Rochale College..."Lone Wolf" author a liar! Hateful nasty fluff on Toronto's "free" College a disgrace!

My hippie daze at Rochdale!

(a badge of liberation)

 

This evening, I was quite shocked when I stumbled across a discussion board on Facebook, which shed a searing spotlight on a self-styled author – by the name of “Lone Wolf” – who published a nasty piece of fluff in the name of Literature (total bullshit!) which he alleges is a truthful non-fiction historical novel written with noble intentions.

Although I have not read - “A Wolf Among Sheep” - it is quite evident from the hateful references posted on the discussion board at Facebook that "Lone Wolf " willfully elected to wrongfully twist and distort the truth because he obviously has an axe to grind with someone for ending up a total loser in life! (himself?)

The slurs (outright lies) he hurled in my direction - contradictory in nature when posts are reviewed on the Internet at a myriad of web sites - were nothing short of mean-spirited “pot-shots” (simply acid-laced barbs) dredged up to get back at moi (pay back?) because I snubbed the hapless hacker months ago when he was fervently engaged in a fact-finding fishing expedition to drum up juicy material for a book he was toiling away on.

For example, out-of-the-blue one day - “Lone Wolf” (a total stranger to me) - fired off an e-mail my way to determine if I was a one-time resident of Rochdale (known by my birth name Don Holyoak).

It should be noted that I changed my name legally to Julian Ayrs when industry folks began to have difficulty prouncing and spelling my name.

Because my days at Rochdale were so memorable – some of the happiest days of my life were spent there over the course of a few short eventful months - I responded to “Wolf” with open arms.

I get nostalgic for the past, in my “old age”, after all!

In a nutshell, I was quite generous (and giving) with my time.

In fact, I graciously provided details about my days at Rochdale - especially in view of the fact “Wolf” either had a very “poor memory” - or was not the individual he purported to be.

OMG!

Did he ever reside at Rochdale - as he so vigorously claimed - or was he just a sad wannabee inclined to cry-the-blues because he missed the boat a few scant decades ago?

At one point, a red flag went up, when Wolf put a strange question to me which didn’t make any sense in the grand scheme of things.

At this point, it became evident to me that Wolf was not only “pumping” me for information, but trying to “rewrite” Rochdale history!

In fact, it became quite obvious – I am not stupid, after all – that he was trying to drum up “dirt” on me – and other Rochdalians - for some inexplicable reason.

At that juncture, I informed the odd-ball correspondent, that his question was out-of-line.

I immediately cut off all ties, and made a point of dispatching his future e-mails to the “spam” box once they ceremoniously arrived, without reading the bodies of the messages therein.

I'm no fool, nor am I a masochist, after all!

Curiously, a couple of weeks ago, I was surfing the Internet when I came across a short post on a Rochdale web site, wherein Wolf made mention of me.

In view of what transpired previously, I was surprised to find that “Wolf” spoke so flatteringly.

In fact, I could not find fault with anything he wrote.

I remember thinking at the time:

“Gosh, I hope my biographer is “that kind” when the curtain falls on me.”

Then, something strange happened after that, which sent me for a loop.

For instance, tonight – when I was conducting some research for a feature I am penning, I noticed a reference to “Lone Wolf’s” book posted to an open forum Facebook discussion page.

What an eye-opener!

In a nutshell, the writer attacked “Lone Wolf” for his disparaging remarks about the former residents of Rochdale (and me, in particular), and tore his so-called non-fiction historical novel to pieces.

Understandably!

In particular, I was shocked to read an excerpt about me, which was written by a vicious “Wolf” scratching at the door and obviously howling at the moon.

"Many former Rochdalians have re-invented themselves. And they have re-invented Rochdale College to suit their new identity. Don Holyoak, the quintessential Rochdale hippie in 1969 is now a prissy "artist" who pretends he was never a hippie. He wrote, "I spent two semesters at Rochdale College in 1969." Semesters? Fuck off, bullshitter! There were no semesters in Rochdale and he also lived there in 1970. It's ridiculous for him to claim he spent weeks on the road with infamous drug dealer Rosie, yet knew nothing whatsoever about drugs. You can't have it both ways and retain any credibility. He wrote about Judith Merril waving good-bye to him when he left Rochdale. This was impossible because she had moved out many months before. And as a so-called "writer", Don Holyoak really should discover the paragraph. I've never seen one in his "Tattler" blogs, so his writing looks less than amateurish."

Nothing could be further from the truth!

For good reason, I have decided to set forth the following pertinent facts, to set the record straight in my defense.

For starters, I have never “pretended” not to be a hippie.

On the contrary, if anything, I have boasted ad nausea over the years about my bohemian days at legendary Rochdale College (and elsewhere).

I am surprised folks haven’t rolled-their-eyes and urged that I "shut-up" already!

In fact, when I first stumbled on a website that was created to exalt Rochdale and its infamous cast of characters, I immediately posted a truckload of recollections for posterity's sake.

In that post, I discussed my days at the “free” college openly and freely.

And, I bragged about performing in the streets barefoot, being arrested for dancing on a police car on Baldwin Street, and-so-forth-and-so-on.

By the way, Ms. Merril was in attendance on Baldwin Street the day I was arrested.

In fact, Judith tried to pull me out of harm's way, when a squad car slowly cruised through the protestors in the street.

Wolf is a liar, flat-out!

In addition, the scurrilous author accused me of falsely alleging that I waved “good-bye” to Judith (a well-known Science Fiction writer who was a personal friend of mine) who once resided at Rochdale during my heady days “in residence” there.

According to “Wolf”, Judith wasn’t residing at Rochdale that eventful day – at which point – he inferred that I was a liar!

In addition, he scoffed at the “notion” that I headed out on the road in a VW bus with the notorious drug-dealer “Rosie” (Bob Rowbothman) just shy of my 18th birthday (May 6th).

On both counts, Wolf libeled me, in a bold-faced deceitful effort to damage my name and reputation.

As I have noted on my blog - “The Tattler” - I was a ward of the Children’s Aid Society when I was a student at Rochdale.

Youth protective services actually paid my rent, which can be proven, by virtue of documented evidence on record at that agency.

At one point, when my social worker quizzed me about my future, I turned to Judith for advice.

