Thursday, July 12, 2007 at 1:01am
Alice's life after the Restaurant
Column: Spiritual Psychology
Alice of "Alice's Restaurant" is back in town — and she's still cooking. Not cooking food but cooking up her current life as an artist.
Alice Brock's story was featured in the 1969 film "Alice's Restaurant," starring Arlo Guthrie. The film became a metaphor for an era. At that time young people were "dropping out," disaffected by the Vietnam War, the draft, hypocrisy, and an uptight American society bound by restricting conventions. A group of counterculture teenage and "20-something" drifters searching for meaningful identities found their way to the home of Alice and her husband, Ray, in a deconsecrated church in Great Barrington, Mass.
Then Alice opened her famed restaurant just up the road in Stockbridge, where, as the hit song written and sung by Arlo Guthrie said: "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant."
I recall the film with great nostalgia. So you can imagine my delight last Friday when I heard the tail end of an interview with Alice on Northeast Public Radio about her art show and reception scheduled for Saturday and Sunday at The Bookstore in Lenox, Mass., just a mile from my farmhouse. I jumped into my car and headed for The Bookstore to get the details. It was my lucky day. Just after I entered the store, a lively and energetic Alice arrived to go over the arrangements for her reception. We chatted briefly, and I decided to come back the next day to interview her.
When I arrived on Saturday, it was a mob scene of admirers, many with memorabilia from the '60s that they wanted signed. Others were viewing and purchasing her artwork and recent book, "How to Massage Your Cat"; and still others were just seeking to recapture fond memories of their youth that Alice's presence evoked. An interview was impossible. The Bookstore owner told me to come back on Sunday at 3 p.m. to do the interview when things would be winding down. I did, but it was the same scene. I waited till 4 p.m., when the reception ended. But still, the hanging-on groupies crowded us. So we slipped across the street to the Olde Heritage Tavern for a quiet tête-à-tête.
As we crossed the street, we were greeted by two "60-something" bikers and a number of their friends. Alice commented that they were not ordinary fans, they were actually part of "the family' who were portrayed in the film — Ralph Pinto, Jimmy Jacobs ("Dr. Vaseline" — he was slippery) and Rick Robbins - who, along with Arlo Guthrie, dumped the garbage over the roadside that was one of the main themes of the movie. "But they're not hippies anymore." She cited one member of the church family who is now a high-end international art dealer.
How did Alice's restaurant come about? "I never wanted to be in business or run a restaurant. I'm not a businesswoman, and I'm not good with money. But I liked to cook."
Her mother said, "You're feeding all those drop-ins at the church for nothing — why don't you open a restaurant and get them to pay?" The real reason, though, for opening the restaurant, she said, was to get away from a troubled marriage and to do something on her own. They also needed money. Ray, although an architect, was mainly working on construction projects and odd jobs — he also had three children from a previous marriage and gave most of his meager earnings to his former wife for child support.
So Alice found this old diner in the alley behind the grocery store on Main Street in Stockbridge. It was a good location in town. Down the block was the famous Red Lion Inn. And not far from there was Norman Rockwell's home. But the restaurant never made much money: "I charged too little, so it was popular — it got a reputation for outstanding and unusual food. And of course, the family didn't pay — but I did take lot of food back to the church for the constant stream of dropouts."
Despite the popularity of the restaurant, townspeople were often hostile to Alice, blaming her and her hippie community for the increased dropout rate in the surrounding area. "The community was provincial and out of touch with the world. They were unaware that dropping out was happening all over America, and my little unconventional family had little to do with it."
Alice left Ray in 1969 and went to Boston to get away from what she described as his continued pursuit of her. After two months in Boston, she got a call from director Arthur Penn. He was planning a film about Alice's Restaurant, the church and the family. She returned to Stockbridge to work with Penn and Arlo on the film.
She stayed on in the area and later bought an inn and restaurant - Avaloch — on a hill just across the road from Tanglewood, where the Boston Symphony Orchestra is ensconced for the summer. Today it's the Apple Tree Inn. In 1979, she said, "I had it and just walked away and left it to the bank." She headed for Provincetown, Mass., on Cape Cod, a place that she had fond childhood memories of from vacationing there with her parents.
When she split for Provincetown, she had little money, only $2,000 in quarters from Avaloch's vending machines: "But money was never a big issue in my life." She worked as a cook in a restaurant for a few months, then later worked again as a cook, making her unusual dishes overnight and leaving in the morning when the customers started to arrive. Ironically, she eventually bought a house near the beach that was a chapel — for a person who is not religious, she has lived her life in churches.
