber developed a talent for show business, managing Enrico Banducci’s famed North Beach nightclub, the hungry i.

During that time, he went to see an unknown collegiate singing group, the Kingston Trio, discovering them at a little club in Redwood City, the Crack Pot.

“Somebody had told him about us and he loved what he saw,” remembered the Kingston Trio’s Bob Shane, now retired and living in Phoenix. “We made up a contract with him on a paper napkin.”

Shane credits Werber with coming up with the Trio’s button-downed image and squeaky-clean persona.

“As much as we were, he was responsible for getting us started,” he said. “He helped mold us, got us rehearsing on a regular basis, got us working on a show, helping us get our outfits together so that we’d be a visual act, too. We went to Stanford, so they had us billed as America’s clean-cut college kids, but don’t think any of us even knew one.”

Werber may have been a wild flower child, but Nick Reynolds, another original member of the Kingston Trio, thanks him for keeping the group’s phenomenal success in perspective, encouraging them to invest their fortune – in the Trident, in a number of homes and properties in Marin and San Francisco, including the Columbus Tower, now owned by Francis Ford Coppola.

“We were the biggest group in the world for four or five years,” Reynolds said from his home on San Diego’s Coronado Island. “We had five albums in the top 10 at one time. The main thing I can say about Frank is that he kept us safe. We stayed in San Francisco, we didn’t move to L.A. We never had any mob scenes around us. We all kept our sanity. I know I did. He kept us together. He was like a second father to me.”

By 1967, the Kingston Trio were on their way out, replaced on the pop charts by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the rest of the British invasion.

In the early ’70s, with his trial behind him, Werber moved to a little mining town, Silver City, in southeast New Mexico.
“When he first got here, he did a lot of hanging out in the hot springs, playing the pseudo cult leader guru, smoking a lot of weed, probably doing a lot of acid,” Werber’s daughter, Chala, 35, recalled.

“In typical Frank Werber fashion, the first thing he did was open a health food store, the Sunflower, so he could have a place to get good food. It was the first health food store around here.”

After a year or two, Werber tired of town life and moved his family to a remote ranch two hours away, becoming a pioneer in the back-to-the-land movement.

“We had chickens and goats and horses and an organic garden that was at least an acre,” Chala said. “We’d only go to town every month or two. We were pretty much self-sustaining. It was a great place to grow up as a kid.”

Werber eventually moved back to town, rescuing a failing newspaper, the Silver City Enterprise, publishing it for a few years.

But his health had steadily been failing since he developed diabetes in his 50s, his daughter said, and he suffered the first of several strokes three-and-a-half years ago.

When he died of heart failure at home last month, he had his four children around him – Chala, Mishka, Aari, Bodhi – and a number of others who were close to him.

“We all gave him parting gifts of water from the spring, crystals, beads, Buddhas, cologne, good drink and good smoke,” Chala said in an e-mail. “He had the ashes of his dog, Jet, at his feet. He was the center of everybody’s universe. He was very much himself to the end.”

A memorial service is planned for October.

Frank Nicholas Werber Born Cologne, Germany, March 27, 1929 Died Silver City, NM, May 19, 2007 Survived by his children, Chala, Bodhi, Aari, Mishka and Daniel; his grandchildren, Anahi and Mylena; and the children’s mothers, Diane and Cathrine; as well as a myriad of other loves and friends who’s world has become more empty with his passing. His life full to overflowing, Frank was among other things: a Holocaust survivor, refugee, Navy sharpshooter, student of architecture, hobo, beatnik, photographer, music and entertainment entrepreneur, night club owner, race car driver, marijuana advocate, hippy visionary, restaurateur, health food pioneer, single parent, conservationist, newspaper owner and hermetic guru. He passed away at his daughter’s home in NM, and per his wishes was laid to rest the next day in a natural burial on his ranch in the Gila Wilderness. Sometimes credited with having started the folk music movement, and possibly best know as the manger/producer of the Kingston Trio, Werber was also the creator of the famous Trident Restaurant, a 1960s and ’70s Bay Area hot spot which was long considered one of the top restaurants in the country. While many of the most famous and influential people of the era counted him as a friend, fame and fortune were never a most important measure of esteem to Frank. Tiring of the California “scene” he purchased a remote hot springs ranch in the mountains outside of Silver City, NM, in 1974 and slowly turned his energy inward toward the wilderness and his family. Frank will be greatly missed, but his light burned so brightly that those who truly knew him will always feel the glow. A memorial is being organized for this fall. For info, or to offer a donation please contact werbermemorial@yahoo.com
Published in the San Francisco Chronicle on 5/27/2007.

