On the Road in the 1970's

With all the discussion about the new movie,  The Monuments Men, I was reminded of conversations with Fred Pleasants in the early 1970’s in which he referred to the fact that after the WWII he was part of a group getting all the stolen Nazi art back where it belonged. A little poking around on the www revealed that he had most certainly been one of the Monuments ( I think that’s what they were called then) and had been in charge of the Munich Distribution Center and was also part of the group that earlier drew up plans for the government to remove art treasures to safer locations if need arose.  I wrote to Fred’s nephew, and in response to my asking if he had had any stories, said that he had heard that Fred had put the Holy Hungarian Bent Cross Crown on his head. 

I'll forward you a photoshopped version when I get it done.

A few days after that, the Getty Museum published this article about their collection as it related to the Monuments Men.The Art of Search and Rescue At the top of the article was a picture identifying Dr. Frederick Pleasants in possession of the 40,000th painting that they had dealt with there. I posted a comment on the site and they responded asking for more information about him, as they had none, but liked the picture..

So, who was Fred, anyway? In my life’s story, meeting him was the second life-changing encounter through hitch-hiking in less than six months. Early in 1971, while I was staying in Albuquerque, I had met Edward at the Union 76 Truckstop where I-25 crosses I -40. Three days later I joined him on last leg of his westward hitching journey, destination The Haight, San Francisco. That led to a Spring in a top floor collective apartment just at the edge of the Golden Gate Park, inhabited by a fringe group of The Cockettes known as The Angels of Light. There are some videos (NSFW) on YouTube. 

A short pause while I return from the whirl of memories associated with that crazy time and those crazy people. Food stamps were a basic, many people in the house had convinced the welfare program that they had mental problems that made it impossible for them to be employed, thinking they were pulling off a great hoax. In fact many of them were unemployable. Did I mention that they were all radical queers with a penchant for free street theater?  Back to Fred.

Edward and I left the city and hitched across the country to the Northeast Kingdom in Vermont to set up tent-keeping in woods at the edge of property owned by friends of Edward.  After a few months of unsuccessful attempts at finding a way to support ourselves, we had worn our welcome thin and had agreed that if we couldn’t find something in the way of work that day we would have to pull up stakes and head to Ohio, where I had a welcoming friend.  We were hitching on a dirt road several miles from any pavement heading up across a pass to a neighboring town. A new light green Mercedes sedan was taking Fred to some property he owned along the way, being driven by his “man” Stanley Spurgis. Before we parted company he had asked us to come and mend some decorative fencing along his driveway in Greensboro.  The next morning we walked and hitched the four or so miles and arrived exactly at the appointed hour,  apparently falling right into line with what Fred thought was appropriate.  It was months before we got around to mending that fence and in the meantime he introduced us to a whole circle of people around Caspian Lake who had summer camps, cottages, and castles which needed care.  In addition to that he had a shack on his property cut up in pieces which we were able to load onto a friend’s truck, drag into the woods and reassemble with the walls a bit taller on a new platform. We got in just after the first snow had fallen. No water, no electricity, an Ashley Auromatic wood stove, 12x12 tar-paper shack. It was heaven. Or, with all the snow, at least like being in the clouds.

By the time the next winter was rolling around, we had passed the hut to a friend who moved it yet again,  hitched to Tucson and back to Vermont with an 80 pound dog for a visit with Fred who then arranged for housing and employment for the two of us at The Arizona Inn in Tucson.   From free-range hippie to liveried servant was a yearly cycle for a while, with a month or so off in either direction to cross the country. Eventually we settled into Tucson.  Fred died in 1976.

The wheels set rolling by those two hitch hiking experiences are still in motion though friendships and affinities and shared histories and remembrances of the far too many no longer with us.

[ I wrote this while staying here while in town to attend a memorial party. Taking a little break on the patio , I fell into conversation with Lauren, my hostess at the AirBnB rental. She self identified as a neo pagan and so I asked her if she knew anything of Sig Lonegren, a good friend who writes and teaches about all things geomantic. It turns out she had a serendipity encounter with Sig in 1984 that changed things dramatically in her life in a way that still resonates today and had visited him a few years ago in Glastonbury.  Sig is Fred’s nephew. You can’t make this stuff up. ]