Today she says she's content and happy — lives "in paradise," does her art, walks the beaches, breathes the air as a free spirit, and "dreams." Alice was always an artist, but now it's one of the centerpieces of her life.
Her art that is on display at The Bookstore in Lenox is playful and upbeat — it will bring a smile to your face. She also likes to paint stones — with raunchy images — that she leaves on the beach for others to find. Friends have joined in this mission and have dropped her stones on beaches and other exotic places around the world — and some have even been dropped over the Great Wall of China.
Does she have any regrets, or wish she had done it differently? No, she said: "What happened, happened, and it was all part of the times." She never planned on having a commune — "the family also just happened — it evolved by itself."
Is she still in touch with Arlo? Yes; in fact, a few years ago she illustrated a children's book that he wrote, "Mooses Come Walking." And years after the church was sold, Arlo bought the Old Trinity Church in Great Barrington when it came back on the market in 1991. Now called The Guthrie Center, it's an interfaith center for meditation, local and international service programs, and social activism.
Since today's world situation has much in common with the '60s — an unpopular war, loss of meaning and rampant materialism — I asked Alice for her view of then and now. "Kids have it much tougher today," she remarked. "At that time, we thought we could change the world, so we were hopeful. Today everyone feels powerless — that the world is out of control and that life is all about making money, not about community or sharing." Her comment reminded me of one of the signature Bob Dylan folk songs of the period — "The Times They Are A-Changin." Today, as Alice expressed it, we have lost that sentiment.
I followed with the obvious question: So what would you do today if you were 20-something? She had no facile answer. After along hesitation, she said she would probably go into politics to try to make a difference — but the absence of enthusiasm accompanying this answer from a person of great passion spoke tons about the difference between then and now: hope vs. despair.
In preparation for the interview, I revisited the film on video and was surprised at a feature that slipped past me when I saw it years ago. I always thought those counterculture years were steeped in spirituality. The '60s brings up images of chanting Hari Krishnas, Ram Das and his devotees, Allen Ginsberg reciting OM for 24 hours outside the volatile 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago, the Beatles meditating with their guru in India, and other arcane spiritual activities. But in the film there is no mention or even hint of spirituality resembling any of those images.
Yes, the kids in the film are disaffected, turned off and dropping out, but with no philosophic container to provide an anchor of meaning. Their counterculture took the form of sex, drugs and protest — often through the popular folk music of the time. Their posturing was defined by what they were against more than what they were for. "In your face" spirituality expressed by other groups was often more about challenging the sensibility of polite society — "the establishment," parents and squeamish relatives — than a genuine quest for transcendent consciousness.
I expressed my thoughts to Alice and asked for her thoughts — perhaps, I suggested, the film just left spirituality out — films often take liberties that do not present the accurate facts. Surely, I said to Alice, if the film were being made today, "the family" would be swimming in Buddhists, Jewbus, born-again Christians and followers of a plethora of assorted gurus. Alice acknowledged that "the family" was not about religion or spirituality its — focus was sharing, caring, and mutual support in what they perceived as a world that had lost meaning and human values. I then wondered if that period eventually lost traction for many young people because they lacked a coherent spiritual or philosophical foundation.
Shifting to a more upbeat theme, I asked, "Will there ever be another Alice's Restaurant?" She said a few years ago she visited a friend in the area who wanted to finance her comeback by buying the original site of Alice's Restaurant and returning her with a big splash. She admitted there was a moment of nostalgia that gripped her, suggesting "maybe" — but it passed quickly as she remembered the struggles of those years and her present joyful dance with life.
Who knows, though, what the future holds? Alice is likely to be around for quite a while. I met her father, Joe Pelkey, at the reception. He's 96 and her mother is 98.
The song says, "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant." But many got more than they bargained for. Alice's spirit continues to touch and inspire.
The exhibit of her artwork and books at The Bookstore, 11 Housatonic Street, bookstoreinlenox.com, will continue until Aug. 19.
Visit Alice's website to learn more about her life and wonderful artwork.
— — —
Bernard Starr, Ph.D., formerly professor of developmental and educational psychology at the City University of New York, now teaches psychology and leads the Spiritual Forum at Marymount Manhattan College. In addition to his work in radio, he is a longtime contributor of commentary and opinion articles to numerous major publications. He is also the main United Nations representative for the Institute of Global Education, which founded the Mucherla Global School in Mucherla, India. His book "Escape Your Own Prison: Why We Need Spirituality and Psychology to be Truly Free" will be published by Rowman and Littlefield in October 2007. His email address is {email OmniCns@aol.com}OmniCns@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Bernard Starr.