San Francisco Chronicle June 8, 2007

If anyone ever lived up to the image of the swinging 1960s hipster, Frank Nicholas Werber was the man.

The original manager of the Kingston Trio and a successful restaurant and business owner, he had been living it up for several years by the time the Summer of Love rolled around. The bearded entrepreneur wore beads and a tweed coat with a flower in the lapel. There were sports cars, miniskirted young ladies, a penthouse office in San Francisco, sailboat cruises in Mexico and pot.

Lots of pot.

Narcotics agents said six sea bags full of marijuana were delivered to his swanky home overlooking Richardson Bay in 1968, leading to his arrest, two sensational trials and a six-month jail sentence in Marin County.

The charismatic hippy music agent died May 19 of heart failure in Silver City, N.M., where he had lived on a ranch since 1974.

Born in Cologne, Germany, in 1929, Mr. Werber spent time in a Nazi concentration camp during the Holocaust.

He told his family that he and his father were at one point lined up to be shot by a Nazi firing squad when an officer ordered the elder Werber pulled from the line. As the story goes, the officer didn’t want to lose the camp’s best cook. Because his father wouldn’t leave without him, Mr. Werber, too, was saved. The father and son later escaped, although details about that are vague.

Mr. Werber learned to cook from his dad, and from then on, good food played a major role in his life.

He immigrated to the United States. After high school, he joined the Navy and served as an aviation photographer, midshipman and sharpshooter. He later attended the American Academy of Art in Chicago and the University of Colorado.

Family members said Mr. Werber worked as a commercial artist, gold miner, cabdriver, horse rancher, ski-lift operator, construction worker and press photographer.

He eventually landed in San Francisco, where he met Enrico Banducci, the renowned North Beach impresario who operated the hungry i nightclub. Mr. Werber impressed Banducci and was hired as manager.

He stayed at the nightclub for four years and then happened upon a group of young Stanford singers at a bar and signed them to a management contract. The Kingston Trio soon blossomed into a national sensation, ushering in a folk music movement that lasted through the 1960s.

Mr. Werber turned out to be a masterful promoter. He created a multimillion-dollar recording studio and promotional development and publishing company called Kingston Trio Inc., which took up two floors in the Columbus Tower office building.

He then established Sausalito’s famous Trident Restaurant, which started out as a jazz hot spot in the 1960s. Mr. Werber later turned it into a psychedelic health food restaurant with hanging plants and handmade candles where rock musicians hung out and ogled braless waitresses.

The now-defunct restaurant, on Bridgeway, set aside a table for Janis Joplin, and a young Robin Williams worked there as a busboy, according to Mr. Werber’s daughter, Chala Werber.

“Everyone who was anyone hung out at the Trident,” she said. “He interviewed all the waitresses, and they had to be super hot. They weren’t expected to wear a bra.”

When Native Americans occupied Alcatraz from 1969 to 1971, the pier outside the Trident was used to ferry supplies to island dwellers. In 1974, the Rolling Stones held a private party at the Trident thrown by Mr. Werber’s good friend Bill Graham. It was, according to several revelers, a mind-altering experience.

Erudite and witty, Mr. Werber had a financial interest in the hit show “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” He was active in numerous sports, including sailing and scuba diving, which he practiced often in the tropical waters off Puerto Vallarta.

He was, by all accounts, on top of the world in 1968 when federal agents raided his Marin County home and seized 258 pounds of Mexican pot they accused him of conspiring to transport.

Mr. Werber admitted smoking pot, but said he never trafficked in it. He argued that he was set up by dealers who were trying to save their own skin. A federal court jury eventually found him not guilty after a widely publicized trial. He was then tried by Marin County authorities for possession and cultivation of marijuana.

Mr. Werber was defended by Terence Hallinan, who would later become San Francisco’s district attorney. The trial was a circus. Sheriff’s officers dragged sea bags full of pot into the courtroom, and Hallinan talked about Mr. Werber’s spiritual connection to pot rooted in his experiences during the Holocaust. Celebrities marched in and out of the courtroom as a fan club of young women in miniskirts rooted for Mr. Werber, who, participants said, smoked pot a few times during the breaks.