The generous down-to-earth writer invited me to move into a spare room at her “new” digs in a quaint neighborhood she had just relocated to just south of Rochdale (Cabbagetown) after she quickly exited the controversial high-rise on Bloor St. West (a hop-and-a-skip away from U of T) amidst allegations of rampant drug use at the College.

My social worker was consulted to determine if the Society would have any objections to Judith becoming - in essence - my “foster mother”.

Just because Judith was not residing at Rochdale on the day I left for Vancouver in the VW van, doesn’t mean she could not have waved me off, as I stated in my "memoir".

What kind of idiot would surmise such a stupid thing without verifying the facts first?

Rochdale residents can attest to the fact that Judith was a constant visitor at Rochdale - even after she relocated to her two-level home down the street- especially in view of the fact an extensive collection of books she donated to the "free school" were on the shelves at Rochdale!

By the way, Celebrated attorney - Clayton Ruby - was hired by Rochdale to represent me in court on the charge of causing a disturbance.

Ruby established that the disturbance did not erupt until the police took inappropriate action against the protesters.

For good reason, the case was dismissed against me.

The whole incident was captured by Morely Markson - a documentary filmmaker - who used the footage for his insightful chronicle of the times:

Breathing Together
(Revolution of the Electric Family)

The documentary also featured John Lennon and Buckminster Fuller and won an award at the Cannes Film Festival (1972).

It should be further noted that when TIME published a feature article on Rochdale, the respected magazine (the Canadian Edition) published a photo of my "black" room on the 6th floor.

I was thrilled because Raquel Welch graced the cover!

That dude, Wolf, has all the intelligence of a slug, eh?

Talk about getting your facts screwed up and jumping to ridiculous conclusions!

But, his falsehoods – and hateful digs – persisted.

In the paragraphs published above, Wolf infers that I never knew “Rosie”, and that I did not make any trek across the country with him and his motley band of friends.

Wrong!

Rosie is still alive - until I am advised otherwise, of course - and can confirm that he was my next-door neighbor on the 6th floor (his ashram room was two doors down from mine) and that – indeed – we crossed the country together in a VW van.

At one point, we were actually pulled over by an overzealous cop (in Alberta, if I recall correctly), which sent the fear of God in all of us at the time.

By the way, near the end of our trek, all the passengers on board came down with a nasty case of the “crabs”

Uh-huh!

The whole gang of us (hippies!) were forced to check into a small Motel, so that we could purge our ravaged bodies of the blood-sucking little buggars!!!

Oh, Wolf also labelled me a “bullshitter”, because I allegedly stated that I attended two semesters at Rochdale College.

He boldly asserted that there were no semesters at Rochdale - or any curriculum - for that matter.

For starters, if you check Judith Merril’s resume, you’ll notice an entry on her resume which is mighty curious.

In her school credits, Judith Merril acknowledges a degree, which was apparently earned at – you got it - at Rochdale College.

Moreover, I should like to point out - that when I referred to my own registration at Rochdale - the references to “two semesters” were not out-of-line when the facts (and documentary evidence in support) are scrutinized in their entirety.

“Lone Wolf” was unaware of one vital piece of information that ended up landing him in hot water – and ruining what little credibility he possessed – in the process.

For the record, I should like to reiterate that the Children’s Aid Society paid my rent for the fall “term” (September to December, for example) – and the “spring” term too.

The Society also provided me with monthly “tuition” (expense funds) to cover vouchers for daily meals in the Rochdale cafeteria, art supplies, clothing, etc.

Coincidentally, David Hamilton - the brother of my English teacher (Mrs. Van Opedenbosh) at West Hill Collegiate - was a tenant in the ashram room right next door and he can attest to Rosie's residency on the 6th floor as well.

Also, it should be noted that David Hamilton - who was a student at U of T - purchased one of my abstract expressionist paintings.

In fact, my original art works are in private collections around the country.

The Vancouver Sun wrote a feature on me when I exhibited my "Graffiti" paintings at the gallery owned by Nelson Skalbania.

The profile features a publicity still of me posing in front of two of my creations. So, those who are interested in reviewing my work, have only to peruse the archives at the daily newspaper on the West Coast in B.C.

So there, bozo!

After spreading despicable lies, and totally misrepresenting the facts, Wolf was inclined to take one last swipe.

Although he admitted he never read any of my posts on my blog – “The Tattler’ – he somehow found “grounds” to attack my skills as a writer.

In so many words, he spouted off, in his book, that I needed to discover the paragraph (and inferred that my skills as a writer were amateurish).

Again, he failed to research my background, to determine the true facts.

For instance, I was published by Coach House Press when I was a lad of 17 (during my stint at Rochdale College).

In addition, the CBC broadcast  -“Cottage Cheese” -  short story I penned when I was residing on Vine Street in Toronto and attending Humberside Collegiate (which was well-received by their listening audience).

In 1982, I was a regular columnist (a recognized journalist) for the Province Newspaper (Southam News) in Vancouver (B.C.).

Today, I am also expected in show-biz circles in my capacity as a Film Critic.

Not to toot my own horn, though, Wolf!

I am just setting the record straight so your lies may be held up to close scrutiny – and for all the civilized world – to scoff at!

In the final analysis, Wolf – you’re a despicable human being - who should be avoided like the plague.

Thank you to the unknown stranger, by the way, who posted this observation on the Facebook site to set the record straight in my defense.

“Don Holyoak was a sweet 17 year old kid in Rochdale and Reg Hartt is an expert on cinema who showed films that were unavailable until the advent of home video. Both men contributed to Rochdale, and never did any harm.”

As to all the other hogwash “Lone Wolf” slung in respect to Rochdale, and a handful of the celebrated residents, I am not prepared (or inclined) to offer up any defense on their behalf.

At 17, I was essentially a dreamer, who soared to great artistic heights, totally unaffected in a fantasy world of my own choosing.

In the final analysis?

I was simply an artist, with my head in the clouds - who cared little about politics or the alleged shortcomings of institutions (or social butterflies flitting this way 'n that for whatever reason) - bitter cynical losers have always been inclined to run into the ground without rhyme or reason.