Alice Brock's story was featured in the 1969 film "Alice's Restaurant," starring Arlo Guthrie. The film became a metaphor for an era. At that time young people were "dropping out," disaffected by the Vietnam War, the draft, hypocrisy, and an uptight American society bound by restricting conventions. A group of counterculture teenage and "20-something" drifters searching for meaningful identities found their way to the home of Alice and her husband, Ray, in a deconsecrated church in Great Barrington, Mass.
Then Alice opened her famed restaurant just up the road in Stockbridge, where, as the hit song written and sung by Arlo Guthrie said: "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant."
I recall the film with great nostalgia. So you can imagine my delight last Friday when I heard the tail end of an interview with Alice on Northeast Public Radio about her art show and reception scheduled for Saturday and Sunday at The Bookstore in Lenox, Mass., just a mile from my farmhouse. I jumped into my car and headed for The Bookstore to get the details. It was my lucky day. Just after I entered the store, a lively and energetic Alice arrived to go over the arrangements for her reception. We chatted briefly, and I decided to come back the next day to interview her.
When I arrived on Saturday, it was a mob scene of admirers, many with memorabilia from the '60s that they wanted signed. Others were viewing and purchasing her artwork and recent book, "How to Massage Your Cat"; and still others were just seeking to recapture fond memories of their youth that Alice's presence evoked. An interview was impossible. The Bookstore owner told me to come back on Sunday at 3 p.m. to do the interview when things would be winding down. I did, but it was the same scene. I waited till 4 p.m., when the reception ended. But still, the hanging-on groupies crowded us. So we slipped across the street to the Olde Heritage Tavern for a quiet tête-à-tête.
As we crossed the street, we were greeted by two "60-something" bikers and a number of their friends. Alice commented that they were not ordinary fans, they were actually part of "the family' who were portrayed in the film — Ralph Pinto, Jimmy Jacobs ("Dr. Vaseline" — he was slippery) and Rick Robbins - who, along with Arlo Guthrie, dumped the garbage over the roadside that was one of the main themes of the movie. "But they're not hippies anymore." She cited one member of the church family who is now a high-end international art dealer.
How did Alice's restaurant come about? "I never wanted to be in business or run a restaurant. I'm not a businesswoman, and I'm not good with money. But I liked to cook."
Her mother said, "You're feeding all those drop-ins at the church for nothing — why don't you open a restaurant and get them to pay?" The real reason, though, for opening the restaurant, she said, was to get away from a troubled marriage and to do something on her own. They also needed money. Ray, although an architect, was mainly working on construction projects and odd jobs — he also had three children from a previous marriage and gave most of his meager earnings to his former wife for child support.
So Alice found this old diner in the alley behind the grocery store on Main Street in Stockbridge. It was a good location in town. Down the block was the famous Red Lion Inn. And not far from there was Norman Rockwell's home. But the restaurant never made much money: "I charged too little, so it was popular — it got a reputation for outstanding and unusual food. And of course, the family didn't pay — but I did take lot of food back to the church for the constant stream of dropouts."
Despite the popularity of the restaurant, townspeople were often hostile to Alice, blaming her and her hippie community for the increased dropout rate in the surrounding area. "The community was provincial and out of touch with the world. They were unaware that dropping out was happening all over America, and my little unconventional family had little to do with it."
Alice left Ray in 1969 and went to Boston to get away from what she described as his continued pursuit of her. After two months in Boston, she got a call from director Arthur Penn. He was planning a film about Alice's Restaurant, the church and the family. She returned to Stockbridge to work with Penn and Arlo on the film.
She stayed on in the area and later bought an inn and restaurant - Avaloch — on a hill just across the road from Tanglewood, where the Boston Symphony Orchestra is ensconced for the summer. Today it's the Apple Tree Inn. In 1979, she said, "I had it and just walked away and left it to the bank." She headed for Provincetown, Mass., on Cape Cod, a place that she had fond childhood memories of from vacationing there with her parents.
When she split for Provincetown, she had little money, only $2,000 in quarters from Avaloch's vending machines: "But money was never a big issue in my life." She worked as a cook in a restaurant for a few months, then later worked again as a cook, making her unusual dishes overnight and leaving in the morning when the customers started to arrive. Ironically, she eventually bought a house near the beach that was a chapel — for a person who is not religious, she has lived her life in churches.
