The 30th reunion of those of us who helped build Rolling Stone here in San Francisco in the late 60s and 70s concluded with a sun-soaked picnic at Chrissy Field this afternoon. There were the usual group photo ops.
Here is a good one.
Wait! Entering Stage Right is a blurry figure. A little guy, with curly red hair, crashing the photo op. Caught in the act by an alert photographer.
Here this little man, appropriately named Dylan, makes his presence felt, over his father's right shoulder.
My buddy Christine.
My buddy Deborah.
All the above photos courtesy of Junko Sasaki
***
My two youngest boys now seem to think I may be marginally cool. After all, everyone has heard of Rolling Stone.
They were impressed that I have friends from that era called Banjo and Bond.
Most of the time, though, on outings like this one, they are lost in a world of their own making.
We can't even understand the language they speak.
Sorta like our parents felt, hey? You know, back when we creating our revolution. Rock on, my boys.
-30-
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