BUB the SPACE DOG

The treasures and artifacts not only existed in the Library at Williams College, but they were scattered throughout the Grand House.  The plastic flying saucer models, when not in use to guide the way of the saucers spinning about the universe while the space men were looking for a friendly place to make contact, would be installed in a line in a top cupboard shelf, and you'd have to pull a small ladder to get one down or stand on your tip toes if you were taller.

But in the drawer in the kitchen, the old wooden utensil drawer with a turned glass knob, was an envelope.  Dr. Hopkins and I had been talking to someone, and they had mentioned something about a dog.  And I asked, "Dr Hopkins has a dog?" because I'd never seen one in his house.  But it turned he had a dog that was in the kitchen utensil drawer.  And I said to Dr. Hopkins, "You have a dog here?"  And he nodded, and said "Bub."  (Bub?  I wondered?)  And Dr. Hopkins lead me into the kitchen and showed me where Bub lived.  Which was a kitchen drawer.  Well, this was interesting to me, because the dog was in an envelope, and Dr Hopkins slid out a little card holding a piece of black fur glued to it.  And he held it up to me and said "Bub."  Then he put it away.  Well, it took me awhile, but I did discover that Bub was a REAL DOG ONCE and HAD GONE INTO FLYING SAUCERS with his owner, who was a contactee, as well.  That guy whose name I forget now used to lecture about his trip into flying saucers somewhere far in the South and sell a little piece of fur from his dog Bub to the onlookers for a small bit of change.  And Dr. Hopkins had one of those, and THAT has been lost now to history because he'd been foreclosed upon and had to get rid of all his personal possessions, or maybe Larry Leon found it and threw it out for the garbage men after the estate sale.  But he's one of the contactees who was a visitor on the estate when Dr Hopkins held his flying saucer conventions as part of the Understanding Movement at the Claremont Hotel. 

When BUB made his trip into space, it was years before Laika actually went up, so we were still ahead of the Russians back then in space research in conceptual terms even though everything had a carnival atmosphere wrapped around it.   

1969 The Cosmic Connectivity between Sandy Archer and Miss Kim Revealed

It took me a very long time to determine what Dr. Hopkins meant in answer to my casual probe about how he approved Sandy Archer (Mime Troupe co-founder) as a resident of the large cottage, as he had replied, "Miss Kim." And he went on to elaborate as completely as he could, by saying that "Miss Kim came from the Orient". So, to make a long metaphysical story short, Dr. Hopkins selected Sandy Archer as a resident of the large cottage because of Miss Kim. (Because of the name "Archer." "Dr. Hopkins knew the Archers, who were ministers in the Universal Church of the Master... .") Asking the simplest question of Dr. Hopkins was a challenge to me, as well. When I was interested in learning about the estate and the history of the large cottage, and by extension its residents (both past and future), I made a simple first query: "How was it Sandy rented the cottage?" He shook his head, he didn't know. I persisted, "Well, where did Sandy come from?" (meaning how did she end up renting the cottage) He didn't know. I had to formulate a different question to prompt what I hoped would be the correct answer, "How was it Sandy found her way here?" (to which he then replied "Miss Kim").

Ed Leddy was a jazz trumpeter best known for his work with Stan Kenton, but Leddy also was a player at the Lighthouse and all the famous places that helped birth and nurture the cool jazz of the late 50s and early 60s known as West Coast jazz. He appeared on many lp's which were testaments of the shift from big band to be-bop. (The image on the right is Ed's own scrapbook of newspaper clippings of his music tours primarily those with the military.)

As one of the more curious coincidences, he'd played on one of the first jazz lp's I ever bought, West Coast Jazz in Hifi. At that early point in history in Los Angeles, my sister knew some jazz musicians, and coincidentally again was introduced to Ed Leddy who had given her a small can of rum babas, a confection that his aunt in New Jersey had mailed him on his birthday. This had to have been 1960 or so that I opened and ate the rum babas.

In 1968 or 1969, I didn't put together that I might have even heard of Ed Leddy until I saw Ed Leddy himself walking down from the manor house one day with a package. His aunt had sent him a birthday present, his favorite, a can of rum babas. What's more, the confection was put out by the same company, so it was an exact duplicate of the delight I had ingested nearly a decade prior. I was truly surprised when I saw that.

Ed had attended West Point Academy and played in the US Army bands. He toured around the world with them and played everywhere towards the end of WWII. Apparently he'd reenlisted after that as he was rumored in the mid-60s to be playing in the US Marine Band. He often traveled with them which is why he was so seldom seen on the estate. I remember seeing his scrap book on the table in Darryl's cottage once. His scrapbook is pictured above, purchased from Ebay by a military collector.

In 1969, a person Ed used to play with had recently died, and there was a record jacket near the turntable in Darryl's cottage. I noticed the title "Burrito Borracho" and Darryl and I laughed a bit about that as Borracho was the name of the character who Darryl was playing on a Mime Troupe tour.

Mostly the conversation drifted to Latins who make music and art, as "Latin" and "Mexican" was on the air with the Mime Troupe and an offshoot El Teatro Camposino as they were performing together at that time. And Darryl even was onstage once with El Teatro, back when the names of the characters were identified by signs hung around the necks of the actors. And Johnny's record aside from the copy we'd just listened to was nearly destined for the scrap heap drowned as it was in the oceans of rock music being released, as was a recording called Cuban Fire which was similarly doused and one which would likely never again see re-release until some music historian took interest. So the conversation that afternoon was something about the transience of art.

The West Coast jazz scene of the early 60s had nearly disappeared with the bursting popularity of rock and roll recording, with Los Angeles nearly as the hub. Most jazz players who wanted to continue with jazz relied on European tours, some relocating permanently to Europe in order to play jazz regularly. Other jazz musicians took on jobs playing television and sessions and tours with rock and roll bands who needed musicians to actually play the music. Ed survived by touring and playing with the US Marine Band.

