Well, I wasn’t yet old enough to vote, but I had a job and shared a fifth-floor apartment in Boston. During the day I dressed as conservatively as my college-girl wardrobe would allow (I was a dropout at that point) and went to work at an insurance company. At night I let my long hair down, put on a shift and sandals and some beads, and went out to be a hippie.
I could easily find huge crowds of people my age, on Boston Common, on Charles Street, in Harvard Square, on Cambridge Common, and along the river. People brought guitars and made music, sang Bob Dylan songs, lit candles and read poetry, passed joints to strangers, greeted everyone as a friend. You didn’t have to smoke anything, just stand around and inhale. If you had food, you shared it. God, it was fun. What a great time to be young.
At the time I had no idea why we looked threatening to neighbors and cops. I can see it now, but from inside the crowd it just felt light-hearted and mellow. It hadn’t all turned ugly yet, but that was coming.