When I was 13 my parents decided it would be fun to take us boys to New York City to see a Broadway show. The hottest and most controversial one on the Great White Way was Hair, an irreverent musical about the burgeoning peace movement and hippy culture we were just starting to see and take part in. My parents got tickets and told us we’d be going to a Wednesday matinee. When I went to school to let the teachers know I’d be out that day, my friends were stunned. I was informed there would be nudity in the play – no minor issue for an adolescent like me. So I was going to see real naked women! The day came and I’ll never forget before the play started there was a young actor with a beard and Afro walking around the back of the seats wearing nothing but a jock strap. This was going to be great! So the musical began. I had heard the LP several times so I was familiar with most of the music. Aquarius, Easy to Be Hard, and then finally Where Do I Go. Then the lights went out and there was a man dressed in a policeman uniform and flashlight that shouts out that this is a raid and everyone must leave the theater at once. The audience laughed and appauded. Then the lights came on — it was intermission. I knew the nudity had to be coming in the second act. Under the marquee outside, I stood next to my father who was lighting up his filtered Kent cigarette. “So,” he said with a wink, “what did you think of that last scene, huh?” All of a sudden it hit me. Was that last scene, the one I frankly didn’t pay attention to, the nude scene? When we came back for the second act, I was hoping they’d be another one. But alas, there was not. Apparently to make it so children as young as 12 years old could attend the performance, there were some specific guidelines the producers had to follow: low lights, no stripping off clothes (it was done under a sheet), and once they were all naked, there could be no movement on stage. That’s why everybody laughed when the policeman came out. I was so disappointed. When I got back to school the next day, in a lame attempt to maintain my coolness, I told my classmates it was really “Boss,” which meant it was awesome. Of all the hippy traits, the ones I emulated were bell bottoms, a shell necklace, and I did grow my hair longer. In fact I don’t recall visiting a barber more than three times in high school. As for naked hippies, I never saw a single one during this whole time. Maybe they were out there, I just wasn’t paying attention!

NEXT UP – The Birthday Party