Because we shared an interest in a particular delicacy, I told Ed about a wonderful restaurant called the Balabosta down on University near Mandrake's, the blues and jazz club. I had the idea he might want to stop into Mandrake's sometime to catch some of the major jazz that was pumping out of the club. I ran into him at the Balabosta one time, each of us seated at different tables covered with red and white checked cloths. We each had set before us a small dish of their famous chocolate baba a rhum.


http://www.jazzwax.com/2007/10/somethng-else.html
Retrieved: 7.30.11

Ed Leddy: Jazz Trumpeter

Darryl's cottage was quite large, an unpainted wooden structure with steeply pitched roof covered in forest green tarpaper. The great room boasted an ancient gas furnace which was never that I recall used, as that would have been futile because the room was wrapped around with windows. The floor of was covered with an equally ancient huge single piece of linoleum of indeterminate well-worn design, nailed in place around the edges and peeling away from the walls. That was layered with large braided woolen rugs or rugs with floral borders acquired on various thrift store outings. Furnished with couches, upholstered side chairs, occasional tables, and bookshelves with books and papers falling into each other.

The outside door led directly to the great room. A hard right turn from the entry door carried visitors into the kitchen, which was large enough to hold an ample kitchen table and three wooden table chairs all set beneath the window which afforded a view of the shrubbery outside. And a 1930's gas stove with a sink next to it set into a short wooden counter with shelving underneath for pots and pans, an area that was covered with thin curtains held in place by small brass curtain rods. There was a small gas wall heater in the wall of the kitchen that adjoined the bedroom, which was farther to the right through a door. That was at a different level because of the natural geography of the estate, built as it was on a hill, so you had to step up a stair or two into a small hallway and two steps carried you past the shower and bathroom facilities and on into a bedroom expansive enough to hold a bed, looking glass in a standing frame, two dressers, large woven baskets with lids containing clothes. That room, too, was wrapped on two sides with windows, under which on one side had built-in large cupboards and shelving.

Another cottage, set almost directly across the estate on the southern edge of the grounds, was much, much smaller and more primitive. This structure truly was ramshackle in appearance, and despite framed windows and a small step up porch under a small covered porch roof looked to be a building that had originally been erected to hold gardening tools, but which over the course of time had been improved and expanded upon. This small unpainted wooden cottage, no bigger than ten foot square, with a door once painted blue was the rental residence of a mysterious resident who was seldom seen on the estate. Squeezed inside was a bed, an easy chair with reading lamp, a small dining table with one chair, a stove for cooking and heating. There was a kitchen sink and towards the back, though I never saw this area, was the bathroom and shower. The tenant who was seldom seen was Ed Leddy. Ed lived on the estate for some undetermined number of years, certainly from 1966 to 1971, who knows how many other years on either side of that span.

Dr. Schoenfeld's Visitors to Williams College: Timothy Leary 1969

If realtors now marketing the estate want to enliven their spiels about Williams College with colorful figures drawn from history to pass along interesting tales about those days of yore, they might mention Dr. Timothy Leary in quick passing.

He walked around the grounds once.

You can play prospective buyers Country Joe's 45 on a little turntable and sing along with the intro before you tell them the whole story:

"Have you heard the tale of Dr. Hip?
(He's a pip!)
Though the common cold might rule you
And the whooping cough might fool you
These are nothing for the famous Dr. Hip
(Doctor Hip!)


Dr. Schoenfeld at the time he was in residence at Farley Hall was also the Timothy Leary family's physician. When Dr. Leary came to the East Bay to run for governor of California which developed into a prolonged speaking engagement, the series now known as the Berkeley lectures 1969, Gene invited him up to Williams College. Gene recalled to me (7.14.11) that when he gave Timothy and Rosemary a tour of the grounds, they said the estate "reminded them of Millbrook."

That's what I mean about mentioning Tim Leary in passing. That's all there is about Tim Leary and Williams College because everything else having to do with him happened elsewhere.

Although in 1969, Dr. Schoenfeld served as a consulting editor for The Psychedelic Review and may have read the publication at his residence. I must remind the current reader that although Gene knew Dr. Leary, early on Dr. Schoenfeld found himself at growing odds with Leary's prosylitizing.

And as for the colorful anecdotes, try to work in this one. Paul Krassner recounted one of his typical big fuzzy tales from the era that he pinned to Dr. Schoenfeld, though that particular event occurred after Gene moved from Williams College, it can show that Gene was influenced by his proximity to theater people while on the estate:


"speaking of Gene Schoenfeld's pranks, when Tim Leary was in prison and supposedly revealing secrets, a press conference was held in Berkeley to denounce him; Gene came dressed in a kangaroo suit (it being a kangaroo court, y'see) and a cream pie he hoped to smush in Jerry Rubin's face, only it had Saran Wrap on it and with his kangaroo mittens he couldn't remove it and his plot was foiled (but if he had
used ALUMINUM foil...)"

For a real-life account of why Dr. Schoenfeld disguised himself in a kangaroo suit and boxing gloves, by all means read Harvard Psychedelic Club by Don Lattin (Harper-Collins, 2011), pp. 200-201.

Just try to imagine Dr. Hip in motion with a cream pie. But you don't have to imagine what the podium looked like, because here it is, with Leary's associates discussing their doubts about his credibility.


(from inkwell.vue.168 : Paul Krassner: Investigative satirist
permalink #158 of 301: Paul Krassner (paulkrassner) Thu 12 Dec 02 11:00
http://www.well.com/conf/inkwell.vue/topics/168/Paul-Krassner-Investigative-sati-page07.html#post158
Retrieved 7.15.11



http://books.google.com/books?id=yNylsx9HD28C&printsec=frontcover&dq=harvard+club&hl=en&ei=xDcuTvOMNZCgsQP2tIgT&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CDUQ6AEwAjgU#v=onepage&q=gene%20schoenfeld&f=false
Retrieved 7.15.11

Jerzy Kosinski, Professor of Sociology at the Polish Academy of Sciences (1955-57) Dines at Williams College

In compiling a list of the illustrious people who visited Williams College in the sixties, or who found themselves strolling about the grounds in some way, in just glancing at the names I sometimes puff myself up with self importance and allow myself to boast to myself about all those many famous people I've encountered in my life, or at least back in a time when the social lines were wavier and there was a bit more freedom of social movement.

What follows is drawn from a series of recollections that I put together in 1999 in the hopes that some theme would emerge to allow me to make a point about something, and the incident I am describing occurred nearly thirty years prior. Remember, this is a small incident in a small city that had massive political protests nearly every day then and much thumping of heads with nightsticks and all the real violence was meted out as punishment and handed down by the authority figures nearly every day.

That's pretty much what was going on down near the University every day at the time I met Jerzy Kosinski.

Perhaps partly as the result of such recent external stressers and the prolonged effects of tear gas on my system, as an unfortunate though temporary consequence I was moving into a state of anti-social behavior at that time, which presented itself as not knowing what to say in conversations I'd listened to over recent meals, and whatever might have happened in the way of political or social upheaval at the University campus was soon followed by a dinner party at the estate.

