Jack Gannon lived with his mom on Fairview, between Holly and Baldwin. The house was a rambling single story ranch style home so popular in the 50' and 60's of Southern Californa. It was fronted on the north by a large lawn and a drive way that led on the left past the kitchen to an unattached 2-car garage. It was dark inside but rather comfortable. We seldom hung out in the house. The real treat was out back.
Just outside the sliding glass door of the den was a small porch, behind which was a fairly large swimming pool. My first experience skinny dipping with beautiful hippy chicks was there. A fence ran east-west on the other side of the pool. Through a gate in the fence you would enter a small grove of fruit trees. There was a small shack like cottage on the left with a sign that read "El Ranchito Contento". This was Jack's "hippy hutch".
A hippy hutch for those not present in the 60's and early 70's was a place, usually a small cottage or shack, decorated with posters, signs, tapestries,bean bags,and maybe a black light where friends would hang out and smoke dope or trip. A stereo was an absolute necessity. There were several hippy hutches among my circle of friends. The Stephens had the "Pit", Danny Skelton's had a mini-bike track outside, Rick Cooper had one way up at the back of his mom's house on Hampton, Gannon had "El Ranchito Contento".
Griffiths took me there one night. We sat around and drank beer, smoked dope, listened to a little Dead, but mostly listened to Jack spout. He was a couple of years older than us and always had something to say or do. "Friendly Jack" people called him. Topics ranged from sports to existentialism. He would be speaking and every once in a while Alan would take his cigarette, place the lit end to his lips and blow. "It's the Fourth of Juuuly !", he called out, as the sparks from his hotbox showered the room. I found Jack's personality magnetic and he was instantly one of my heroes.
After awhile I started hanging out more and more at Jack's. In the spring of '71 he hired me to mow his lawn every week. I did so and sometimes got paid in cash, but usually he just got me high. It was at about this time that Jimmy Johnson started showing up with the heroin. Jimmy was an obvious scum bag and his effect on Jack was severe. People stopped hanging out. Every now and then Jack would call me into his bedroom in the house and tell me to keep an eye on them as they shot up. "If we stop breathing throw us in the shower." he instructed me. Instead of being repulsed, I was intrigued. Finally after some badgering the day came when he said, "Here, try this." He took a couple of "Blue Havens', put them in a spoon, heated it,and filled the "Binky". I eagerly put out my arm, the needle sank into my flesh, and BAM ! For the next month or so I was there almost daily. One time we down to El Monte to score some Chiva in the barrio. Nice.
That summer my mom decided it might be a good idea if I spent some time with my Uncle Charles and Aunt Yvonne in San Jose. This was perfect timing as I was beginning to get a little too into the scene at Jack's.
The next few weeks were a godsend for me. San Jose at that time was still pretty much an agricultural area with fruit orchards and groves. My brother John was living in the Mission District in San Francisco at the time and I was able to go and hang out at his place sometimes. Now this was the real deal when it came to a hippie hutch. I'd get high and lean out the window of his Victorian apartment and watch the street scene or go up on the roof and take in the City. Steve Best and Anna Brunol showed up in the city one night and we cruised North Beach. At this time the strip clubs and theatres still had barkers out front enticing passersby to enter their lairs of hedonistic delight. This was heaven for me.
The day I got back to Arcadia, I immediately jumped on my bike and raced to Jack's to share my experiences. As I rode into the driveway, I noticed somebody I had never seen before sitting on the front porch. I parked my bike and walked up. "Is Jack home ?" I asked. "Nah, he'll' be back in a minute." he answered. I sat down next to him on the steps. " You a friend of Jacks ?" he queried."Yeah, I just got back from up north ..." and preceded to tell this stranger of my exploits of the last few weeks. He didn't really seem to be all that interested and just stared out at the street.
After a few minutes of silence a van pulled into the driveway. Jack was in the passenger seat. The side door of the van opened up and some guy carrying a rug draped over something got out. Jack exited the van followed by the driver. It was then that I noticed that Jack had been crying. It suddenly dawned on me that the something under the rug was actually a rifle. They all headed straight for me and the door. "Bring him too" the driver and obvious leader of the pack told his minions. The rug pointed at me and motioned inside.
Once in the house the rug came off the gun and they filled me in on what was going on. I was caught up in a drug deal gone bad ! Apparently, Jimmy Johnson had told these guys (from El Monte by the way.) that he could get a pound of hash for $400. They had driven to Gannon's and waited outside while JJ went in with the cash. Jack had been sitting in the den when Jimmy walked through the front door and out the back. Poor uninformed Jack was still sitting there when the irate buyers turned victims turning perpetrators stormed in. They grabbed Jack, left a lookout in case Jimmy showed up, and piled into the van in pursuit of their wayward $400. I had stumbled up as they were returning from their fruitless neighborhood search.
The boss pointed to the phone, "Find Him" he commanded. The rifle swept back and forth from Jack to me. "Mrs. Johnson ? Jack. Have you seen Jimmy ? No ? Will he be back soon ? Okay, tell him Jack called please."
After a couple more unsuccessful calls, Jack held up his hands. " I just don't know where he is." Jack wailed.
" We're gonna drive and find him, or your both gonna die !"
Needless to say I was now starting to get a little alarmed. I started to protest but thought better as the gun was leveled at me.
We were ordered back to the van and started on our quest. Jack was in the passenger seat again and I in back with the thug and the gunman. They seemed to be eager for some action so I just sat there, bummed out. I remember singing "Black Peter" in my head. "Today is just like any other day, that's ever been.." I was sure the gig was up. My short life was going to end in the back of a van.
We drove from haunt to haunt , trying to find him. At one point we even got into some sort of car chase with someone they mistakenly thought was Jimmy. It was starting to get hairy. These guys were getting more and more agitated and abusive towards us
Suddenly the decision was made to go back to Jack's house. The gun again pointed at me. "You're going to wait here. If you leave we're gonna kill Jack and then go find you."
"Okay" I stammered. I looked over at Jack and nodded.
"Stay here." he pleaded.
I discovered something about myself that day. My sense of self preservation is much stronger than loyalty to a friend. As soon as the van passed out sight, I jumped on my bike and sped home, not looking back. I locked myself away in my room and didn't come out for the rest of the day.
In the paper the next day, there was a small article. " Arcadia youth claims abduction" the headline read. In it they related the story of an alleged kidnap victim forcing his way past the front door of an unsuspecting lady and then demanding she call police. "Police were skeptical of the story." That was it. No mention of me or the circumstances.
It was a couple of years before I saw Jack again. He eventually got away from the heroin. He returned to being the same old Happy Jack and hosted parties at his mom's house fairly regularly until she moved out. Through the years we have remained friends and kidnapping is not a topic for discussion.