In sum, Rochdale was a special moment in my life - and no asshole (especially not one with all the personality, charm, and intelligence of a worm) will ever be able to take that away from me (or the delightful few who I crossed paths with in that era who deserved a kinder gentler assessment from the “Lone Wolf”).

Amen!


http://www.ijulian.blogspot.com

The little "Mother" of Science Fiction!

Internet...intriguing ghosts from the past! Touching someone!



Heady days at Rochdale College!

Today, I am once again swept away by the remarkable mysteries of life, and - most certainly - the potent reach of the Internet!

For instance, earlier today, a curious e-mail arrived from across the miles from an individual I met by chance over forty years ago in Toronto (my hometown).

A young woman - by the name of Jennifer - zipped off the communication to determine if I was "Don" - who used to reside in an ashram suite at Rochdale College in 1968 (an experimental communal-living unit at the free school) - which was all decorated in black (and featured in TIME magazine that year).

In a previous post, I mentioned my heady days at the free college, in the turbulent sixties!

Post: 10/26/2008

http://ijulian.blogspot.com/2008/10/blogginginternet-opens-door-to-past.html

So, I expect that by way of a precise search on GOOGLE, the lass was able to locate me years later, as I vacation here in San Francisco (and work on a new series of paintings).

In response, I composed a quick note to inform the acquaintance from the past  - that yes, indeed - I was the individual she was seeking from the ghostly (but memorable) days of her youth.

My birth name was "Donald", but years later - after I was separated from my family - I legally changed my name to Julian Ayrs (and - subsequently - my destiny was set on another path, too!).

Just now, I received a delightful e-mail back, in which Jennifer fondly recalled that I was kind-of-like a Pied-Piper who delighted folks way back then (when I was a free spirit and danced in the streets of downtown Toronto).

Whew!

That's over four decades ago!

But, what touched me most, were the kind sentiments expressed therein.

Gosh, it's such a compliment to remembered so fondly over the years, and still be in the heart and mind of a innocent young girl, who was a mere eight years old when our paths originally first crossed!

Life is sweet, eh?

And, I count my blessings, for that!

http://www.thetattler.biz

Unknown Student

(Rochdale College on Bloor St. in Toronto)

Bob Rowbotham...Rosie, Hippies & Rochdale College subculture!

Mischievous Rosie as I remember him!

Probably, the fondest memories of my teenage years unfolded when I spent two semesters at Rochdale College in 1969.

Rochdale College (an 18-storey twin concrete tower) was situated at 341 Bloor Street West at the edge of the University of Toronto campus.

In 1970 (the 2nd year in operation) it became the largest co-operative student residence (of the three-hundred in existence in North America).

Yorkdale was alive and thriving with beatniks and hippies and the influence of that subculture would soon rock the very core of Rochdale - and eventually - bring the house down.

I was just 17, and actively pursuing my creative pursuits, with a big focus on painting and writing.

That year there were two landmark events in my artistic endeavours.

At the College gallery which fronted on Bloor, I installed my first exhibition of fine line drawings and abstract expressionist paintings.

And, after submitting a rough collection of poems to Victor Coleman at Coach House Press (located at the rear of the school) I was elated to learn that the renowed editor chose a piece of prose to include in a special collection  (IS 8).

Coach House Press

http://www.chbooks.com/

During that time frame, I also became fairly well-known around hogtown as "The Dancer",  and a street performer.

In fact, at a rally on Baldwin Street one fine day, I gained staggering notoriety when I was arrested for dancing on a police car (and allegedly disturbing the peace).

That year, I also met Gerome (Jerry) Ragni - one of the authors of the Rock Musical "Hair".

Under a curious set of circumstances - and at the urging of Jerry - I almost ended up on stage in the Toronto production (fate had other plans).

Post: 11/29/07

Hair (the Musical that got away)

http://ijulian.blogspot.com/2007/11/hairthe-musical-that-got-away_29.html

Over the course of that year, many lost and celebrated souls, passed through Rochdale's hallowed halls.

Shortly after I became a resident, for instance, I struck up a friendship with renowned Sci-Fi writer (and editor) Judith Merrill.

Post: 12/02/07

Judith Merril / Sci-Fi (Editor)

http://ijulian.blogspot.com/2007/12/judith-merrilsci-fi-writer-lovely-lady.html

Initially, in its creative heyday, Rochdale was a hub of artistic activity.

Rochdale Museum

http://homepages.nyu.edu/~spores01/rochdale.html

By early 1970, however, the college became overrun with hapless hippies with no direction and a posse of local drug dealers anxious to feed the pot and acid heads in attendance.

At this juncture, from a creative standpoint, the college began to falter.

The artists and scholars packed their bags and moved on - and the depraved prevailed - amidst cries of outrage from neighbors, politicans, and law enforcement (until they were eventually locked out).

As I struggled with the dilemma of locating new digs at an affordable rent, a neighbor two doors down in the ashram section of the 6th floor room I was leasing, invited me to tag along with a handful of his pals who were setting out across Canada (to the West Coast) in a VW van.

In restrospect?

Yes, how cliche!

Count me in, I chirped to "Rosie", who was orchestrating the trip out of necessity (I later learned on the eve of our departure).

In those days, I was pretty clueless about the insiduous drug scene (and sex, for that matter).

So, when Rosie moved in shortly after my own arrival at Rochdale, it didn't phase me much when I spied an endless trail of colorful characters traipsing to and from his digs all hours of the day and night.

"He's just popular," I recall saying to another resident who conjectured that Rosie was flipping lids of marijuana and hits of acid (LSD) at five and ten dollars a pop.

The charismatic kid from Belleville was actually Bob Rowbotham - who would later be busted for a shipload of drugs - and carve a niche for himself as the biggest drug dealer in Canada at the time.

Since I was there at the beginning, I witnessed the humble beginnings of a nefarious underworld enterprise, that would eventually span the globe.

Part of the reason Rosie was inclined to drive out to Vancouver on that specific occasion was triggered by the fact that he learned from his grapevine of inside sources that the RCMP was about to bust his ass.

Yup, Rosie was hot!

I recall a mystifying day when the likable kid from the outskirts sat solemnly in his tiny room attired in a natty-suit (replete with sloppily-knotted tie), and slicked- down " do" that effected the image of a pimply-faced nerd, with bible in hand.

