It was late spring, 1970, and the weather was already feeling summer-like. Peace and love were in the air. I had taken the PATH train from Jersey City to Greenwich Village’s 8th Street stop with a classmate from my high school senior class.
Walking past incense-scented head shops and stores filled with tie-dyed clothing, we found people expressing themselves with their hair, their clothes, and their uninhibited behavior. As we approached the Astor Place Cube, my classmate remarked, “You know, you can do anything you want in New York City!”
Just then, we spotted a bearded, long-haired man walking towards us. He was totally naked. My classmate affirmed, “See, you really can do anything you want in New York City.” Within seconds, three NYPD cars rushed in and slammed on their brakes. Two cops jumped out of one car, grabbed the naked man, and tossed him into the back of the squad car. The three cars sped off as quickly as they arrived.
I turned to my classmate and countered, “Well, maybe not anything.”
