Stories, Poems, Photos Of Negril: Hippie Days

[Jim Nasium]

Scott
Life in Negril back in the early 70's was nothing less than Paradise on earth IMO.

The Beach was wide open, all 7 miles of it, there was NOTHING along the beach between the beach and the road but sugar cane, breadfruit, weeds, mud and more mud all the way up to boobie kay, the little island and beyond.

Up on Monkey Hill there was no electricity but who cared? We lived in the light from just before dawn to shortly after sunset mostly (there was little to no night life other than the night life one made for him or her self) so who needed electricity??

Traffic? hahhaha, what traffic? Tourists? there were about 4 or 5 of us from the US (two from Philly, two from Ohio, and one other guy I forget his name now) but I refused to be classified as such. I lived there, I wasn't (just) visiting.

The food OMG was to die for; baked goods from heaven. We only got about 87 cents for each US Dollar but money played a very little part in life there, then; wasn't money locals wanted from us (me) then, was my friendship and my time they wanted.

I guess I could go on and on but I think you get the idea...
jn

[captaind]

Scott
Life in Negril back in the early 70's was nothing less than Paradise on earth IMO.

I guess I could go on and on but I think you get the idea...
jn

After living in Kingston for 18 months my first trip to Negril in 1969 gave me the same feeling.

As to traffic....remember Elvira from Our Pastime and her Benz?

[RyanP]

Thanks for sharing, Jim. Sounds like you have had an interesting life.

[francis]

Jim

You have fascinating stories to tell. We share the same love for Negril - the "time when the hippies came" as many of the older Jamaicans refer to us. I suggest that you create a book of your stories, maybe weave into a novel as I did with Island Odyssey. By-the-way, I think Harold the Woodcarver is the same person I know and befriended in 1970s, the last time I saw him was walking on the beach, without his dreadlocks, in 1986. When I first met Harold in 1970 he gave me two wood carvings, one of the head of a Rasta as a candle holder, and the other was a large serving plate that he used to serve to me and my friends a dinner of Bonita and rice-veges; he gave me the plate. And, when I hooked up with him in the 80's and thanked him for the gift, he said, "I mek a servin' spoon fer ya mon" and he proceed to carve a large spoon for me out of Jamaican cedar. If it is the same Harold, I am said to hear that he had passed away.

Thanks for sharing your stories and poetry on this stie.

Francis Oliver Lynn (Fren Mon)

[johng]

Hi Jim,

Man you write well!!! Nice to hear all your stories. Am not familiar with monkey hill in the Red Ground District but I did not spend too much time there although my friend Mortimer Johnson lived in Red Ground and I did visit him whenever I was in Negril. My first visit to Jamaica was in April 1975 and probably a few years after you first landed there. Although there was always Ganja available in Negril I understood clearly the danger involved in using and possessing it and although I had no objection to it I recognized that to be jailed or deported would be pretty counter productive to my goals of rest and relaxation while in Negril. I had pondered buying some Negril beachfront property at the time but in those day the Manley Government was in power and the word was that he would be confiscating foreign owned properties so I never did. I also had the idea to import Blue Mountain Coffee to the US in the 70's and 80's way before the coffee boom here that drove the price of Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks and boutique coffee sales through the roof here. Was gonna call it Pirate Coffee Company, another idea left on the table unfortunately. I too have many stories from my trips to Jamaica mostly happy some sad and a few tragic. To think of all the trips I took to JA and the traveling around the island that I did brings happiness to my heart. Most importantly are the many Jamaicans that have helped me or come to my rescue in one way or other during my times there. I never felt threatened or was victimized, even walking alone through Kingston, at night no less, and most often felt safer than many places in America. Last year while visiting Kingston many old friends warned me about how dangerous both Kingston and Jamaica as a whole had become and although I didn't disbelieve them I still couldn't fear something that I had never seen. I was in Kingston and MoBay in November 1980 during the time that both the US and Jamaican elections were being held. Jamaicans couldn't believe that I a white American tourist would be stupid / crazy enough to be in Jamaica during what was practically a civil war between the JLP & PNP supporters. Gun fire, death was everywhere. Yet I can honestly say other than my disbelief of the madness of the moment I was never afraid or scared. If I wrote of my experiences in a book nobody would believe them so for now they remain as memories and pictures.

[Jim Nasium]

re:
I think Harold the Woodcarver is the same person I know and befriended in 1970s,

I am sure there could only ever of been one Harold The Woodcarver (from back in the day in Negril). Harold was a soft spoken, gentle Rasta; many hours were sent listening to his tales. I've a few of his pieces in my media room.

[Jim Nasium]

re: " If I wrote of my experiences in a book nobody would believe them so for now they remain as memories and pictures"

johng
Truth is often stranger than fiction but especially when you were a Hippie back in the day in Negril...

I told my son the story of (me) eating too much ganja cake and falling asleep on an air matress on the beach only to get wash out to sea, way out to sea many times and each time he'd give me that look, the look of (some) doubt. The truth in that case was/is stranger than fiction.

Wasn't until my son met Grandma Johnson (bless her soul) for the first time and heard her tell the same story, fact by fact, just like I tell the story that he believed the story true, so yes... I KNOW what you mean.

[Jim Nasium]

re: If it is the same Harold, I am said to hear that he had passed away.




that was just a poem you read; not to be taken seriously. I should of mention it was fiction based on (some) fact like most fiction...

I really do not know where Harold is, or if he is dead or alive but i heard he's a hard man fe dead:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3LERNZlQjc

[rjonsun]

Yup, I remember Ol Rasta Harold the woodcarver. One time I helped him move his meager belongings from one little hut in the bush to another spot.

Regards,
Bob

[johng]

Does anybody remember an older guy named Sammy that used to be all over Negril? He used to have a donkey he rode around on, always drinking Overproof and smoking Ganja most always wore a little cap, smaller guy around 5'3". He never wore shoes and I swear he could walk on broken glass, metal, 150 degree pavement, you name it. I can see him walking on hot coals no problem. His feet were calloused and spread out like duck's feet. He was a pleasant guy but was always wrecked on something. He must have been in his forties back in the 70's. I assume he's no longer with us but does anybody remember him.