On notice that the cops were on the way to toss his digs, with the ultimate aim of hauling him off to the local slammer, Rowbotham was inclined to play a game of cat-and-mouse.

That day no drugs or paraphanelia were found on the premises (Rosie cleaned house the night before their celebrated raid).

In disgust, they departed with a warning.

"Get out of town, kid."

So, he did.

Well, we all did, in the spritely-colored beat-up van (the following day).

Actually, it was earlier minor drug bust, which led Rosie to Rochdale in the first place.

Robert W.  Rowbotham was charged and convicted of trafficking marijuana at seventeen years of age and sentenced to thirty days in provincial jail.

"That first week in the Belleville bucket and then three weeksafter that  in Birch Rapids were the worst bit in my life, bar none," remembered Rosie.

"I was alone and completely out of place in jail. After the jail experience I couldn't get my head back into school or Belleville. My feet were itchy."

A free art school had recently opened by the name of Rochdale, he recalled to one reporter years later, and it piqued his interest.

The college was "a Mecca of free-thought and expression where the only criteria to enroll were open and unjudgemental thinking" he mused in one in-depth interview.

Many artists and musicians attended the campus.

Subsequently, Rosie fit into the free-spirited environment perfectly; in fact, in about two seconds flat, he was turning up at all the "in" parties, courting exotic strangers just passing through, and engaging in lively debates with celebrated key-note speakers who were invited to lecture often amid a swirl of controversy.

Rosie also loved the ladies (and they him).

Indeed, there was always a constant flow of liquor, pot smokers, and pizza-delivery men knocking at the door after midnight and into the wee hours of the morning.

"It certainly wasn't a traditionally dry educational facility," recalled Rosie later in prison.

"Rochdale was a mosaic of culture, art, music, expression and inspiration. We wanted to make a difference in the world, and we did!"

"There was this incredible mix of young people from all walks of life, from all over the world. There wasn't the violence and tension of the nineties. Kids today think we were joking when they hear we were saying things like peace, love and groovy. But we lived it, believed in it!"

"The drug dealing was far from an elaborate scheme; but,  more of an extension of the times. There were young people from all over the world talking, debating, protesting, and basically growing up around Rochdale. The American draft dodgers had few options when it came to making money, and they seemed to have contacts all over the continent."

"I was the local boy who knew how to get things done, not to mention I never missed a good party. In contrast to the sleazy speed-dealers of the time, people could come to Rochdale and get a good, fair deal, with no chance of rip-offs or violence. We weren't out to hurt anyone. In a way, we viewed it as providing a youthfully naive public service with an element of adventure. We were just hippies having fun."

Until the cops turned up the heat that week in April (1970).

After a few long good-byes (and late-night parties) we hopped into the bus and headed West.

In Alberta, there was one close call.

An aggressive cop pulled us over - and instructed us to haul our sorry hippie asses out onto the side of the busy highway - as he searched for the demon Mary Jane (killer pot) and drug paraphanelia.

Nada!

Unfortunately, there was one other prevailing bad memory, too.

Deep into the trek cross-country, one of Rosie's long-haired pals started to scratch up a storm.

Upon close inspection, the gang of us were mortified to learn, that he was suffering from a nasty infection of  the crabs (lice).

You got it.

Within hours, we were forced to dash into a pharmacy and purchase some nasty-smelling lotion, to zap the little blood suckers into oblivion.

In those days, we thought we had it bad, when promiscuous or unclean behaviour led to a scandalous social disease (gonorrhea, for instance).

But, at least during that unhibited liberated era, sexual partners didn't have the dreaded thought of being infected with HIV or A.I.D.S. hanging over their heads like the sword of Damacles.

If I had a magic wand, I would  turn back the clock, so that teens today would have the chance to experience a little intimacy (and romance) with another human being without the thought of walking a tightrope between life and death (or having the need to interrupt an impromptu passionate clinch for a second or two until rubber could be slipped on for protection).

By the way, the troupe eventually sauntered into Vancouver relatively unscathed.

Having spent a few months in the pretty seaside town previously (in Kitsilano at Point Grey) I jumped into the swim of things (no problem).

However, for Rosie - the sprawling sleepy B.C. town - was a big yawn.

So, his feet got itchy once again.

At this juncture, he got wind of the fact there was a drought back east (shortage of pot) so he hatched a scheme.

There was enough cash in his wallet to snap up a couple of bricks (lbs) of marijuana from a trusted cohort on the east side of town.

Eureka!

He quickly made the clandestine purchase, rented a hotel room, and began to break the stash into little baggies he figured he could sell at twenty-five or thirty dollars a pop in dried-up Toronto.

There also was another advantage in those days that drug cartels don't enjoy today that egged him on without worrying about any legal consequences.

In the early seventies, there weren't any security checkpoints at the airport (or body searches conducted)
to complicate the business-at-hand.

Consequently, a light bulb went on inside Rosie's mischievous little head.

He hired two pretty young ladies to dress up in upscale two-piece suits (a little reminiscent of those worn by stewardesses) and haul the hooch in their carry-on bags through the busy airport with staff being none the wiser.

While the mules sat at one end of the plane, Rosie perched at the other, keeping a watchful alert eye on his investment.

Just like a scene out of a movie, dudes!

Once the supply was quickly gobbled up, Rosie trotted back to Vancouver and laid down cash for five more bricks, then repeated the scenario.

I was astounded to learn from a mutual circle of friends later (I was in California by then and lost touch with Rosie) that ballsy Rosie was importing shiploads of marijuana and hashish into the country.

Now, Rosie was a major player in the illicit drug trade, operating out of a business front by the name of "Sweetwater" in downtown Toronto.

Whew!

I'd personally never be able to deal with that kind of pressure.

Even Rosie came close to emotional collapse on occasion.

For example, Rosie was known to dip into a stash and get a little  too high - at which point - the paranoia would set in.

I expect that when he met his contacts at rendez-vous points on those occasions, he imagined the Feds would be flying in through the doors and windows off of the rooftops to bust his butt,  at the drop of a tie-dyed shirt.

I later learned that the RCMP wanted to bust him earlier on, but elected to shadow him 'til the true identities (and whereabouts) of his high-level drug contacts could be secured before moving in.