This gathering assembled downstairs in the building which in more ancient times had been used to house the estate's peacocks in inclement weather. I had been seated next to Jerzy Kosinski, who was in the area for some polo or dressage competition across the Bay. Dressage, if I need to explain is a very elite and expensive form of equestrian competition, far more demanding back then than now. The young hostess dedicated herself to that exacting and, I again remind you very, very expensive discipline, a form of training steeped in history and ritualized competition of specialized movements, which she devoted herself to wholeheartedly and it was nothing to be sniffed at.

So Jerzy was there. Jerzy was garbed in a tan, nearly military-looking outfit, with epaulets and high banded collar. The cut of his jacket was a bit stiff in appearance. Though utilitarian tan in color, the cloth had a luxurious expensive sheen, and was from an expensive imported and polished cotton or a gabardine.

Although I was seated next to him at the table, there was little conversation between us. I know where I was at, I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. But he did not have a lot to say to any of us at the table. Either he was moody or we were obviously too "alternative" or "poor" or some of us "Berkeley" for his tastes. That’s why I have to tell you what he was wearing.

At that time, I had read a few things by him, and though "The Painted Bird" was the most famous of his achievements, I wasn’t about to talk to him about that.

I had several years prior read his semi-autobiographical novel, "The Painted Bird", a book which brought the everyday realities of war to light in such sheer creepy savagery that I could not for the life of me bring up that topic at the dinner table.
I remembered the cover of that edition being a painting taken from Hieronymous Bosch, as if to hint at the unimaginable hell held between the covers, so Hieronymous was off topic for me, too.

That evening, Jerzy was a bit difficult for any to engage in conversation over dinner. He gave off weird vibes, I thought. He didn't want to connect with anyone, it seemed to me. He kind of gave me the creeps, I recall that impression distinctly but I assumed that was because of where I was at.

In learning more about him since, he kind of survived by moving through life insulating himself by staying mostly in the company of the immensely wealthy. He may have been disappointed that he'd been invited to an opulent and expansive estate and was forced to dine with people who weren't his real kind of people, and the home cooked meal although a perfectly roasted beef and potatoes was served at a kitchen table in a side building. This gathering had nothing whatsoever to do with Williams College as a school, and I mention this encounter only because I am name-dropping famous visitors to the estate, the artists and creatives and the literati, especially those during the sixties when I was in residence who'd I'd actually broken bread with if not shared a few words with.

Up to this time, Williams College only claim to real literary fame was carried on the shoulders of Irving Wallace who had attended the writing school at Williams Institute back in the '30s. While enrolled there he had an imaginary interview with a thoroughbred racehorse and sold his first story to Horse and Jockey for five bucks. His book "The Chapman Report" had been given another life on the big screen as a popular movie of the '50s. Irving Wallace. No comment from me that evening, not on Irving.

I am the first to admit that Kosinski did not so much put pen to paper at the dinner party at Williams College. But his presence there, which was unknown to me until I'd arrived for dinner seating, can with a bit of imagination fall in to the realm of odd coincidence. I was as I said in an anti-social mood, also in part because I had recently eavesdropped on a late-night conversation in Buddy's Cafe, at the corner of 10th and University. Buddy's was close in vicinity to the local racetrack, and offered a Racetrack Special (a breakfast for 99 cents) designed to appeal to the habitues of the ponies. Even though I knew from reading beatnik histories and could offer up a colorful remark on Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady hitting the track at Golden Gate Fields, I could find no opening to allow me to extemporize on this theme. And the fact that another resident of the estate actually snagged a part-time job as a cold walker in the very early mornings at that very racetrack off I-80. So I didn't talk horses.

Anyway, I was in an anti-social mood because it seemed theworld was falling asunder all around me. There was all that crap going on around the campus, which I had to go to every day for classes. Then while having a cup of coffee on a workbreak late one evening, I'd quite recently overheard John Fahey at Buddy's Cafe telling ED and Gloria Denson something about how people in the Manson family had come up to Berkeley and had visited the offices of his record company. I couldn't hear all he'd said, but as I was seated at the counter, hearing a bit about this, even the name Manson, my blood began running cold. I remember turning around to see who was recounting this story, just as the narrator pronounced, "And everybody caught the clap" and I vividly recall the angry expression flashing across Gloria's face.

The coincidence is that Jerzy Kosinski himself had narrowly avoided what would have been a much deadlier encounter with this group, and that story was just beginning to circulate as well. So I couldn't in any way bring that up as a topic of conversation at the dinner table, either. I just didn't know what to say to Jerzy.

All of this followed directly on the heels of an ill-timed comment I had made at work one evening. A remark which was made in a humorous way and tossed out casually in public. My comment, as I was joking around with another waitress as we'd been asking each other the typical introductory question of the time we each heard dozens of times each evening, "Hey, what's your sign?" In so doing, we determined we were both air signs or had some astrological connection or similarity, which was followed by a playful observation on my part, "Wow, we're sisters of the zodiac". A person overheard this comment about "The Zodiac". Likely being a person who was influenced by the newspaper headlines of the day, the eavesdropper left the premises and summoned the police. The following evening as I reported to work, my boss was obliged to direct the detectives to me to listen to my explanation.
And as this was a fresh experience, the significance of which I was still digesting, I couldn't work it into dinner table conversation, either.

I should have called this post "Dasein" as that would have been a nifty literary allusion to the working title of one of Jerzy's more famous works. But also because "Dasein" basically is used to describe a person’s current state and time of existence and I have been trying to describe where I was at that particular moment in history.



http://www.johnfahey.com/Blood.htm
Retrieved 7.8.11

Leviathan

The Floating Lotus Magic Opera Company were in the process of moving out from the estate.

I would miss seeing Leviathan, the bus they'd used.

I was a poor, struggling student at UC Berkeley in 1969. I was working my way through school wiping spilled beer off the tables in a tough blues club. I was so lucky to land a job. I was lucky to even find a place to lay my head at night, as in Berkeley rentals were hard to come by with only a 1% turnover in vacancies. And if you found a place, the rent would be steep. So I was lucky to find a little place to rent.

Don't think so? Take a look at this show of the John Hopkins Spring Mansion.


See that skylight at the top of the thirty foot high atrium?


That's where the saucers first descended for Dr. Hopkins.