Mr. Werber loved to recount how Tommy Smothers of the Smothers Brothers testified that he had known the defendant for years and “before he started smoking pot, he was a real — hole.”

“It was a pretty interesting trial,” said Smothers, 70, a longtime friend who got a big laugh when he testified. “It was very stressful for him at the time, but he just moved on.”

Mr. Werber retired at age 43 to an old adobe lodge on 160 acres of wilderness in New Mexico once used by Teddy Roosevelt on his hunting expeditions.

“Everything my dad ever did, he did completely,” his daughter said. “His philosophy was there is nothing worth doing that isn’t worth overdoing. There was never any half-assing in anything in his life.”

Smothers said: “He was a little slick, a little slippery and wonderfully funny and entertaining. He was a guy you would go out of your way to visit.”

Besides his daughter Chala, he is survived by another daughter, Mishka Werber, sons Bodhi Werber and Aari Werber, stepson Daniel Benavidez and two granddaughters, all of Silver City.

A memorial is planned for the fall.

Letter to the Editor in response to the above article:

San Francisco Chronicle
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Saturday, June 16, 2007

Frank Werber

Editor — The June 8 obituary for Frank Werber seemed to damn with faint praise, suggesting that appreciation of a good doobie was the most significant achievement of this singular man’s life. Nothing could be further from the truth. Werber was a pathfinder who wrought still-unacknowledged change within the entertainment industry in the late 1950s and ’60s.

Werber took what were essentially three Peninsula frat boys — the Kingston Trio — and turned them into one of the biggest popular-music phenomena of the mid-20th century. However, it was in his supervision of the trio that Werber established guidelines on how a professional entertainer should be treated. He designed the basis of the “rider” that is used to this day whenever a performer appears, to guarantee an environment respectful of both artist and audience.

He took what had previously been the college lecture circuit and turned it into the college concert circuit. Most significant, Werber avoided the crass exploitation that was the overriding hallmark of artist representation in those days — i.e. the likes of Col. Tom Parker — preferring to take care of business in a classy, erudite manner.

No mention was made of his stewardship of We Five, whose Werber-produced 1965 smash hit, “You Were on My Mind,” was the highest charting single to emerge from the Bay Area music scene until the rise of Creedence, almost five years later. Nor of the Trident Productions stable, an early and prescient breeding ground for many local rock stalwarts such as the Sons of Champlin.

Because, by late 1967, Werber had tired of wiping musicians’ behinds and decided to dissolve his music interests, he is often written out of most histories of the 1960s San Francisco rock explosion. Frank had been out of the biz for many years by the time I got to know him, but he was still as smart and witty and hip — not “hippy” (sic) — as he had ever been. He deserves to be properly remembered for the pioneer he was.

ALEC PALAO
El Cerrito

 

The Rolling Stones 1972 Trident Party

In the summer of 1972 an amazing event took place at the Trident. I was working late Monday night – the start of my work week back then, when I got a call from Lou Ganapoler, general manager of the Trident Restaurant. He asked me how long it would take for me to get the place show time ready. So I asked Lou what he had in mind. He told me that Bill Graham wanted to bring the Rolling Stones to the Trident for an impromptu private party and that he was in the process of getting Frank sprung from the Honor Farm, where he was serving a short sentence on a possession for sale of marijuana charge.

I’ve often wondered just how that conversation unfolded. I mean…here’s a guy doing his time on a drug charge and in the middle of the night he wants to get released so he can go preside over a party for a bunch of other guys famous for stirring the passions of rebellious youth and…you guessed it – taking drugs! So I told Lou…sure I can get the place ready in an hour or so – if you don’t look too closely at it…more help would be better and Lou said, “No problem…Milt was on his way down to help me.”
So I went into maintenance overdrive, swamping out the restrooms, replacing the paper, sweeping, vacuuming, dusting and mopping the floor…I had a pretty good sweat worked up when Bobby Lozoff walked in about twenty minutes later to set up the bar. I had called home after I got off the phone with Lou because we needed some seasoned help to pull this off. And, let me share a word or two about one of the seasoned help named Iris…who was a tough, blond, Jewish girl raised in a small Long Island suburb of New York. She had a body to die for, and a mouth that would make a longshoreman blush – and she wasn’t a bit bashful about using either one. Never a respecter of persons, she was perfect for this occasion. I mean…all of us were used to seeing and dealing with the rich and famous – it just wasn’t all that uncommon. We had a burgeoning population of musicians, performance artists of all stripes, and movie stars…all of whom were part of our targeted clientele.