Rosie's entrance into the International drug trade was due to a chance meeting with an American journalist by the name of Richard Stratton.

Originally, he sauntered into the intriguing picture to write a story for Rolling Stone Magazine.

Stratton and Rosie became thick as thieves.

"Rosie was charismatic and intelligent," recalled Stratton in one interview with the press.

"He had a belief in the marijuana subculture. It was a philosophy that he was actually living. He made moral choices and he was a moral outlaw. He was not a criminal."

Before long the two were launching "alternative marketing projects."

Richard had some big contacts throughout the US and Rosie knew world-wide suppliers.

In a nutshell -  product, a market, and an abundance of willing workers in the transportation end  - were the keys to their success. 

The cold hard cash started rolling in!

The dynamic duo mesmerized everyone they encountered as they charted their course;  indeed, along the way the charismatic partners managed to attract the attention (and kindship) of notable social, musical, and literary icons of the time.

What a charmed life they led!

At one point, members of the controversial Black Panther Party sauntered into Toronto, and scouted them down for local support.

It was not unusual to catch Pulitzer prize winning author Norman Mailer, poet Allan Ginsberg, and rock stars - such as Alice Cooper, Steve Miller, and members of the band "Free" - partying at Rochdale after concerts that were organized by mecurial Rosie and his merry gang of drugsters.

After one such show, it was widely reported in the media, that Rosie received a lifetime ban from a popular Japanese restaurant for allegedly pouring five grams of hash oil onto the grill while dining with Alice Cooper.

But, it all came to a screeching halt.

On January 8 (1974)  the Feds broke down Rosie's door -  snatched up the goodies -  and dragged the shocked hipster off to the local pokie.

He was charged with conspiracy to import a ton of hashish at Pearson International Airport.

Rosie spent a whole year in custody pending trial.

But, he didn't stand alone, in the aftermath.

DJ's at ultra-cool CHUM (rock station) continued to support Rosie on a regular basis as the case mounted.

Meanwhile, Rosie maintained he would never change his views on marijuana, regardless of the fact he was facing a long haul in prison.



Norman Mailer, the day after presenting an Oscar at the Academy Awards, appeared as a character witness at his trial.

"It is bad for karma and bad for the cosmos to put Robert in jail," testified Mailer.

"He should not be condemned as a common criminal. I look at him more like a modern day rapscallion rogue, like Errol Flynn as Captain Blood."

In spite of the glowing references, Rosie was sentenced to fourteen years in prison for conspiracy to import, and headed off to Federal Prison.

But, Rosie kept his wits about him, and adapted to life behind bars.

After being processed in the ancient inner sanctum of the Kingston Penitentiary, Rosie was transferred to one of Canada's toughest prisons (Millhaven Maximum Security Institution).

After a year, he was transferred to the Medium Security facililty at Collin's Bay, since he had no history of violence in his criminal record.

Steve Reid,  author of "Jack-Rabbit Parole," documented Rosie's arrival in print.

"Into the yard arrives a young, skinny combination of Albert Einstein and a Fabulous Furry Freak Brother. Before long he had most of us laughing with his great sense of humor and charm. He reminds me of a character from a Tom Wolfe or a Ken Kesey novel. He's a fun-loving trickster who always brings out the kid in everyone he meets. He very much personifies the Sixties, yet had no problem integrating into the stoic prison environment."

In 1980, after four years in federal custody, Rosie was released on an appeal after his lawyer - Ed Greenspan - successfully argued his case before the court.

During his incarceration, he managed to obtain his High School Diploma, in addition to a degree in Business Administration (Seneca College).

But, his personal life was in total disarray.

His wife and three children abandoned him, for starters.

And, since Rochdale had long since closed, it appeared there was nowhere for the notorious drugpin to alight.

As fate would have it, Rosie ran into former business associate, Richard Stratton.

Stratton's fortunes had flourished and his successful operation now spanned the globe.

The spoils of his endeavours allowed him to indulge in fast cars, loose women, and pricey streamlined Learjets.

Soon, Rosie and Richard were in league with each other once again.

Now the tawdry life and times of Rosie took a sinister turn down a treacherous path.

Through a Middle Eastern contact, the drug Kings arranged an eight-ton load of hashish to be shipped from war-torn Lebanon to the U.S. and Canada (with the assistance of the Christian Falangist Army).

Because of the nature of the transaction, the Israeli Army was contracted to undertake the mission which was not politically correct for Israel.

No questions were raised, curiously.

As the  old rusty trawler, loaded with eight tons of hashish and five-hundred pounds of hash oil, plowed  its way through the US Seventh Fleet enroute to New York, attentive eyes were focused on the clandestine operation.

It should be noted for the record, that the CIA had made arrangements for the military to turn "a blind eye" to the whole charade, with full co-operation of the Drug Enforcement Agency in the United States.

Once the cash was transferred to pay for the cargo the arrests were made.

In the final analysis, the Lebanese army got their money, and the police a high-profile drug seizure.

There was also a bit of a double-cross, though.

To the surprise of the agents who raided the dockside warehouses, only one-and-a-half tons of the original eight tons, were on hand.

Although demands were allegedly made for the return of the "stolen" merchandise, CIA  pleas were ignored.

Ah, no honor among thieves, eh?

Rosie again found himself fighting the state over cannabis products.

His lawyers argued that archaic prohibition laws were the problem, not him, or a harmless plant.

Rowbotham supporters packed the courtroom daily; oftentimes, a noteworthy celeb would make an appearance, too.

Canadian rock star Neil Young, for instance, appeared as a character witness prior to sentencing.

"These men didn't cross any moral lines," Young lamented.



"They didn't sell hard drugs and didn't hurt anyone. I smoke grass daily and I pay more taxes in a year than this whole courtroom combined."

In response, the judge openly criticized the popular crooner, in respect to his opinion on  pot smoking.

Federal prosecutors requested a life sentence and a stiff  $500,000 fine be imposed as penalty.

Rosie - old lucky Pierre - ended up with twenty years on the books.

Richard, was hard-done by, and was sentenced to twenty-five years in the US.

Facing alot of time on his hands, Rosie immersed himself in educational pursuits..

Between 1986 and 1989,  he completed a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology with honors, from Queens University.