Charles, the Handyman

John Lithgow's old enough now to play Charles effectively. Do you think we can get him?

Dr Emiliano Lizardo and Williams College: John Lithgow Visits the Estate

Most of the "parties" I went to were more like "happenings" and those were the parties I enjoyed most. I admit I have been invited to a few, very few what I would call "Hollywood" parties and by friends who were well intentioned and thought I could fit in, but I never felt comfortable at "celebrity events". I could tell you about those few, and how I tip-toed around trying to avoid looking at or talking to anyone I might happen to recognize as a "famous person". If I were to sing songs, or engage in pleasantries, or try to be amusing, I would just embarrass myself. I simply cringe and shrink in such circumstances, and if the room is full of more than three people as it usually is at such gatherings I become tongue tied and just want to disappear into the wallpaper. So even if I had an invitation, which I did albeit very few, I usually wouldn't go to these things.

I'm just used to being around a different kind of person. The absolute most fun I had at a gathering where someone was going to become famous was in the Berkeley hills, where I was living at the time, and it was around Halloween in 1969. It had to have been Halloween, because some costumes were involved. I'd been enticed into walking up the hill to the party because someone had just returned from England, and I thought it might be an actor I knew. But it turned out to be a completely different actor just back from England. He seemed quite proper, you see. Dressed in a harris tweed sport coat and white Van Heusen shirt.

And he, a brother of someone on an extended visit there, was quite well educated I'd heard, from an unnamed Eastern school (as no one would admit to going to Harvard in Berkeley then, not after Timothy Leary and few would admit to Yale after those weird Milgram experiments had been published and written about again recently). So he'd attended some unidentified yet prestigious institution of higher learning, but I figured it was one of those two.

And one guy, who might have been part of the Floating Lotus Magic Opera Company, because the party was in their old rehearsal area, showed up with some real deer antlers roped to his belt and he was in conversation with this very proper brother of one of the people visiting there.

My lasting image, shot by the video camera of my memory, is this: The two men standing there, with drinks in their hands: one with antlers roped to his belt as a belt buckle of some kind and the other dressed in a Harris tweed sportscoat casually standing and chatting to him. And sometimes the guy with antlers leaned a little close, to speak over the music, and the guy in the sportscoat would put his hand on the antlers just to protect his abdomen. Once for a prolonged moment he actually held a small prong between his fingers as if to better anticipate a sudden move.

And then the music got a little better and everybody began dancing, including the guy with antlers on his belt and the guy in the sportcoat pranced a bit with someone else on the floor. So others of us start making antlers with our fingers to our heads and spinning.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Now that was a fun party, you see. No pretensions and everyone had fun.

Only later did I learn the guy in the sportscoat was becoming a famous actor on Broadway, and only years later did I finally see him in a film in which he played Dr. Emiliano Lizardo. And that was just beyond perfect, you see, given the location at the time I first met John Lithgow, which had a landlord who communed regularly with space beings by going into a trance and singing to them.

That was the strangest place I'd ever lived anywhere 'til then. Every one and every thing nearly every day was always a bit strange there. But that strangeness soon became an everyday thing. I think I'll concentrate on a wonderful movie yet to be made about the estate. John Lithgow can play Charles, the handyman found somewhere in the Arizona desert, who also communed with space beings between fixing plumbing problems on the estate, who would as he wrapped a pipe with teflon tape tell how he'd invented a carburetor for automobiles that reduced gasoline consumption to nil but that invention was stolen away from him by some secret government agency in collusion with an insidious industry. (The same one that controls the timing on traffic lights to make us use more petrol when we drive about? I would ask. He tilted his head absorbing what I had said, and I suspected he thought so.) And that movie, every single bit of it, would be drawn from real life.



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_lithgow
Retrieved 7.1.11

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across Eight Dimensions
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buckaroo_Banzai
Retrieved 7.1.11

At the estate, Mr. Hopkins, the land lord, made every important decision by consulting a mustard seed. I would see him in his office, holding a chain containing the glass ball that held his mustard seed high up, over the important documents he was considering. A contract. A bill that was asking for money. A letter from someone.

He made his decision on how to act by the directions the mustard seed gave him. Sometimes it made a cross. Sometimes it revolved in a big circle all on its own going left, other times right. Sometimes just back and forth. But he always knew what the oracle was saying to him and made his decisions accordingly.

Unexplained and Unusual Happenings

Sometimes, the mustard seed pendant just spun wildly on the chain seemingly of its own accord. In these instances, there would be no movement of the crystal from side to side. There would be no movement at all at first. The chain was straight and the crystal unmoving, just a quick refraction of a beam of light caught from the drawing room window, then the crystal began vibrating a bit as if having been given a nudge, then rotating slightly all the way to the left soon spinning around and around and around, going faster and faster, picking up speed as it went, twisting the chain into itself, then the chain unraveled as the crystal began revolving in the other direction. And many times it took awhile for the crystal to completely stop all movement which meant the question had really been answered and for the crystal to be tucked away in a pocket with a small "Ummm" uttered or sometimes merely a silent nod of understanding, but always done with a willingness to accept the oracle's directions. Sometimes the "ummm" had the slightest upswing at the beginning of the sound, to denote pleasure like the oracle's pronouncement had promised a really good outcome.

The first time I saw this happen, Charles was perched on the edge of a velvety wingchair in the office as Mr. Hopkins held the chain aloft. Sometimes, because of the manner in which Mr. Hopkins made decisions, it took a long time for him to make a decision to act and spectators or those awaiting a simple order could grow weary. When the crystal paused as if poised immobile for a moment, as if making up its cosmic mind, then began revolving in the opposite direction, Charles shot me a quick glance as if to say, "I told you so" or "I was right about that", as if the crystal was giving us all understandable verification of that cosmic truth that he also knew how to read and he seemed to assume that I might even know what the question was that had been asked: Charles should go repair that faucet now or Mr. Hopkins was free, let's say, to proceed on his errand to town.

Personally, I came to have experiences with other even stranger occurrences at the estate.

One early morning, I was walking quickly up the hills through the estate to make my way to the small private road at the top for a quick stroll among the eucalyptus so I might better invigorate myself for the coming day. I had rounded a corner at the mansion and paused momentarily to regain my breath. I glanced towards the coach house, which was in a direct line of sight through the drive that was covered by the porte-cochier.

