II V 4' 4
THE DAILY MAGAZINE
Sunday, November 22, 1970
Sunday, November 22, 1970
THE -MICHIGAN DAILY
and shortly die there"
oliday time is
Holidays ahead, and you'll
want your family's clothes fresh,
clean ready for the fun and fes-
With, short har .. .
Continued from Page 10
and told me not to even bother getting a haircut - I was persona non
I was ready to head back up the Spanish coast when another reject
mentioned to me that he was planning to take-a ferry that night to Ceuta,
Spanish Morocco. Ceuta, being Spanish, has no regulations about hair.
Folks rumored that one might be able to cross the border there into
Morocco without seeing a barber. The rumor must have gotten around,
for when the ferry left for Ceuta that night, there were several hundred
passengers aboard. By quick count, about half of them boys with long hair.
Will hie make it?
When I arrived at the bus station in Ceuta ready for a trip to the
border, I found myself with about 25 long-hairs of various nationalities.
Several had already tried to cross the border and had been greeted by a
number of guards brandishing scissors. A Moroccan was offering this
motley crew his services in sneaking them across the border, for a small
gratuity - about $7.50 each. While the group was discussing the pros and
cons of the proposed venture, including the possibility of being caught
and tossed in jail for seven years, two English fellows and I decided to
take our chances with the border guards. My hair, for instance, was not
as long as some and I had hope of getting past in the dark of night. The
enterprising Moroccan came with us, apparently sensing a deal and some
dough in the making, and we all grabbed a bus to the border.
On the bus we were approached by a wild-haired, French-speaking
Canadian wearing a flaming red ski sweater and a string of tiger tooth
beads, who assured us we'd never make it across the border legally without
losing our hair. He then offered to sneak us across a pass in the Atlas
Mountains, several thousand feet high, and into Morocco for free. To
my amazement the two English fellows agreed to go with him and began
to get off the bus, until the Moroccan stopped them at the door and
explained that the Canadian was half mad and a thief. After leading his
prey up the mountains, the Moroccan claimed, the Canadian attacks and
robs them. It is sometimes difficult to know whom to believe; the
Canadian had already warned us about the unsavory character of the
Moroccan. It seemed best at the time to simply try to cross the border
in the conventional manner.
A half hour later I had made it across the border - hair intact and
passport stamped. My two friends hadn't been so fortunate and were
forced to barber each other under the watchful eye of one of the guards.
With my hair brushed back to look short in front and window bars obscur-
ing the view of the guard, I had only one moment of crisis: when the
guard discovered the invalidated stamp on my passport, he glared at me
suspiciously, asked "Pourquoi, monsieur?" I told him the first thing that
came into my mind: that I had asked to have the stamp invalidated, since
I had decided to enter Spanish Morocco first. The guard looked puzzled,
stared at me some more, and then waved me through. When he finally
saw the back of my head where my hair is quite long, he called at me in
French; I shrugged my shoulders and pointed out that I was standing
In the meantime Nancy had
gotten sick from the e a r 1y
stages of heroin withdawal.
She threw up twice, in the
bathroom. She was trembling
from the nausea and her ear-
lier friendliness turned into
"Hey, you gotta give me the
money now. I'm too bogue,
man, to screw you now," she
said. "You talk too damn
much. Give me the money,
I gave her $10 and she left.
The next day was a crisp,
sunny Wednesday. Darryl
woke Richmond and' me with
his pounding on the door and
yelling. He told us a kid that
he called "Spade Dave'" h a d
stolen his driver's license, and
that he wanted us to help get
Darryl was shrewd. I had
persuaded him that we could
Nancy got sick
from early stages
of heroin with-
d rawal1. She threw
make a whole lot more money
if I stayed off heroin. But he
wanted some insurance. I'd be
a soul brother if I helped beat
up someone who had done him
wrong - and I'd be on his side
of the law.
Darryl showed us b r a s s
knuckles and his knife slipped
inside heavy combat boots.
"I'm going to cut that little
nigger into pieces," he said.
"There won't be enough left
to stick a needle into."
We trailed along to Spade
Dave's apartment where Dar-
ryl kicked open the door and
sent Spade Dave's girlfriend
"He ain't here," she saidI
fearfully. Sherwasa beautiful
girl, a prostitute who made
$300 or more a week for Dave,
who also pimped for his sister
and his wife. "He's in jail,"
she finally said as Darryl
threw a Scotch bottle against
the wall. "The pigs got him
We tramped back down the
stairs and Darryl found a pay
phone to call the W a y n e
County jail. Spade Dave was
there, picked up on suspicion
of breaking and entering, a
ruse used commonly by t h e
police to hassle junkies. We
figured the cops would h o 1 d
him for 24 hours, but we were
We spent the afternoon in
a bar, waiting for Frank and
listening to Darryl complain
because the television set was
gone. "Hey, I just remember-
ed," he laughed suddenly.
"This is the bar that I ripped
off last week. Hey, I took the
goddamn TV a whole god-
damn week ago and they ain't
got a new one yet. Those cheap
Frank didn't show. We
found out later the FBI had
captured $1 million worth of
heroin that afternoon on De-
Continued on Page 16
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