Although incarcerated, Rowbotham maintained his commitment to civil liberties and social reforms and often challenged laws and set precedents in Canada's Federal Courts.

In fact, his  personal appeals and retrials were overwhelming in number and complexity.

Any number of law students would be able to recite Supreme Court Decisions summarily named thereafter in the lawbooks with direct reference to his case(s) as follows:

 "Regina vs. Rowbotham"

After an eight-year legal battle, Richard Stratton won his appeal and was released from federal prison.

In prison, he wrote a book titled "Smack Goddess".

Once he was a free man again, Stratton resumed his career as a writer.

Later, Richard married Kim Wozencraft, a former Texas Police Officer.

After refusing to falsify testimony (and admitting to using drugs herself in order to infiltrate the drug world) Kim was sentenced to one year in prison.

Her critically-acclaimed book "Rush" was made into a feature film.

Richard and Kim proceeded to launch a publication called "PrisonLife Magazine."

In addition, they produced a glossy hard-hitting publication dubbed:

 "The Voice of the Convicted"

Richard and Rosie re-united in order to give the publications an International flair..

Inside federal prison, Rosie became Canadian Managing Editor of "PrisonLife", for example.

"This magazine will tell people what really goes on behind bars. And it will prove that prisoners have a lot to say," the editors insisted in one of their first news releases.

"Prisoners have the right to hope, they have a right to opportunities that will enable them to change the behavior that led them to crime, and they have a right to re-enter society after they've done their time. Prisoners have a right to become welcome members of society instead of brutalized and brutal outcasts."

Shortly after Rosie took on "PrisonLife Magazine", a want-ad in the local Kingston newspaper piqued Rosie's curiosity.

A TV show produced by Kingston Cablenet called "CONtact" needed a new host.

Rosie was hired on and llater renamed the program "PrisonLife Television".

There was no looking back.

"PrisonLife Television" was structured as a weekly talk-show which focused on dispelling myths about the criminal justice system.

The crew and host of the show consisted primarily of prisoners on passes from area federal institutions.

Prisoners, wardens, politicans, lawyers, and journalists were some of the varied guests that sat in the hotseat.

One particularly informative episode dealt with the subject of "Sex offenders in Prison".

Dr William Marshall, an expert in the development of successful treatment programs for adult sex offenders, was a guest.

"To be separated from your children is a painful reality for prisoners. To be locked behind a fence, unable to reach out, when my children were so severely suffering, most certainly were the worst moments of almost twenty years of incarceration. My goal was to educate and be educated by interviewing Dr Marshall," Rosie noted in one interview at the time the show aired.

On October 6, 1997, the Kingston newspaper ran a front page article with the following headline:

 "Rowbotham Finally Free!"

After close to nineteen years of incarceration for trafficking in cannabis, Rosie walked out of Frontenac Institution in Kingston, to continue his sentence on parole at a halfway house in Toronto.

"I've had nineteen years to relax. It's time to get on with life," Rosie excited roared with enthusiasm.

He made such an impression with the producers of one show that interviewed him on the heels of his release, that they offered him a broadcasting  job at the studio.

For the first time in Canadian history, CBC National Radio was raving about an ex-con, who would  host a show which focused on prison issues.

His first three interviews were with his friend Guy Paul Morin, Chinese dissident Harry Wu, and a Professor of Economics (Michel Chossudovsksy) who conducted an expose on money-laundering.

The programs were an overwhelming success and received praise from both mainstream listeners and CBC Radio Executives.

Negotiations started up with HBO documentary producers for potential film projects, too.

Here is one of the last comments Rosie uttered during that time frame while riding high on a media storm.

"As always, I'm committed to my values and encouraging social change. This time not as a rebel, or a modern-day drug pirate, but as a member of the media. This country of ours is a great place to live, but we've always got to work to make it better. I've got lots to say and I'm not shy," concluded Rosie, with an infectitious wink and a smile.

Where is Rosie now?

News at 11!

Good friend Judith Merril resided at Rochdale!

(Jazz lover)

http://www.julianayrs.com

Blogging...Internet opens door to past. Dancin' Don resurfaces...

Many savvy surfers cruise the net to make new connections - in chat rooms, at blog sites, wherever - in the hope of expanding their horizons.

In recent days, I've come to recognize that penning a blog may also open up dusty doors into the past!

This morning, for instance, I was quite startled to find a comment waiting for me where I posted on an old vintage JOHN LENNON interview from CBC TV taped back in the late sixties. (www.julian1st.wordpress.com / October 26)

"I remember you," noted "Newbroom."

"You were Dancin Don. I was there with you. I went to the Rock 'n Roll Festival when John showed up with the Plastic Ono Band. Great memories. Nice blog, too."

Oh my Gosh!

Yes, before I moved to the United States many moons ago (to use an old hippie expression that seems appropriate at this heady moment!) I changed my birth name legally to the one I used on stage.

Before I was "Julian", I was "Don".



When I was teenager I was known for two things basically: wild curly hair and dancing.

And, for being an infamous resident of the legendary Rochdale College.


I was a street performer - and often showed up at major rock concerts around the country - acting out in impromptu skits or dancing in my own inimitable style much to the delight of stoned audiences!

Photographers used to scramble to photograph me; subsequently, I often ended up in the pages of slick glossy magazines and local throw-a-way newspapers (in the Vancouver mainland and metropolitan Toronto areas) in half-naked poses which flaunted ragged blue jeans, naked torso and bare feet.

In one of my favorite "portraits", a photographer caught me mid-flight - with back arched - against the backdrop of Toronto's futuristic City Hall (one of my favorite pieces of architecture).

One one occasion - I became notorious when I attended a rock concert on Baldwin Street - and was summarily arrested in a near riot while dancing on a police car.

A documentary filmmaker (Morley Markson) caught the whole incident on film and it ended up on the National News that evening on CBC TV.

Yes, I was suddenly catapulted into fame!

When I padded into court in barefeet, the police officer on the witness stand testified that I was doing something of a "war dance" (a quote from the Toronto Telegram news report) which prompted loud guffaws from all in attendance and a stern request from the Judge for "order" in the court.

An aggressive young criminal attorney - Clayton Ruby - convinced the Judge that it was actually the police who caused the disturbance.