Today she says she's content and happy — lives "in paradise," does her art, walks the beaches, breathes the air as a free spirit, and "dreams." Alice was always an artist, but now it's one of the centerpieces of her life.
Her art that is on display at The Bookstore in Lenox is playful and upbeat — it will bring a smile to your face. She also likes to paint stones — with raunchy images — that she leaves on the beach for others to find. Friends have joined in this mission and have dropped her stones on beaches and other exotic places around the world — and some have even been dropped over the Great Wall of China.
Does she have any regrets, or wish she had done it differently? No, she said: "What happened, happened, and it was all part of the times." She never planned on having a commune — "the family also just happened — it evolved by itself."
Is she still in touch with Arlo? Yes; in fact, a few years ago she illustrated a children's book that he wrote, "Mooses Come Walking." And years after the church was sold, Arlo bought the Old Trinity Church in Great Barrington when it came back on the market in 1991. Now called The Guthrie Center, it's an interfaith center for meditation, local and international service programs, and social activism.
Since today's world situation has much in common with the '60s — an unpopular war, loss of meaning and rampant materialism — I asked Alice for her view of then and now. "Kids have it much tougher today," she remarked. "At that time, we thought we could change the world, so we were hopeful. Today everyone feels powerless — that the world is out of control and that life is all about making money, not about community or sharing." Her comment reminded me of one of the signature Bob Dylan folk songs of the period — "The Times They Are A-Changin." Today, as Alice expressed it, we have lost that sentiment.
I followed with the obvious question: So what would you do today if you were 20-something? She had no facile answer. After along hesitation, she said she would probably go into politics to try to make a difference — but the absence of enthusiasm accompanying this answer from a person of great passion spoke tons about the difference between then and now: hope vs. despair.
In preparation for the interview, I revisited the film on video and was surprised at a feature that slipped past me when I saw it years ago. I always thought those counterculture years were steeped in spirituality. The '60s brings up images of chanting Hari Krishnas, Ram Das and his devotees, Allen Ginsberg reciting OM for 24 hours outside the volatile 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago, the Beatles meditating with their guru in India, and other arcane spiritual activities. But in the film there is no mention or even hint of spirituality resembling any of those images.
Yes, the kids in the film are disaffected, turned off and dropping out, but with no philosophic container to provide an anchor of meaning. Their counterculture took the form of sex, drugs and protest — often through the popular folk music of the time. Their posturing was defined by what they were against more than what they were for. "In your face" spirituality expressed by other groups was often more about challenging the sensibility of polite society — "the establishment," parents and squeamish relatives — than a genuine quest for transcendent consciousness.
I expressed my thoughts to Alice and asked for her thoughts — perhaps, I suggested, the film just left spirituality out — films often take liberties that do not present the accurate facts. Surely, I said to Alice, if the film were being made today, "the family" would be swimming in Buddhists, Jewbus, born-again Christians and followers of a plethora of assorted gurus. Alice acknowledged that "the family" was not about religion or spirituality its — focus was sharing, caring, and mutual support in what they perceived as a world that had lost meaning and human values. I then wondered if that period eventually lost traction for many young people because they lacked a coherent spiritual or philosophical foundation.
Shifting to a more upbeat theme, I asked, "Will there ever be another Alice's Restaurant?" She said a few years ago she visited a friend in the area who wanted to finance her comeback by buying the original site of Alice's Restaurant and returning her with a big splash. She admitted there was a moment of nostalgia that gripped her, suggesting "maybe" — but it passed quickly as she remembered the struggles of those years and her present joyful dance with life.
Who knows, though, what the future holds? Alice is likely to be around for quite a while. I met her father, Joe Pelkey, at the reception. He's 96 and her mother is 98.
The song says, "You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant." But many got more than they bargained for. Alice's spirit continues to touch and inspire.
The exhibit of her artwork and books at The Bookstore, 11 Housatonic Street, bookstoreinlenox.com, will continue until Aug. 19.
Visit Alice's website to learn more about her life and wonderful artwork.
— — —
Bernard Starr, Ph.D., formerly professor of developmental and educational psychology at the City University of New York, now teaches psychology and leads the Spiritual Forum at Marymount Manhattan College. In addition to his work in radio, he is a longtime contributor of commentary and opinion articles to numerous major publications. He is also the main United Nations representative for the Institute of Global Education, which founded the Mucherla Global School in Mucherla, India. His book "Escape Your Own Prison: Why We Need Spirituality and Psychology to be Truly Free" will be published by Rowman and Littlefield in October 2007. His email address is {email OmniCns@aol.com}OmniCns@aol.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Bernard Starr.