Also part of the evening’s cast was Paul Broadhurst from an upper crust English family who’d come to the US for a better life and was a great choice for the evenings festivities with all the mad-dogs and Englishmen running around…Soon after Bobby arrived and then Milt showed up, and together we whipped the club into some semblance of order. Pierre, Thomas Eng, Big John and Steve Burrus all came in to get the kitchen fired up. Basically, anyone who would answer their phone at 2:30 am was there. Josie from the Dominican Republic, Patsy Petty, Cathy Civale, Sophie Kurtz, Kathleen Delaney, Noreen, Iris, Linda and Sharlee all showed up to help out. Diane and Frank came in along with Richard, Marshall, Lisa Sharp and Dagney.  There are large tie-dyed curtains covering the arched windows on the south side of the restaurant so that people driving down Bridgeway Blvd. could not see what was going on inside.

I have a distinct memory of Patsy and Josie in the ladies room trying to decide if Josie should gosans panties for this affair. The ladies of the Trident generally dressed fairly provocatively simply as a matter of course but I do believe some of them pushed the envelope to its logical extreme that night. I know Iris and Sharlee did. Even Pierre had a tough time trying to keep the smile off his face as nipples struggled through their bonds of diaphanous lace to the light of kitchen florescence.

In due course, Bill Graham arrived with about eight stretch limos and our “guests” were shown inside. The Stones traveled with a huge entourage…let’s face it – by any yardstick imaginable they set the bar for all past, present and future standards of excess.

The point man for this motley crew of rockers was a foppish little Brit by the name of Peter Rudge. Many of the guests were wearing white newsboy caps, which was, I’m guessing, some kind of inside joke. They brought their own security team, their roadies, a few ladies and assorted hanger-oners. Frank stood prominently near the door to greet his guests, a charming Buddha-daddy guru proudly showing off his baby to a new cast of discerning characters. Once the ice was broken, he and Bill Graham and Lou retired to a quiet corner to swap “promoter stories” that nobody but themselves would ever appreciate. At one point, Frank asked me to turn on the tiny faux fireplace for the sake of “ambience”. Fingers of fog crept over the hills and down towards the Bay in Sausalito, as they did most nights, but it wasn’t cold. As I finished lighting the fireplace, I felt something hit the back of my head, so I turned around and there was Keith Richards, biting into cocktail shrimp and tossing the uneaten tails around the room. He had a mischievous grin on his face, like he was daring me to do something about it and suddenly I felt this presence next to me. I turned and found myself eye to eye with one of the most menacing looking black men I had ever seen.

Also part of the evening’s cast was Paul Broadhurst from an upper crust English family who’d come to the US for a better life and was a great choice for the evenings festivities with all the mad-dogs and Englishmen running around…Soon after Bobby arrived and then Milt showed up, and together we whipped the club into some semblance of order. Pierre, Thomas Eng, Big John and Steve Burrus all came in to get the kitchen fired up. Basically, anyone who would answer their phone at 2:30 am was there. Josie from the Dominican Republic, Patsy Petty, Cathy Civale, Sophie Kurtz, Kathleen Delaney, Noreen, Iris, Linda and Sharlee all showed up to help out. Diane and Frank came in along with Richard, Marshall, Lisa Sharp and Dagney.  There are large tie-dyed curtains covering the arched windows on the south side of the restaurant so that people driving down Bridgeway Blvd. could not see what was going on inside.

I have a distinct memory of Patsy and Josie in the ladies room trying to decide if Josie should gosans panties for this affair. The ladies of the Trident generally dressed fairly provocatively simply as a matter of course but I do believe some of them pushed the envelope to its logical extreme that night. I know Iris and Sharlee did. Even Pierre had a tough time trying to keep the smile off his face as nipples struggled through their bonds of diaphanous lace to the light of kitchen florescence.

In due course, Bill Graham arrived with about eight stretch limos and our “guests” were shown inside. The Stones traveled with a huge entourage…let’s face it – by any yardstick imaginable they set the bar for all past, present and future standards of excess.