There was a large rock in front of the coach house doors. This is the truth, now. The rock was larger than Mr. Hopkins's old black Cadillac that he parked next to another car for every day use in the old coach house. The rock, actually, was larger than those two vehicles as it nearly covered the entire span of the coach house doors. Well, I didn't know about that, you see. I was fairly certain I hadn't seen it there the previous sunset, or I would have easily noticed it then. How did it get there? What was its purpose? What's the meaning of this apparition?

I wanted to find out about this, and I approached the small side door to the mansion which led into the kitchen. I had just stepped up onto the doorstep and was prepared to knock and I was thinking of what I would say to Mr. Hopkins about this ("Oh, Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. Say ... there's a big boulder in front of the garage door") when Mr. Hopkins himself pulled the door open. He was wearing his striped bathrobe over his trousers and shoes, and already was wearing a white shirt and I could see the top edge of a knotted tie. His sudden appearance surprised me. I actually said, "Oh, Good morning, Mr. Hopkins" and then the words just froze in my throat and I just inexplicably stopped. He just looked at me for what seemed a long strange moment and did not say a word. I did not say a word. Then he pulled himself back inside and closed the door. I stared at the door for a moment.

What? I said to myself. After I finished staring at the door, my eye followed the bell rope up to the top as if were throwing my eyes to the heavens and begging for an answer of some kind. At that time on the estate, there was still a bell and rope next to the kitchen door, a remainder from an older era when housemaids might need to be summoned from the massive expanse of the interior to greet a deliveryman. Who needs it, I said to myself.

And I went back to the edge of the drive to where I had first seen the boulder through the porte cochier, and looking through again, I even bent a bit to gain a clearer line on the edge of the outlines, and, yes, the boulder was still there. So I was wondering about these events, and put my hands in my pocket, and walked back and forth a bit kicking small clumps of grass at the edge of the drive, deep in contemplation. I admit I felt a bit nervous about this event.

When I saw the small door open again and who should step out but Mr. Hopkins himself, who was now wearing his suit jacket. In an event of this magnitude, and everything about this seemed momentous, I was certain Mr. Hopkins would have summoned Charles to assist in some way, but I was quite wrong.

Mr. Hopkins walked straight out from the small door and veered to the right and took two long strides. As he walked, and the object came into his full view, he raised his arms slightly to his sides as struck by disbelief.

Mr. Hopkins was a slightly rotund man who stretched the fabric of his suitcoat; even the back of his jacket was a bit taut, but held small imperfect wrinkles as if he'd sat in the seat of the Cadillac too long on one of those many drives into the far away desert. He stood there staring at the bolder with his own eyes. His arms were still lifted slightly at his side. He shook his own head in disbelief, or in small annoyance at what to him may have been a small harmless prank, I couldn't tell. Then he gave his head another more vigorous shake as if he were ridding the back of his neck of some small drop of water that had remained on his nape hair from the morning shower. He dropped his arms to his side and began walking towards the coach house, this time his was a more casual stride like, "you little devils". Then he stopped and stood stock still for the longest time.

Well, I was frankly tired of watching this display because I'd watched him with the mustard seed and knew it sometimes could be tedious, taking Mr. Hopkins a long time to make a decision and then to act, and I was going to be late for the bus that carried me to school.

So I left, and went to classes for a few hours and returned home into the hills on the old number 7 bus that propelled itself up through the steep grades of the Berkeley Hills, after making a harrowing spin at the round about traffic circle. I hopped off the bus slightly north of the estate at the bus stop as I always did, and made my way back to the stairs for the entrance which on Arlington was still marked with a brass placquard announcing entry to Williams College. I had been gone four, maybe five hours counting the bus trip.

I walked again up the hills in the estate, with a purposeful stride, determined to find out the truth of the matter. When I encountered my friend coming down the hill who always parked her small volkswagen at the edge of the drive where I had been located when I saw the bolder that morning. And I was sure she must have seen it, so I picked up my conversation with her nearly where I had left off with Mr. Hopkins earlier in the day, "Say ... what do you make of that boulder in front of the coach house?"

And she said, "What boulder?"

What the .... ? Was she kidding me?

What boulder, I nearly laughed in derision. We'll see what boulder.

"Well, we'll just have to ask Mr. Hopkins or Charles about this when we see them," I tried not to be snide. "Let's go!" "Come on, it's just a little walk," I tried to be encouraging though I was getting a little miffed when I remembered what she'd just said, 'What boulder?' What boulder indeed, and I would walk a little faster and more determinedly.

We made our way back up the hill, and I was not about to explain an iota about the morning's activities. She tried to make idle chit chat as we journeyed up the hill and I grew impatient and just ignored her. I let her conversation turn into a monologue. She was prattling on and I paid no attention whatsoever to what she was saying. I was going to let her see for herself, and with luck hear for herself what Mr. Hopkins had to say about it all.

When we reached the top, looking down the drive again to the coach house through the port-cochier, things were back almost to as they had once been. The boulder, the immense boulder that would have taken a crane and a flatbed truck to remove, was gone. But not only was the boulder gone. The doors to the coach house were open, and both the Cadillac and the every-day automobile were missing, which meant likely so were Mr. Hopkins and Charles and likely for days. But even this was unusual, as Charles always closed and locked the coach house doors. It was obvious they were gone, and that they had left in a hurry.

And my friend said, "I guess they left."

Now I had a new question, "Where'd they go?"

Dr. John W. Hopkins Digs For Buried Treasure

Mr. Hopkins sometimes waited a while to make up his mind. He had the ability to wait patiently until the mustard seed informed him the universe was in agreement with a movement or an action he was considering.

At some point between 1966-1969, the lady with the volkswagen who rented a small cottage began experiencing plumbing problems and backups and had regularly reported these difficulties and inconveniences to Mr. John Hopkins, who was landlord.

As a consequence, Charles, the estate's handyman, was often a visitor to the cottage during that period, as the plumbing difficulties seemed to have no solution nor was the cause easily discernible in any way.

Which is why I was not surprised one morning to discover Mr. Hopkins and Charles slowly wending their way down from the mansion with Mr. Hopkins holding his pendant with the mustard seed.

"Oh, they're on their way to fix that problem with the shower," I said to myself as I waved hello.

Nor was I at all surprised to eventually find a huge hole dug on the grounds between the mansion and the cottage, where I'd seen the landlord walking with his handy man.

Well, actually, I had been surprised to find that hole. Because previously, before the hole appeared (and again suddenly, within a day, as if by magic), one evening I had begun walking up the hill with the idea of looking at the panorama of city lights from a viewpoint.

