My Story and My Story’s Story
Just how hard would it be for a part-time journalist who hasn’t written fiction since high school, to sit down and write a full-length novel? This was the question I probably should have asked myself when I began this project. Instead, I dove right in. Couldn’t help it. Had hippies on the brain. What held my mind hostage, of all things, was a goofy, B-grade movie from 1967. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Hobbit house” or “Hanzel & Gretel cottage”—that’s how people usually referred to the quaint little North Vancouver abode I grew up in. Born June 12, 1958, I’m the middle of three children belonging to George and Arlyn Kuthan, a pair of exceptionally talented artists who immigrated to Canada, respectively, from Czechoslovakia and England.
After my father’s death in 1966, my mother married Luman Coad, a professional puppeteer from Oakland . . . who also happened to be a draft dodger . . . and a recent divorcée . . . and fifteen years her junior. Somehow, that seemed normal in a family where friends were almost exclusively oddball artists . Hey, doesn’t everyone have musicians, actors, mimes, tapestry weavers, doll makers and puppeteers from all around the world show up at the dinner table? Granola baking, tofu eating, macramé, spinning wool — my parents lived like commune bohemians before western culture was even countered, so I suspect that I came by my fondness for the hippie lifestyle honestly.
As a teen, my entire world revolved around rock music and I could never understand why others didn’t get that that should be the natural order of things. I clued in early that one’s musical taste could serve as a barometer for finding potentially meaningful friendships. If Barry Manilow is your cup of tea . . . God bless you and the songs that make your whole world sing, but I doubt that you and I will be growing old together. What’s that? You say you get shivers when Todd Rundgren warbles and his voice does that cracking thing, and Peter Gabriel’s too? Hey, wanna grab a latte?
I swear the universe shifted the day I first heard Jon Anderson singing an abbreviated version of “Your Move” on the radio. Is it any wonder then that I met Cal, my future husband, at a Yes concert (Oakland Coliseum, 1978 – thank you, Bill Graham!)? We both came down from Vancouver for the show, and out of 18,000 Yes-heads, ended up chatting to each other. What are the odds?
As a teen, my entire world revolved around rock music and I could never understand why others didn’t get that that should be the natural order of things. I clued in early that one’s musical taste could serve as a barometer for finding potentially meaningful friendships. If Barry Manilow is your cup of tea . . . God bless you and the songs that make your whole world sing, but I doubt that you and I will be growing old together. What’s that? You say you get shivers when Todd Rundgren warbles and his voice does that cracking thing, and Peter Gabriel’s too? Hey, wanna grab a latte?
I swear the universe shifted the day I first heard Jon Anderson singing an abbreviated version of “Your Move” on the radio. Is it any wonder then that I met Cal, my future husband, at a Yes concert (Oakland Coliseum, 1978 – thank you, Bill Graham!)? We both came down from Vancouver for the show, and out of 18,000 Yes-heads, ended up chatting to each other. What are the odds?
Speaking of Yes, my addiction to all things topographic has also led to a life-long friendship with Sue Smith, the Philly amiga with whom I spent five years publishing Relayer, the first of many fanzines dedicated to Yes. By today’s standards it was naive and unsophisticated, but for its time, it was a wonderful platform for a couple of twenty-somethings to attempt to hone their writing and graphic art skills. I’m forever grateful for our many Relayer-related adventures, the fans we met, and the multitude of unlikely locations we wound up with a great excuse to visit.
After two years of Commercial Art College, I spent a decade dabbling in display and graphic art work, while trying to survive the abysmal state of the eighties music scene. 1989 and 1992 marked the births of my two darling daughters, Kayleigh and Gemma, and with their arrival came a passionate interest in natural health, vegetarianism and the environment. I took a left turn career-wise, and have spent the years since immersed in the world of health food and writing for several Canadian natural health magazines.
When the funky little health food store I’d spent seven years working in was bought and closed down by a large American chain, I decided to follow my bliss, even though it took me a while to find it. Then, one fortuitous evening, my husband rented a hokey, old movie called The Love-Ins. We both adore anything to do with the sixties or hippies, but this Hollywoodized spin on the Timothy Leary phenomenon was about as authentically hip as The Brady Bunch. And it struck me as a rather tragic missed opportunity. I mean, seriously, in what more interesting time and location could a story be set than the 1960's Haight-Ashbury?
After two years of Commercial Art College, I spent a decade dabbling in display and graphic art work, while trying to survive the abysmal state of the eighties music scene. 1989 and 1992 marked the births of my two darling daughters, Kayleigh and Gemma, and with their arrival came a passionate interest in natural health, vegetarianism and the environment. I took a left turn career-wise, and have spent the years since immersed in the world of health food and writing for several Canadian natural health magazines.
When the funky little health food store I’d spent seven years working in was bought and closed down by a large American chain, I decided to follow my bliss, even though it took me a while to find it. Then, one fortuitous evening, my husband rented a hokey, old movie called The Love-Ins. We both adore anything to do with the sixties or hippies, but this Hollywoodized spin on the Timothy Leary phenomenon was about as authentically hip as The Brady Bunch. And it struck me as a rather tragic missed opportunity. I mean, seriously, in what more interesting time and location could a story be set than the 1960's Haight-Ashbury?
Weeks went by and I couldn’t get that silly little movie out of my head. Just how hard would it be to come up with an alternative storyline in the same setting? When I stumbled across the dramatic history of People’s Park, ideas melded together like karmic puzzle pieces, and Love Haight '69 took form.
I began with loose character composites; some based on real-life personalities, just to get the ball rolling. While encouraging my imagination to run untethered, I borrowed liberally from my own background to try and flesh out the characters, however, this tale is not autobiographical. My evolving characters became like friends whose voices chattered away in my head at strange hours. Even now, I’m mentally observing them and taking notes as their adventures continue in a new story.
For my husband and I, this project has been a joyful opportunity to trip back through yesteryear. We’ve taken numerous trips down to the Bay area to burrow through newspaper archives, familiarize ourselves with People’s Park, Berkeley, the Haight, and other locations, and to make the acquaintance of locals, many of whom have graciously shared first-hand accounts of events from back in the day.
In the end, my greatest hope is that you might find this journey as enjoyable as we did.
Tanya Coad
I began with loose character composites; some based on real-life personalities, just to get the ball rolling. While encouraging my imagination to run untethered, I borrowed liberally from my own background to try and flesh out the characters, however, this tale is not autobiographical. My evolving characters became like friends whose voices chattered away in my head at strange hours. Even now, I’m mentally observing them and taking notes as their adventures continue in a new story.
For my husband and I, this project has been a joyful opportunity to trip back through yesteryear. We’ve taken numerous trips down to the Bay area to burrow through newspaper archives, familiarize ourselves with People’s Park, Berkeley, the Haight, and other locations, and to make the acquaintance of locals, many of whom have graciously shared first-hand accounts of events from back in the day.
In the end, my greatest hope is that you might find this journey as enjoyable as we did.
Tanya Coad