The point man for this motley crew of rockers was a foppish little Brit by the name of Peter Rudge. Many of the guests were wearing white newsboy caps, which was, I’m guessing, some kind of inside joke. They brought their own security team, their roadies, a few ladies and assorted hanger-oners. Frank stood prominently near the door to greet his guests, a charming Buddha-daddy guru proudly showing off his baby to a new cast of discerning characters. Once the ice was broken, he and Bill Graham and Lou retired to a quiet corner to swap “promoter stories” that nobody but themselves would ever appreciate. At one point, Frank asked me to turn on the tiny faux fireplace for the sake of “ambience”. Fingers of fog crept over the hills and down towards the Bay in Sausalito, as they did most nights, but it wasn’t cold. As I finished lighting the fireplace, I felt something hit the back of my head, so I turned around and there was Keith Richards, biting into cocktail shrimp and tossing the uneaten tails around the room. He had a mischievous grin on his face, like he was daring me to do something about it and suddenly I felt this presence next to me. I turned and found myself eye to eye with one of the most menacing looking black men I had ever seen.

“I know what you’re thinking – don’t do it”, he said to me.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name’s Leroy and I’m the head of security for this tour.” he replied. He was built like a linebacker – a fireplug in a suit complete with the requisite white newsboy cap.

“You want a drink, Leroy?” I asked.

“Nope – workin” he replied.

“Well…how ‘bout some coffee?” I asked.

“Sure” he said.

So I went and got him a cup of coffee, anxious to defuse what could have been a messy situation. Bad behavior at the Trident was nothing new and I had, on occasion, been part of the posse delegated to remove unruly patrons from the premises. Normally, someone would have called the cops but this situation didn’t call for action that drastic and when I came back with Leroy’s coffee we sat and talked for a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, the party is in full swing around us. There is a steady stream of folks going to and from the deck outside, which seems to be the designated drug ingestion station. The restrooms are also a popular meeting place and after awhile, it’s pretty clear that both the staff and the guests are getting wasted. Hell – I’m getting wasted!

The “STP” tour as it came to be known followed the release of Exile On Main Street and was the first US tour without Brian Jones. You may remember the distinctive album cover – a waist-down shot of a pair of leather pants with a working zipper embedded in it. Mick Taylor, late of John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers, handled second guitar duties on the tour and was conspicuously absent from the party – not that anybody missed him. Jagger himself seemed rather subdued for all the publicity surrounding his escapades…maybe he was pacing himself as the tour was only about a week into it. Frank was drinking Perrier water, wisely understanding that he was almost assured of having to provide the honor farm with a urine sample upon his return.

About 5:30 the whole thing started to wind down…the sun was going to come up soon.  it’s been a very good night but I know that there are hours of work ahead of me. Those working the day shift stayed…except for the day waitresses, who managed to get a few hours sleep before returning. Iris told me she made almost $200 that night with her share of the tip pool – not bad for about 4 hours work. The registers were never used that night – Bill Graham paid for everything. (Presumably, he was able to bill his young charges for services rendered) And everyone who was there had a nice story to tell so here’s mine.

Stones bassist, Bill Wyman is sitting nearby, getting tag-teamed in backgammon by Jerry Pompili and Barry Imhoff. Peter Rudge is vainly chasing Josie all over the restaurant and saxophonist Bobby Keys is telling hilarious stories from his life on the road in his gentile southern drawl. I hear little snatches of his stories about how he and Waylon Jennings burned down a hotel room somewhere inOhio and Bonnie Bramlet punched out Elvis Costello onstage. Charlie Watts is sitting in rapt attention, drinking what looks like scotch.

Katie Savale, The Trident, and the Merry Pranksters

So I’m too-da-ling along on the net and ran across this picture….must admit it brought a little tear to my eye! Talk about an era gone bye…in picture
form…that encapsulates the baby side of a merry movement…I loved the Merry Pranksters…Ken Keesey and the crowd! Uncle Milty used to have so many
stories playing in the rewoods with the Prankster peeps…and Roger (can’t remember his last name right now(Summers?)…WOW, did HE have some parties at his house!
Member Margo St. James???) who designed the Trident, ran rampant with the crew (don’t quote me though…my memory might be hazy…no mystery there!)
Anyway…thought y”all might want to stroll with me down this memory…a picture…1,000 words…sigh…lip quiver

xo Kate

Katharyn M. Savale
Curator of Exhibitions
Mel Fisher Maritime Museum

18TridentSavaleBoatFurther2014 18TridentHorizontalBusFurther2014 18TridentPranksterFurtherBus2014
July 5th, 2007 Katie writes:
Lisa still working while we wait at the “Yacht Electra” remember her there in Sausalito? I’m the one with the Trident tee, behind me Christian, Victoria, Scotty and Derek
xo Kate

Hilarious Trident Alumni’s Rant

(KATIE)

Eric!