The woods were strange that night, and there was a bit of wind kicking up, and I tried to push up along the small trail and ignore the strange sensations I was feeling (which if I were put into words would be, "Go back! Go back!").

I simply decided the weather had suddenly turned too inclement and the evening too dark to continue my simple walk up the hill and so I returned to my own place.

The next day, when I mentioned this event to the lady with the volkswagen, when we were beginning to talk in general about how strange the vibes had become around the estate over past the day or so, she sat up suddenly in her chair and said, "When? What? Mr. Hopkins said the saucers were visiting here last night!!!"

And, truthfully, I didn't know what to make of a statement like that.

So sometimes I'd give the mansion a funny look and tip toe far around the edges as I came down from where we were obliged to park at the edges of the road far above.

I would often arrive rather late at night, or actually very early in the morning. And I'd wind my way through the darkened grounds and usually could find my way even in the dark when it was clouded over because I had a small flashlight. But on this particular evening the batteries gave out so I'd put the flashlight away in my pocket to have two hands free to better grope my way through the dark. In the dark sometimes, even though I knew the paths, I could sometimes go astray and get a bit turned around. As I was indeed doing, that evening in 1969.

As I walked, I sometimes was forced into longer strides and gained unexpected momentum, propelled a bit too fast due to the incline. Because of a bit of a skid I had gone into and because I had bumped up against a tree trunk, I knew I was off the path and turned around.

I was pushing small branches apart and out of my way, stepping back and trying to peer through them to better see what I hoped would be the outlines of the path, when my gaze went towards the shadowy outline of a large hump of dirt, one that was newly appeared in the once familiar geography ... which in the dim light and because of my recent loss of balance and growing apprehension seemed to be escalating from unusual to weird if not slightly strange.

At nearly that precise moment, when my perception was shifting from "unusual" to "weird", I saw a flash of light coming from somewhere inside the mound. After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, as time was nearly as frozen as I had been immobilized by wonder, there was another flash of light.

And I confess I couldn't help but think of all that flying saucer business, the orbs darted into my mind and flew about, and the outlines of the mound, which had once seemed merely an unusual silhouette in the dim light could now be regarded as the outlines of a crater of some kind.

So I crept forward slowly, inching my way step by step as it was dark and I didn't want to so much as brush a twig or make a noise in any way. Holding on to a small sapling to steady myself and gathering courage to move on in the dark, towards the blink! (long pause) blink! And my heart was nearly in my mouth when I peered over the edge and saw a construction horse with a blinker still going, which must have toppled into the hole when the edge had collapsed a bit.

I stared into the large hole, and said to myself, "So that's all it is." And I decided that Mr. Hopkins and Charles had begun work to fix the plumbing problem in the cottage and that's why they'd been walking with the mustard seed.

Days would elapse and I later encountered the lady who lived in the cottage, and I would say, "I guess they're fixing the plumbing" and mention the big hole, which was still there, though changing course day by day, as if they were trying to find a hidden sewer line.

She'd laugh and say, "Oh no. Mr. Hopkins said Charles is digging to find the hidden Filipino gold."

I would sit there stunned and my first response would be utter disblief: "That's ridiculous!" I'd think to myself, and then I'd wonder in spite of myself, "Where'd they get that crazy idea?"

And another day on the estate would continue.

I moved to Williams College (the large manor house was also known as Spring Mansion) on the No. 7 Arlington bus with my impedimentia, a large pullman suitcase and a tasteless small duffle bag. Later in the afternoon the move was completed with the assistance of a friend and his pickup truck to carry those heavier boxes filled with records and books. All accomplished on a warm summer's day in June of 1969. I made my entrance up the stairs directly from Arlington Avenue, the walkway and stairs separating into two near identical parts a tall stucco wall that could at casual glance because of the overgrowth of greenery appear to be contiguous and so the stairs between completely remain unnoticed, despite one wall bearing a brass plaque announcing the general location to be Williams College. Before I write so much as another line, I feel obliged to make two emphatic points here.

The first, that I believe when assembling the "missing years" of Williams College, those fuzzy around the edges and near indefinable years when the college found itself under the tutelage of Dr. John W. Hopkins, a history which must be filled out and completed because the official history thus far stops abruptly with Cora Williams as if not knowing what to say about any of this that followed and so leaves a huge blank for all those intervening decades until such time as 1975 arrives when a rich real estate mogul appears and buys the place and is fawned over as the new very wealthy owner, for the time that Dr. John W. Hopkins was in residence as President of Williams College, the responsible historian must and should rightly assume the respectful and highflown tone of Ms. Daniela Thompson, Berkeley historian, as she has here outlined the breathtaking history of the original immensely wealthy inhabitants, John Hopkins Spring and his wife, Celina, whose predilection for the opulent made the Spring Mansion physically what it is to this very day.

I will remind historians here of their duty to the future reader and with some firm but gentle insistence because the college as it functioned under the benign auspices of Dr. John W. Hopkins, then President of Williams College, did continue to flourish despite all outward appearance in the genuine spirit and tradition of Miss Cora Williams herself. What came to be known as Williams College, founded shortly after her purchase of the estate in 1917, as you might know, was originally the Institute of Creative Development and was dedicated to the study of languages, poetry, music, and literature. In reality, this is the first college that devised a course of study and became dedicated to what has become known since as the New Age.

Dr. John W. Hopkins and his associates as devotees themselves often acknowledged that concept as the philosophical underpinning of their continued research and often employed the phrase "New Age" in their own writings.

When reading or researching any history of this time encompassed under the name Williams College, please feel free to allow your mind to wander and perhaps try to imagine what these times and people may have been like and feel free to make your own associations.

When I was there at Williams College, also assembled in cottages and living spaces scattered throughout the grounds of the estate having been selected or drawn to the college in some mysterious way and now residing there as a direct result of Dr. Hopkins's benevolence, were musicians, artists, dancers, theatrical troupes, respected men of science, scholars, devotees of physical regemines, and even a young person or two who by sheer accident of birth had themselves been descended from families of greater than usual inherited wealth. All brave, courageous, and sturdy types in their own ways and naturally possessing or acquiring as they grew into life the fiber and character required to assume the challenge of moving into a completely unknown and as yet unexplored New Age of being. And so, I argue here, the types of persons on the estate had essentially remain unchanged from the founding of the college by Miss Cora Williams and again in the time I am writing of, when Williams College was administered by Dr. John W. Hopkins.

