Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

There are lots of things I did as an adventurous Somerville youth in the 1960s and 70s. As I look back now, some were very dangerous and careless. As I have said many times before, I am glad my kids don’t read my articles. Here are three stories of daring, crazy, and silly episodes in the life of a Somerville boy growing up in the era of Vietnam, hippies, and long hair.

By the year 1969, I was a full-fledged hippie. My hair was long, and I wore beads and sandals. I had started hanging around with a few anti-war protesters from Harvard Square. The weekend of May 1, 1971, there was to be a huge anti-war rally in Washington, D.C.

I still don’t remember what fib I told my parents, but I took off for the entire weekend. My belief in the anti-war movement was so strong that I was willing to take the punishment that my parents had waiting for me when I returned.

We piled into a Volkswagen bus driven by an older hippie named Bob. He had a full beard, headband, and wore tie-dyed shirts. On the long ride to Washington, all I remember was eating homemade natural peanut butter. We arrived at the area around the Washington Monument, and I had never seen so many people who looked like me in one place before. Every time a news camera was pointed my way, I turned my back. It would have been just my luck that my father would see me on TV and freak out. He referred to hippies as “dirty, filthy pigs.”

I felt like I had really done something meaningful after attending that rally. I was grounded for two weeks, but it was worth it.

Back around the winter of 1970, my friends Richard, Lynda and I were rabble-rousers at Somerville High School. We had started a group called The Committee of Concerned Students, and put out a bootleg school newspaper called The Inside Agitator.

It was very cold, and the Ski club was planning a trip up to North Conway, New Hampshire. If my memory serves me correctly, the place they were going to stay at was called The Iron Mountain Lodge. Well, we had our duffel bags packed with Bud and Ripple, and snuck onto the bus. We got bagged and were tossed off.

We yelled obscenities as the bus pulled away. We then headed for Route 93 and stuck out our thumbs. We got rides right away. I think the reason we were picked up so quickly was that we all had shoulder-length hair and we looked like three girls. Anyway, one lady who picked us up actually took us for pizza.

We got back on the road, and this part is great. The three of us were actually sitting on the steps of the Iron Mountain Lodge as the Somerville High School Ski Club bus pulled up. I will never forget the look of anger and disgust on the teacher’s face. It was one of the best weekends of my life.

The trains running through Davis Square were both thrilling and very dangerous. We hung around down off Cedar Street near the old International Paper Company. I had a friend who convinced me that we should “hop a freight.” Like a nut, I agreed.

He had done it before, so he gave me a quick lesson on the fundamentals of freight car hopping. The train approached, and it was going pretty slowly. My friend, who was in front of me, ran alongside an open box car and grabbed on and pulled himself aboard.

I did the same thing. We gave each other a high five and sat in the train watching the scenery go by. All of a sudden, the train started to increase speed. My pal said we should get the hell off in a hurry or we would end up in Bangor, Maine. He told me to watch carefully as he got off the rolling train. He lowered himself down and ran alongside for a few seconds and then let go. He ended up standing. I wasn’t so lucky.

I lowered myself so my feet were ground level, ran alongside for a few seconds, and then let go. I hit the ground in a somersault and continued bouncing and rolling in the gravel and dirt for about 20 seconds. I was cut and bruised from my head to my toes. My friend ran over to me and said, “You didn’t do it right, man!”  I said, “Ya think?”

These three tales of youthful foolishness are just the tip of the crazy iceberg. I am sure you all have some thrilling stories of those wacky days when you were growing up in this awesome city.

Today, the most daring thing I do is try to cross College Ave. to mail a letter. But I will always have those great memories of my crazy days.