Well as I remember it…I did see the jaunty little dance…hands wavin, arms flappin, legs like you’d been riding horseback just a little too long…but what I REALLY remember was the….saunter! Yes…t h a t saunter! Good lord…I just couldn’t believe my buggin eyeballs, as I’m quite sure all other eyeballs blinked in dis-belief…not only were you really doing it, but…YOU WERE TAKING YOUR OWN SWEET TIME DOIN IT!…all leaned back like that “just keep truckin” character by Fat Albert…yeeks remember him? AND…if I remember correctly you had quite the furry tight little body…yessss sireeeee! Hey…it’s not like everything I wore you couldn’t see STRAIGHT through…or just not enough of it…were you there the day I wore the leather loin cloth? The next day Josie showed up in a bikini and knock-me-down-fuck-me pumps…and that’s when Marshall but his foot down and made the rule…NO BATHING SUITS! I’m still laughing! ANYWAY…I think you should have called it “Butt Naked by the Bay…just another day at the Trident.” Wasn’t Robin supposed to do it with you…the dynamic duo? Or was I just on drugs?
xo Katie
p.s. more later…there are sssooooooooooooooo many things to tell…or dare we?
p.s.s. and yes…my nose is still pierced…it goes great with my grey hair!

(ERIC)

Katie!
Katie? my favorite niece is a Katie….
Well, brown hair, gray hair—you were a looker then, and with the kind of bone structure you have I’ll bet you’re still easy to look at now.
What a surprise to hear from you. Do I have Lisa to thank? And I’m glad I got it right, and that you were there that day. I wasn’t sure. I put you in the story because I remember you very well even though I hardly knew you. You were cool, and a little aloof, and more than a little out of my league. I mean, out of all the people I remember—people like dark, straight haired Haun, for instance, or sweet Noreen (who I ran into at the Sausalito Food Co back in 2000, married to that guy who was on a poster posed as a pregnant man in the window of
pharmacy—remember that?) or Dagny, who I loved working for (she had that serious older sister thing going on, which I am such a sucker for, and I don’t mean romantically) you are the only one I remember as a “Cathy Civale”, and not just as a “Cathy.” I do remember wondering what a guy had to do to impress a girl like you. Most of the other girls were doing some variation on West coast flower child or sex kitten, while you were doing east coast chic in black gabardine slacks. Funny about the loin-cloth—I do remember it. Oh yes.
In fact when I lived in Stinson Beach in ’71, I made one out of leather and wore it almost all the time, so naturally I was impressed.
That I “sauntered” as you put it, I don’t remember. After all, walking through a busy restaurant stark naked is a little nerve wracking, so I guess I was trying to act casual, as though it’s just the sort of thing we do around here occaisionally. But no, Robin wasn’t in on that idea—I don’t think he was there yet or he would have been. He would swim with me sometimes later when we worked together. One day when I came in for a paycheck (Tuesdays, wasn’t it?) Gary at the espresso bar told me to go to the dishroom and say hello to my bother—I was dubious until I did. Ah yes. Remember that left field little Jaques Brel like song that came out sometime in the 60’s
“Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end…we’d sing and laugh forever and a day. We’d live the life we’d choose—we’d fight and never lose—those were the days, oh yes, those were the days.”
And now you work for Mel Fisher. I can’t believe it. There are pirates and Spanish sailorsright now, down in hell singing “those were the days” and trying to get message to Mel.Good for you.One last thing. “…. legs like you’d been riding horseback just a little too long….” I like that, especially since I’ve been getting off horses and motorcyles (real bikes, not Harleys) since I was fourteen. You should see Daisy—a deep blue Honda 996 Super Hawk—the younger, bigger, sexier sister of Miz Liz, a Honda 650 Hawk. A pair of true beauties that handle as good as they look.This has been fun. Thanks for writing. I’ll send you a half finished bit I’m working on for Marks Trident site. You might get a kick out of it. Nancy MacAllister was always good for that.
Fond regards, Eric

(KATIE)

Okay…shit for brains…I think my feelings are just a little hurt. YES…there is a Kathy Chivale…long dark hair, whiskey soprano, who’s hostess N.Y. buddy was Shophie…I just don’t happen to be her. Alright…are you paying attention? Katie…not Kathy…Savale…not Chivale…although we did hang out just to see how many people’s heads we could screw with…Kathy…Katie…what…who? It happened quite often…ALTHOUGH…we don’t look a thing alike. I am of course a Goddess, and she…just a pale reflection…poor girl. Of course you know I jest…or do you…shit for brains! Noooooo…wait a minute…now I’m just being mean.