The second point I need to remind the reader of is this: Williams College under the auspices of Dr. John W. Hopkins glittered like a rare and occult gem, often unnoticed and unrecognized, tucked away as it was among other mansions in the Berkeley hills, much in the same way the metaphysical or paranormal sometimes is veiled from public view. As such, the Spirituality of the place, with its attendant occultism, or ethereal metaphysical, or downright paranormal, and most certainly the more common every day garden variety versions of the unique, startling, or strange were nearly diurnal in occurrence there, and that is true to this day for almost every person who resided there at that time in 1969, as the place appears in memory and dream to this day for those who resided there. Williams College also, importantly to me at least, was a place of what could be regarded as eerie coincidence, sometimes an immediate collision of events, and others with the beginning of the coincidence occuring far in the remote past and concluding at some point in time far in the distant future. But eerie coincidence.

Dr. John W. Hopkins, President of Williams College and Landlord

Dr. John W. Hopkins was President of Williams College and he, and his aged father (who I believe was John O. Hopkins) resided in the John Hopkins Spring Mansion. They were originally from Indiana, I have learned, where the elder Mr. Hopkins had made his fortune selling bicycles. In the time I am writing of, beginning with June 1969, Dr. John W. Hopkins had been in residence at and had likely been President of Williams College since the early 1950s, if not before. I base this on a conversation I had in 2001 with a former newspaperman and his wife, who had lived on the estate from 1945 to 1954, during which period they recalled that Mr. Hopkins was their landlord.

If I were an historian, I would call these entries, "The Spring Mansion: The Missing Years (which encompass those five decades the estate was known as Williams College to its residents)" but before it was purchased by a real estate speculator in 1975, but I can only account for the years 1969-1971, plus a suspected single blip during the period 1945 and 1954)"

In 1945, after his military service concluded at the end of the great war in Europe and VJ Day in the Pacific, and no longer a merchant marine on convoy duty, one Philip Small, a graduate of the University of Chicago whose career in journalism had been delayed by World War II, relocated to California with his young wife Audrey, who on a trip to America from her native Britain at the onset of the war was advised by her father to remain Stateside as her safe passage home could not be guaranteed, which she did do and matriculated with a degree in English from the University of Chicago. The young couple moved into a small rental cottage in the Berkeley Hills on the grounds of Williams College. He'd a new civilian job, reporting and writing for the Berkeley Daily Gazette newspaper, and Audrey worked at the U.C. Library. Phil passed his spare time with wood carving and Audrey passed hers writing poetry and making elaborate string figures such as the cat's cradle, a folk art which involves story-telling while fashioning the string figures. Audrey since has published several books of poetry and string figures. In 1954, the Smalls moved from the cottage because their family numbers were increasing and they needed a larger space for their children.


During the decade following the great war, during 1945-1954, the Smalls, residents then of a small rental college in the Berkeley Hills, experienced plumbing problems and reported these difficulties and inconveniences to Mr. John Hopkins, who was landlord. Many years later, at various times between 1966-1969, my friend with the volkswagen rented that same cottage, and she, too, experienced plumbing problems and backups and had reported these difficulties and inconveniences to Mr. John Hopkins, who was landlord.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

Dr. John W. Hopkins and "The Music of the Spheres", 1969

Dr. John W. Hopkins and "The Music of the Spheres", 1969.

This lecture was held at the beautiful and nearly brand new Hotel Miyako in San Francisco, which had just finished completion and was opened for business in 1968. The Hotel Miyako had been written about and advertised in Bay Area newspapers, one of their suggested rental possibilities advised availability of space for scientific conventions.


Dr. Hopkins called "The Music of the Spheres" the "Huisoc" and implied it was a ceremony. I am not certain of the spelling of "Huisoc" in English as this is a word delivered to Dr. Hopkins from the space beings in a language only he and they understood. But the name of the ceremony involving the "music of the spheres" was pronounced by Dr. Hopkins as "WHEE-sock" (with the first syllable "WHEE" emphasized, and the following syllable "sock" de-emphasized and somewhat swallowed as was the tradition of some spoken languages indigenous to Native American cultures. I am taking a liberty with linguistics by spelling the word "Huisoc" with the first syllable "Hui" pronounced as in "Huichol" (the metaphysical tribe in Mexico).

After a substantial catered dinner of sliced beef Au jus and tender squash in butter sauce served by pleasant waiters to all those seated at dining tables spread with brilliant well starched tablecloths, in a banquet room downstairs at the Miyako Hotel in San Francisco, the ceremony began. As I recall, large bouquets of flowers were placed about the room, and at least one fresh bouquet was set on every table. Altogether, there were no more than ten tables with no more than six people each at each table for this event.

First was an Invocation by Alice Bailey, which was printed out, and handouts, though few in number were passed around, so people shared the sheets of paper. These were mimeographed copies, the text displayed in purple ink. Mr. Hopkins in a deep voice recited the Invocation, while others read silently along. As I recall, Dr. Hopkins had selected his favored passages from the Invocation and I don't believe it was the entire Invocation as shown below, but I'm not certain which stanzas he may have excluded or included though I am tempted to say any stanza devoted to "light" was recited.

(The Invocation I should explain was The Great Invocation, a mantra given in 1937 to Bailey by Djwhal Khul)

THE GREAT INVOCATION
Through Alice Bailey and Djwhal Khul

Let the Forces of Light bring illumination to mankind.
Let the Spirit of Peace be spread abroad.
May men of goodwill everywhere meet in a spirit of cooperation.
May forgiveness on the part of all men be the keynote at this time.
Let power attend the efforts of the Great Ones.
So let it be, and help us to do our part. Stanza One 1935

* * * * * * *

Let the Lords of Liberation issue forth.
Let Them bring succour to the sons of men.
Let the Rider from the Secret Place come forth,
And coming, save.
Come forth, O Mighty One.

Let the souls of men awaken to the Light,
And may they stand with massed intent.
Let the fiat of the Lord go forth:
The end of woe has come!
Come forth, O Mighty One.
The hour of service of the Saving Force has now arrived.
Let it be spread abroad, O Mighty One.

Let Light and Love and Power and Death
Fulfil the purpose of the Coming One
The WILL to save is here.
The LOVE to carry forth the work is widely spread abroad.
The ACTIVE AID of all who know the truth is also here.
Come forth, O Mighty One and blend these three.
Construct a great defending wall.
The rule of evil now must end. Stanza Two 1940

From the point of Light within the Mind of God
Let Light stream forth into the minds of men.
Let Light descend on Earth.

