Young Girls of the Sixties

So,  Ginger’s gone. Flown away.

Long ago, some thousand or so years it seems, the Firesign Theatre was forming itself through a series of accidents in the hills of Los Angeles and making friends among the artistic communities of Hollywood and Mixville and Silverlake.  In those hills live and have lived and will live many most inventive and strange people and generation by generation, the hills absorb these people and house them in the jungle of  little bungalows that dot the twisting lanes and canyons. We made friends with a number of women, younger than ourselves by seven or twelve years or so, the girls of the Class of  ’67 (in Oona’s case) and of the years and classes surrounding. In a couple of cases, we married into them (Oona and I, Tiny and David for a time) or lived with them (Phil Proctor and Cathy Cozzi) or romanced them (Peter and Liz Plum) but most were friends and associates and Ginger Russell was chief among them along with her friend Cappy, now known by her real name of Kathy O’Mara.  And the three friends from Nightinjail Jr.High – Tinika and Cappy and Ginger – were in attendance at virtually every early FST performance, had their pictures taken in strange masks, were witnesses to an older world  that, I suspect, they barely noticed through the hilarious fog of their youth and beauty and charm and – sorry – innocence.

And Ginger had the laugh.  She had such a ringing of a laugh, such a stunning laugh.  And it’s on every recording of everything we did; on  all the old shows, the old radio recordings. And I’ll always remember Ginger for her amazing forthright intelligence, for her immense kindness and mostly for her friendship.  She was one hell of a girl, among a bunch of women who were somehow smart and funny and exceptional.  We were lucky, us guys.

53 thoughts on “Young Girls of the Sixties

  1. Just getting a start of all the best wishes of this Holiday Season, and to all that goes Austin, on Fox Island.

    Maybe we’ll lift the trapdoor at the bottom of this recession, and discover another bottom, recursively chasing out tails, over and over again.

  2. ‘The Rules of Scrooge.’

    1.) First One: Solemn, measured, grumpy, and sadistic, that what makes the shriveled heart beat, with a mope glee. It’s all in the attitude or the absence of it, with all the others assumed by default, Wherever it finds you at the time.

    2.) Second: Scrooges’ dump it off-a-cliff solution. If it sits, does nothing, or complains, teach it to fly, off it goes. If it doesn’t think it measures up, ask it to defy gravity and fly with the angels or point to the ground in the most direct manner.

    3.) Third: Making the vengeful heart go patter and bend smiles more the other way.

    4.) Forth: Knowing where it all comes from: For things that go squish in the night. Know your vegetables . . . . ?

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