Cigarettes however were another matter. You could pretty much smoke them anytime anywhere with anyone. Charlie had always been concerned about what people thought about him about me about us. And while lots of people smoked cigarettes Charlie figured it would reflect badly for me to. After all I was a woman in a time when people still had lots of funny ideas about what was and was not proper behavior for a woman.

Fall, 1968

Private residence, Half Moon Bay Dr., Del Mar, CA:

Charlie and I were a middle class conservative couple. As the years progressed that changed to upper middle class.

After college he'd opened his own business. He was talented and did well but spent much more time at work than home.

Everyone said of Charlie that he was the perfect husband. He was thoughtful and considerate; always remembered anniversaries and my birthday. He was a good provider; we lived well.

He was a good father too. He loved the boys dearly and went out of his way to be a good father to them.

Truly, from the outside looking in, Charlie was indeed the perfect husband.

From the opposite perspective however, he was manipulative and controlling. He was generous only when it reflected well on him but when no one else was watching he begrudged me every penny he spent.

I had no income except that which he saw fit to give me; nothing to spend on myself or simply keep for myself if I chose.

He claimed that I didn't need any money of my own because he bought me everything necessary for myself or the kids or the house. Which was true enough. I couldn't explain to him why that was a problem for me.

My biggest problem with Charlie was that he had absolutely no idea who I was. Somewhere along the line I had allowed him to make me over into some kind of fantasy trophy wife. Sort of his interpretation of a cross between Martha Stewart and Barbie with just a hint of Peggy Pervert thrown in for his own private fun.

Then one night we went got high and went to the Aquarius Theater in Hollywood to see the musical Hair.

For me it was liberating; for Charlie not so much.

After that, Charlie conducted his life pretty much unchanged while I managed to turn myself into what was in those days referred to as a hippie.

I taught myself to play guitar. I hung out with other hippies, did most of the things it was rumored that hippies did and developed a political stance unacceptable to my husband, our families and most of our friends.

I took the boys with me to a protest march held in front of a local grocery store. They carried little posters painted with slogans like, "Support Cesar Chavez and Migrant Farm Workers" and "Boycott Grapes" while marching like miniature soldiers their little voices yelling, "Viva Huelga" and "Que Viva".

Words that they could barely pronounce. But words they understood all the same. One lady asked James why he was there, to which he replied, "We won't eat any more grapes until the people who pick them have a better life."

Charlie would have choked if he could have seen us but he didn't he was busy at work.

Ultimately I shed my Martha Stewart/Barbie image. I dressed the way I wanted to, wore my hair the way I wanted to. My mother lent me the money to go to what I called a fat doctor and I lost over 50 pounds. I had planned it as a surprise present for Charlie for our anniversary.

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