Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • ... at sunrise. After inhabiting the Millbrook estate for a year I knew every branchlet, every dewy-eyed puddle, doe print, and goose turd on the entire Hitchcock ranch. Sauntering back from the watering hole at dawn I could smell their presence; the cavalry. One of them on horseback smoked a cigarette and waited for his chance. Helicopters and planes buzzed overhead. It was a strange experience to feel criminalized here -- a place that taught me the roots of consciousness, philosophy, and detachment from family-- the 20th Century! In measured minutes I would be whisked away from my Walden's Pond and shackled in my own Katorga prison. I was sixteen. There would be headlines. Screaming lurid tabloid headlines. My beloved Jewish family of clothiers shamed. My high-powered attorney step-father on call. League lawyers. Tim's lawyers. Acid lawyers. Civil liberty lawyers. Society lawyers. Mellon family lawyers. Tommy, Billy, and Peggy Hitchcock lawyers. I was in jail awaiting judgment. They shaved my hair off -- my red dreadlocks. The press, the courts, the wagging tongues were having a field day, but Timothy never batted an eye. We would get through this and then... California, the Brotherhood, and The New World awaited.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.