Case dismissed!

I became a local hero, of sorts.

As a result, people familiar with my first name, referred to me affectionately as "Dancin' Don".

To others, I was simply "The Dancer".

That was a long time ago - so it surprised the heck out of me thirty eight years later - to get an e-mail from a total stranger recalling my former "persona" in the olden golden days!!!

But, that was not a lone occasion for the past to creep into my life of late, due to blog exposure on the world-wide-web.


A few months ago, I wrote a post on "Jackie Curtis" (the Warhol Star) who I became friends with back in 1974 in the "Big Apple" (NYC).

You may recall that Lou Reed wrote a lyric about Jackie in one of his big hits of the day.

"Walk on the Wild Side"

In that hit tune, Lou droned:

"Jackie was just speedin' away. Thought she was James Dean for a day."

Well, a few months after I published the post, I suddenly got an e-mail out-of-the blue from Jimmy Carnicia.

Back in the early seventies (!) I was involved in a provocative stage production - "The Magic Hype" - which was written and directed by Mr. Carnicia.


The zany high-spirited off-beat musical was a spoof on the Andy Warhol characters performed by the well-know local troupe, the "Hot Peaches".

Yes, I was once a "Hot Peach".

No comments, please!


Anyhoo, Jimmy saw the blog post, and contacted me through my e-mail address.

Imagine that, we were out-of-touch for over 34 years!

Wanna know the scary part?

Jimmy recently developed a web site in memory of the "Hot Peaches" - replete with old stills from the live shows - sure to rustle up nostalgic memories for fans of the "Hot Peaches" cast.

Oh my gosh!

He has a shot of "The Magic Hype" production, too.

There I am in tights, a sparkly outfit, wild mane of hair, and tons of make-up.

Gorgeous, dahlink!

Nope, you can never escape the past, and for good reason.

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.
(Edward de Bono)

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.
(J.M. Barrie, Courage)

Judith Merril...Sci Fi writer. A visionary talent!

Occasionally - when I reflect on the past - a few familiar faces pop into my mind and I am inclined to fondly recall old memories and good times.

This is particularly so, when I recall my friendship with Judith Merril.

A writer, editor, and critic, Merril was a major figure in the field of Science Fiction.

In the late 1960's, citing what she called - "the undemocratic suppression of anti-war activities by the U.S. government" - she moved to Canada to take up residence at Rochdale College.

When I was 17, I attended the controversial free college which was situated right smack dab in downtown Toronto.

At the time, the experimental school attracted a number of artists, musicians, and forward-thinking individuals.

So, when Judith Merril immigrated to Toronto (with a few draft-dodger friends in tow) in 1968, she chose 341 Bloor Street West as the place to alight.

Rochdale was not only an educational institution which focused on the arts and the humanities, but one which celebrated the very idea that the daily routine - itself - should be a vital living and breathing learning experience.

For this reason, Ashram accommodations were set up to encourage communal living.

By way of a shared common-room, communal kitchen, and unisex bathroom facilities, students were pressed into close quarters and forced to learn how to achieve balance and harmony in their day-to-day relationships with their peers.

In the early days, Rochdale prospered. In fact, it was a thriving, energetic, creative hub in one of Canada's fastest growing cities.

Theatre Passé Muraille - one of the most celebrated Theatre companies on the Eastern Seaboard - sprang from these humble origins - as did Coach House Press and a host of promising young authors in its charge.

I flourished at Rochdale, too.

In fact, when Time Magazine appeared one day to pen an article on the controversial college, they were so taken aback with my "cave" that they instructed the photographer to capture the unique setting on film to head up the feature.

Frankly, I was flattered; after all, Raquel Welch - the screen siren - was scheduled to appear on the cover of that issue.

In a short while, Ms. Merril settled into the Canadian way of life and soon became revered as a national treasure, of sorts.

As I recall, Judith was a bright articulate woman.

There was not only a beautiful light in her soulful eyes, but a persistent charismatic glow which constantly emanated from her sentient being.

The woman loved Jazz, chatting up friends, and being a part of the vital local scene populated by the top intellectuals of the era.

One day, it dawned on Judith that her collection of books had great value and should be shared. So, she donated the whole kit 'n kaboodle - about 5,000 books in all - to the Toronto Public Library.

Originally called the "Spaced out Library" - there are many connotations, I know - it was later renamed:

"The Merril Collection of Science Fiction, Speculation and Fantasy"

Her own highly-lauded literary works included: Shadow on the Hearth (1950), Daughters of Earth (1968), and Survival Ship and Other Stories (1973).

Known as - "The little Mother of Science Fiction" - Judith Merril burst onto the New York literary scene in 1948 with a disturbing story about nuclear radiation.

Merril’s contribution to science fiction was summed up author J. G. Ballard (Crash and Empire of the Sun) in 1992:

"Science fiction, I suspect, is now dead, and probably died about the time that Judy closed her anthology and left to found her memorial library to the genre in Toronto. I remember my last sight of her, surrounded by her friends and all the books she loved, shouting me down whenever I tried to argue with her, the strongest woman in a genre for the most part created by timid and weak men."

Judith - without doubt - was one of the first ball** ladies to make it in a man's world five decades ago!

Her writing reflected her passionate convictions; in fact, her inventive stories were rife with images of strong women and a society ripe with all its possibilities.

An admiring colleague once noted,

"Few people have the strength of will to act upon their beliefs, however deeply felt, but Judy did and in spades. She brought intelligence, wit, and relentless determination to every cause she espoused, and those causes were numerous and varied."

In "The Year's Best SF: 11th Annual Edition (1966)" Judith wrote,

"We erect tombstones for our dead relatives and build monuments to our dead leaders. When a beloved writer dies, we read his works, again. A writer, if what he says is worth the hearing, and if his skill is sufficient to make it worth hearing twice, builds his own memorial while he lives."

Although she was referring to Shirley Jackson, a colleague, many thought the sentiments - rightly so - were poignant thoughts that expressed best how many felt about Ms. Merrill herself.

One close friend confided,

"Judy touched the souls of countless people over the years and whether that touch was tender or a swift kick to one's motivational backside, it was always honest and honestly intended to help rather than harm."

And, her contribution to the science fiction community was exceptional.

