His name was Richard Twiss,a tall Sioux Indian from the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota. I learned that fact shortly after he picked me up. He was a person about my age. Hitchhiking was commonplace in Alaska in the 70's,in fact I believe at one time it was against the law NOT to pick up someone once the temperature reached -20 or colder.
I would meet a lot of interesting people hitchhiking. Getting picked up usually meant I was going to have someone to smoke marijuana with,or I was going to find my way to a party somewhere in Anchorage or I was going to hear a person's life story. In a place like Alaska,most of the life stories you'd hear were fascinating. There were few rides done in complete silence.
Richard was no different. Learned from him that at one time he was active in the American Indian Movement. He told me about his associations with Russell Means and Dennis Banks and about his involvement with AIM's takeover of the Bureau of Indian Affairs office. He told me it changed his life. He then began to tell me about the various spiritual searches he began to undertake afterwards as well as the psychedelics he'd consume in the midst of his search.
Richard came across like many countercultural sorts of the day.
I developed an instant rapport with Richard. To me,he came across as another one of those folks from the "Lower 48" who came to Alaska to create a new life. I could relate to that.
Richard was delivering bread to various stores in Anchorage and was finishing up his route at the time he picked me up. I would have never known he was a bakery delivery driver based on the truck he was driving. It wasn't unlike any truck I might see in Alaska. It was older and somewhat beat up,however you wouldn't expect an outsider of sorts to be delivering bread in a corporate company bakery truck anyhow.
Further proof of this countercultural sense was he told me the bread was being made by a community in Palmer Alaska,about 40 miles away from Anchorage.
Then Richard hit me with a question I would not have expected from him given the flow of our conversation.
"Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?"
It wasn't the first time I had been asked that question in Alaska. Anchorage in the 1970's still had vestiges of a frontier town,and it seemed like for every bar that lined the streets,there was a church.
Once while still living on AMU's campus, on the invitation of one of my classmates,I was invited to a service at Abbott Loop Christian Center in Anchorage. Abbott Loop was a large and growing church in Anchorage. Abbott Loop's services were much livelier than those of the Methodist Church I grew up in. Although the congregation was predominately white,it reminded me of the predominately black churches my grandparents attended. In addition,this was a "charismatic" church,meaning the church operated on what is called "Gifts of the Spirit"..speaking in tongues and laying on of hands in prayer for healing. After the sermon,space was given for non believers to come forward and be "saved". My classmate wanted me to come forward,but I didn't.
Now I'm being confronted with the same question. The difference was unlike the classmate who took me to an Abbott Loop service,Richard was more like me with experiences I could relate to. This bakery he was delivering for still seemed outside of the "establishment" and according to Richard,most people living on the farm in Palmer had lived lives similar to those of he and I.
I mostly evaded Richard's question although he would always come back to it. I did however enjoy his company and I was curious about this farm of ex hippies living the self sufficient,back to the land ideal promoted by many hippies.
It was now time to be dropped off. While Richard still could not get me to commit to that personal relationship,I liked Richard and when he invited me to spend the weekend at the farm,I obliged.
I had nothing to lose by spending a weekend in Palmer. Life outside of college was turning out to be a rough one.My first job after dropping out was with a cleaning company and my first assignment was cleaning up the blood and brains at a place where someone had committed suicide, A couple months earlier,I had persuaded a high school classmate from Connecticut into moving to Alaska. Through him I had another Alaska Highway adventure with the highlight being going over high mountain passes with no guardrails in a van that didn't have chains during a snowstorm. Things got rough for us shortly after that trip and our friendship pretty much ended with his pointing a rifle at my head. We were still roommates at the time of that Palmer weekend.
The Farm,(called the Lord's Land by those who lived there) in Palmer was on beautiful land in Alaska's Matanuska Valley. When one stepped outside,there was a stunning view of the Chugach Mountains. Snow covered the garden spot but there was a barn with pigs and chickens in it. Behind the houses on the land was a heavily wooded area. The two structures included the main house which housed the married couples and single women (known as sisters) and an older more rundown house where the brothers stayed. The main house also had a large dining area. I would imagine that there were 30-40 people living there at the time. The main house also maintained a shop where folks could drop by and purchase the bakery products made there. At the time,the Bread of Life Bakery was the only place in Alaska where one could buy fresh bakery items. The basement at the main house was the home of the bakery. It had been remodeled to where this was no small operation. Hundreds of loaves were produced daily. Everyone I met seemed genuinely glad to see me,yet many seemed to have the similar stories.Either they were wanderers or had experienced rough times before getting "saved",and they all thought I should too. I remember at one point debating one member as he was attempting to convert me over moose steak he had cooked up for me.
Prior to mealtime was like a mini service..there was no simple prayer before eating. In some ways it reminded me of what I had witnessed at Abbott Loop,however instead of organs,pianos and a band,acoustic guitars and tambourines set the worship tone. These truly were hippies except that Jesus had replaced the high of drugs and outlaw living.
Sunday services followed suit..no suit and ties or fancy dresses instead guys were dressed in flannels and jeans just like me and the women largely wore the granny dresses often seen in pictures of Haight-Asbury,but it was Abbott Loop all over again with healing and tongues.
Richard promised to take me back to Anchorage after the service,but before that time came to pass,just like at Abbott Loop there was going to be time alloted for non believers to be converted. With Abbott Loop being a big congregation,maybe 10-20 folks would come forward. At the Lord's Land,at this service,the only non converted one was me and instead of one classmate hoping I'd come forward,all adult eyes were on me.
I didn't come forward at the end of the service and told Richard it was time for me to return to Anchorage. I wasnt going to be allowed back to Anchorage without at least one more attempt at conversion. This time the attempt was in a smaller room and Richard was joined by a couple others,known as "elders" While there were many things I liked about this weekend at the farm,there was no way in my mind I was to be converted,then one of the "elders" said something about my life being messed up. That struck a chord..By the time I had landed on the farm,I had walked away from a near full scholarship,disappointing my mom greatly. After planning out a political career for myself starting from the time I was in 4th grade,upon witnessing what I did through Watergate and my experiences with Sen. Mike Gravel,I wasnt certain that I wanted to follow through with it. In addition I figured,no one would ever vote for someone who smokes marijuana. Surely,there would be an old classmate that would spill the beans,and my political career would be over with. My limited experience outside of the classroom seemed to indicate my future was with jobs similar to the cleaning job I had. In other words,my life was messed up. I prayed with Richard and the elders. Next thing you know,everyone is giving me hugs from the elders in the room to any brother or sister in the path of Richard and myself heading to the truck.
When I was dropped off,I was given an invitation to return to live at the Farm. I was encouraged to do so as that would be the best way to begin my "new life" and was given an address in Anchorage where I should appear should I wish to return to the farm
One day back at the apartment with the roommate and ex friend who had pointed a rifle at me and I thought maybe they were right. The following day,I left my record collection to my roommate,packed up what few items I had,showed up at the Anchorage house and next thing you know,I was being given a ride to become a full time member of the farm or as they called it, a disciple