From the point of Love within the Heart of God
Let love stream forth into the hearts of men.
May Christ return to Earth.

From the centre where the Will of God is known
Let purpose guide the little wills of men -
The purpose which the Masters know and serve.

From the centre which we call the race of men
Let the Plan of Love and Light work out
And may it seal the door where evil dwells.

Let Light and Love and Power restore the Plan on Earth.

Stanza Three - 1945
Retrieved 7.14.11 http://www.greatdreams.com/invctn.htm

The traditional invocation was followed by a small inspirational talk by Dr. Hopkins, which was delivered with some warmth and intimacy to the audience. He was, after all, an effective public speaker. And the feeling generated throughout the room and generally felt by all was that a benign event was about to unfold from this atmosphere of kindliness, gentleness, and that Dr. Hopkins felt some real affection for the beings he was about to contact.

Dr. John W. Hopkins prepared himself at the podium and soon fell into a trance which allowed him to communicate with the space beings. With eyes closed, he began singing the "music of the spheres", which was sung in the language that only he and the space beings understood, and so I find difficult to describe. His singing (as this was melodious song and not repetitive or echoed or prolonged chant) continued for at least ten minutes, perhaps longer as I had neglected to keep track of chronological time in any way.

When his communion with the space beings had ended, at least for this point in time, Dr. Hopkins, with his eyes still shut, shook his head several times as if to clear his head from this dizzying experience, as if he were pulling himself back to earth after going into trance. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times as if to pull this plane of existence into better focus, and sweetly smiled at the audience and delivered a deep, satisfied "sigh" as if to say, "That was wonderful, wasn't it?"

In 1969, Dr. John W. Hopkins advised me that "Miss Kim" had come "from the Orient."

In 1969, Dr. John W. Hopkins advised me that "Miss Kim" had come "from the Orient."





Young Oon Kim joined a new church and accepted its divine principles after meeting Rev. Moon in a private residence in Seoul, Korea in 1954.


"Miss Kim was the first Unification Church missionary to America and she, more than anyone else, shaped the character of its earliest community. In this sense, a history of the Unification Church in America begins with her story. The story of the Unification Church and its beginnings in the San Francisco Bay Area is not that of a single missionary venturing thousands of miles from her home. It is rather the story of a community of believers* transplanting themselves from rural Oregon several hundreds of miles down the coast to the urban environment of the Bay Area. The nature of this community, its struggle to survive, and its attempt to spread its message is the content of this story.

(Visa Problems)
In March, 1961, the three month extension Miss Kim won in December was ready to expire again. By this time, though, she had met Dr. John W. Hopkins, President of Williams College in Berkeley. 25 He had arranged to have Miss Kim give several lectures in conjunction with the "School of Metaphysical Inquiry" there, and on hearing of her visa situation, wrote a letter to the Immigration Office explaining that Miss Kim was lecturing at his school and couldn't leave. In this way, the second crisis was averted, and Miss Kim's visa was extended until July 31, 1961.

Miss Kim was pressured by the same problem in July but solved it in a markedly different way; on the 10th, she was ordained at the Universal Church of the Master.

As she put it,
Dr. Hopkins had explained the advantages of ordination in forming a religious organization in America. I had never intended to be ordained, even though I had been offered the opportunity to become a Methodist minister in Korea and was fully qualified . . . I wanted to be, rather, a dedicated layman. It was now necessary, however, for our group to be legally recognized. 26

Dr. Hopkins knew the Archers, who were ministers in the Universal Church of the Master, and requested that Miss Kim be ordained. They, in turn, contacted Dr. Fitzgerald, President of the church. Out of respect for Dr. Hopkins, he agreed to consider Miss Kim. After prayer, the issue was resolved to the satisfaction of Rev. Archer, and Miss Kim was ordained. Her visa was thereby extended until the following March.

Because her stay in America involved the constant strain of securing temporary visas, Miss Kim decided in December, 1961 to investigate procuring a permanent visa. She consulted Drs. Hopkins and Fitzgerald in January and went to the Immigration Office with her lawyer to inquire what was necessary for a permanent visa application. Essentials included academic records, ordination papers, and the charter of the corporation for which she was ministering.

(Friends and Foes)
(The Occult Milieu)

Dr John W Hopkins. President of Williams College in Berkeley and himself an occult enthusiast, Dr. Hopkins offered Miss Kim not a dramatic prophecy but a chance to speak. The following announcement from his school's monthly flyer of March, 1961, well illustrates the openness of the occult milieu to new revelations:

Wednesday, March 15, at 8:00 p.m., a lecture by Young Oon Kim, B.A., B.Th., B.D., of Korea on: The Divine Principles. Miss Kim is a teacher of the New Age, giving principles from Divine revelation as taught and verified by her from a Master teacher (whom she will reveal in her lecture). She will give a history of her Master teacher and show his direct revelations pertaining to the end of this civilization or the last days of it and the ushering in its place of the New Age . . . Miss Kim shows further, as is explained also by her book, "The Divine Principles," how her teacher reveals the Divine schedule of Cosmic restoration including fallen mankind . . . The New Age will bring one world, one religion, one language, and other unities as well as perfect harmony of spirit and of body. 31

Spreading the Word
The next public talk attempted by the group was Miss Kim's March, 1961, speech at Williams College's School of Metaphysical Inquiry. Given wide notice in the school's March flyer, fifty-two people attended. As a result, it was arranged for Miss Kim to teach a regular class, and the school's April flyer announced her lectures.

Unfortunately, this effort repeated the pattern of the Lions Club. John Lofland reported:
Those interested had . . . apparently heard enough the first time. Not a single person appeared for Lee's [i.e., Kim's] first class, and the rest of them were canceled. 55

Among the most important friends of the Unification Church movement during this period in the Bay Area were the loose associations of those involved in what has been termed the occult milieu. Describing themselves, according to one account, as "students of metaphysics . . . seeking enlightenment in the higher spiritual realms," this subculture included a broad cross section of American people, though with a preponderance of middle-aged and older women. 29


For description of Williams College, see Lofland Doomsday Cult (Amhurst College), pg. 69

(Directly quoted from A History Of The Unification Church In America, 1959–74 - Emergence of a National Movement
By Michael L. Mickler
Chapter Two
To The Bay Area: 1960-63
The Community
(Visa Problems, Friends and Foes, The Occult Milieu, Spreading the Word)