I scoured the photos on the site and didn’t see one of me…damn it! Big Jeannie called me last night and turned me onto the site, so we’re just getting started. I don’t know if you knew Jeannie…she didn’t work there, but lived with Uncle Milty for many-many years and was a constant fixture there…I think most famous for her strip-tease on the patio deck…or…wait a minute…was it for the giant chocolate cock cake she made for Milty’s birthday which we all promptly ate…on the deck…with the watchful eyes of Ondine’s patrons slightly bulging…you know…the usual! ANYWAY…I digress…the point was that Jeannie…lovely Noreen, myself and who ever else the girls can round up are all now digging through our old photo albums to see what and who we can throughly embarrass now! I still have my tee shirt from Bob Dylan’s party…ya know the one with his horoscope on the back? I’m gonna put it on and take pictures of the old and the older!

So put on you thinking cap…give it a coupla whacks from me and see if you can conjure up at least a vague memory of who I am. Let’s see…I think I started working there in 69…and stopped in 76…quite a long time…FOR NOT BEING REMEMBERED!

Write back when you are so inspired…oh…and of course Kathy C. had her nose pierced also…yeeks…so similar and yet not so. A quick…speaking of noses…Dana Africa was the first person I EVER saw with a pierced nose…member her…daddy was the infamous Spike Africa…”President of the Pacific Ocean” and owner of the “No Name.” As soon as I saw her I had to run right out…get drunk…and pierce my nose. Not only did I wake up with a raging hangover, but WOW, what did I do to my nose that made it hurt that way? Of course there were a coupla answers to THAT question…until I looked in the mirror…but I gotta admit, I still love it!

Cheers Katie

(ERIC)

Katie,

Can I have my head back now? I’m trying to find the ninth floor balconey railing because I couldn’t find the sleeping pills or my Smith and Wesson retirement plan.

Oh, you mean Katie “you don’t have to look to know if she’s working today—just listen” Savale? In certain circles also known as Katie “the laugh” Savale—rings a bell—oh wait, I am the bell you’re ringing me a little hard. You could try doing what the police do: 5’7” / 120lbs / light brown hair / eyes ? with a big happy face and voice to match. Or you could just say, “not the cool, calm and collected one” but more the “C’mere little man—I wanna bounce you on my knee” type. You mean that Katy Savale. I did find it a little difficult to picture Cathy Civale in Key West.
“I am of course a Goddess, and she…just a pale reflection…poor girl.” Now that is a funny line. So wonderfully faux snob, I wish I’d written it. And of course, you’re not a snob—not that you have much to snobby about.
(All right, all right, so it’s not really my line—”He’s a very modest man. But then, he has much to be modest about.” Churchill. I had to change it because, somehow I can’t picture you and modesty in the same room. (I’m glad you took my head off—I write better without it.
Although if I keep coming up with these kinds of lines you’re gonna think I’m gay.)

Well, my dear, actually this is much better. MUCH BETTER. But in my defense, within this last week I was talking to Lisa Sharp about having Cathy Civale contact me about Dagny, who, if you bothered to read that rather nice email I wrote to the wrong you, I have very fond feelings for. And much to my surprise she did. Of course, expecting to hear from her, I did not realize it was not her. And I want to point out that Savale is very likely an Americanized form of Civale (not Chivale, by the way—being snotty is so much fun) and Katie is a fond diminuation of the Kathleen, Catherine, and even the oh so precious Katharyn variations.As for the nose piercing, I’m an old fashioned man (defender of women and children,etc) and it completely escaped me, as I try not to dwell on peoples facial deformities.OK “shit for brains”—see what you’ve started. I dare you to write back. Before you do, let me just finish with my favorite word to describe certain people who I highly regard in a very special way. You are one of them. The word is VIVID.

Love, Eric