In that capacity, she wore a number of hats: author, editor, teacher, media commentator, and upstart - too!

She nearly earned the title - "foster mother" - as well.

In the spring of that year when a negative element started to creep into the Rochdale, a number of artists started to move on.

Shortly after situating in a comfy little home in an up-and-coming section of town known as "Cabbage Town", Judith offered to be my foster parent since I was still a Ward of the State and not yet eighteen years old.

What an amazing thought!

My social worker toyed with the idea - but undoubtedly wrung his hands over the idea - sure the free-spirited bohemian Merril might liberate me to the point of no return.

Fortunately - for him - I opted to "Go West" with a handful of friends that spring and he was not forced to make a decision on the issue.

When I hopped into the VW bug to commence the long jaunt out to Vancouver (B.C.), I saw Judith's face for the last time as she merrily waved good-bye!

The image shall remain etched in my mind forever.

In 1976, Judy became a Canadian Citizen.

Shortly thereafter, she became active in the Writers' Union (Toronto Chapter).

At an annual Union meeting when members questioned whether people should write about other genders and ethnic groups, she allegedly exclaimed,

"Who will speak for the aliens?"

The debate was closed.

It's worthy to note that in her editorial introductions to books, talks and other writings - she actively argued that science fiction should not be isolated - but become part of the literary mainstream.

For a short period, Judith starred as the introducer ("the UnDoctor") for the Canadian offering "Doctor Who" (1978-1981). In broadcasts about six or seven minutes in duration, she presented short philosophical commentaries on the show's themes.

The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (renamed SFWA) made Merril its Author Emeritus for 1997.

Sadly, shortly thereafter, on Sept 12, 1997 - approximately twenty years after I first crossed paths with the "little mother" - Ms. Merril passed away of heart failure.

In contemplation of her death, she bequeathed a sizable sum of money to hold a celebratory memorial party at Toronto's Bamboo Club.

Ah, always the organizer, to the very end.

According to astute observers, Merril, "encouraged careers", "rattled more than a few cages", and "challenged many to look outside themselves and the world from a myriad of viewpoints".

Oh yes, she could jolt a person out of complacency with her powerful facility for words, which was a rare and precious gift.

Judith was a vibrant spirit, indeed.

Her intriguing personal life and illustrious career - which spanned thirty years - was filled with many fascinating twists and turns and highlights.

Ms. Merrill was born Josephine Judith Grossman in New York on January 21st to Schlomo S. and Ethel Hurwitch Grossman.

After her father's suicide during her grade-school years, her mother found a job at Bronx House - at which point - the family moved to a borough outside New York City.

Shortly thereafter, Merril's life was a spawning ground for alternative cultural and political movements.

For example, Judith first discovered the Trotskyite group - "The Young People's Socialist League" - in the late 1930's and became a member.

Later on, when her husband was in the army, Judith became involved with the Futurian Society. Other celebrated members included Isaac Asimov and Frederick Pohl.

Judith then landed a post as an editor at Bantam Books (1947-1949).

"That Only a Mother" was then published in "Astounding" in 1948.

"Mother" dealt with the issues of nuclear power and maternal love.

Concern about nuclear power, weapons, and war was an increasingly common theme in science fiction throughout the 40s-50s, but Merril handled the subject with her own inimitable style which won her a number of accolades.

As a result, Merril became a giant in the field of science fiction - proof positive that women were not only able to make strides in the arena - but capable of making important contributions to literature.

Ms. Merril's first anthology - "Shot in the Dark" - was published by Bantam in 1948. And, her first novel - "Shadow on the Hearth" - was later published by Doubleday.

With her career in full swing - she, Damon Knight and James Blish - proceeded to organize the first "Milford Science Fiction Writers Conference".

The conference became an annual event.

At this juncture - the first edition of "SF: The Year's Greatest" (an anthology) - was edited by Judith and summarily published to wide acclaim.

The annual series continued to publish for eleven volumes and displayed - according to critics - "a daringly eclectic taste that published work from outside the standard boundaries of the genre."

In 1965, the career plaudits continued; Judith, for instance, began tenure as a "Books" columnist for "The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction" (until 1969).

For a brief period, Judith followed up with a bit of a sabbatical. On a year-long stay in England, she gathered material for the "New Wave" anthology of works titled - "England Swings SF" - which was aimed at championing experimental fiction and stylistic innovation in the field.

In 2005, Science fiction scholar Rob Latham noted,

"Throughout the 1950s, Merril, along with fellow SF authors James Blish and Damon Knight, had taken the lead in promoting higher literary standards and a greater sense of professionalism within the field"...especially by establishing an annual series of writers' conferences in Milford, Pennsylvania, where Merril then lived. Manuscripts were workshopped at these avid gatherings, thus encouraging more care in the planning of stories, and a sense of solidarity was promoted, eventually leading to the formation of the Science Fiction Writers Association".

However, he did not ignore the fact that several - "disaffected authors began griping about a 'Milford Mafia' that was endangering SF's unique virtues by imposing literary standards essentially alien to the field".

Undoubtedly, those were "the cages" - people spoke of - that Judith rattled!

Poor babies...

In addition to being a founding member of the Science Fiction Research Association, she was active with the "Voice of Women", "Mensa", the "Futurians", the "Hydra Club" (founding member), "21 McGill Women's Club" (Toronto, founding member); "Elves, Gnomes & Little Men Chowder & Marching Society" (Honorary Member); and the "Witchdoctors" Club (NYC).

She was a remarkable dynamic woman - one-of-kind - and I miss her dearly!

Bibliography (partial)
Novel: Shadow on the Hearth, 1950
Novel: Gunner Cade (writing with C. M. Kornbluth as 'Cyril Judd')
Collection: Daughters of Earth and Other Stories
Collection: Survival Ship and Other Stories 1973
Collection: The Best of Judith Merril, 1976 ISBN 0-446-86058-1
Short story: That Only a Mother, 1948
Anthology: The Year's Best S-F, 1st-11th, 1956-1966
Anthology: SF12, 1967
Collection: Homecalling and Other Stories: The Complete Solo Short SF of Judith Merril, Edited by Elisabeth Carey 2005 NESFA Press ISBN 1-886778-54-X
Anthology: Tesseracts (editor)