It was easy to tell when we were onto something hot - I could see the expressions move across a thousand faces like the wind across a wheat field. We studied religions, fairy tales, legends, children’s stories, the I Ching, Zen koans - and tripping. We discussed love, sex, dope, God, gods, war, peace, enlightenment, free will, and what-have-you, all in a stoned, truthful, hippie atmosphere. ![]() I first began Monday Night Class in 1967 on the San Francisco State campus. Every circle on the street had a joint circulating around the inside, and the rock halls were jammed with stoned trippers. Grass was $75 a kilo, Acapulco Gold was $250 a kilo, acid was $2.50 a hit, and so was a rock-and-roll ticket. Sometimes it seemed as if the whole city smelled of reefer smoke. There were a couple of hundred thousand hippies on the streets in San Francisco. We’ve condensed the text but retained what Gaskin calls his “archaic hippyisms,” and we’ve included the wry commentary (set in bold) that he added to the book’s 2005 edition. Published in 1970, it’s made up of transcripts from Gaskin’s San Francisco talks. That conversation focuses on the Farm’s history and mission, but our tribute begins here with excerpts from Gaskin’s first book, Monday Night Class. To honor his life and work, we are reprinting an interview Michael Thurman did with Gaskin for The Sun in 1985. Gaskin is survived by his wife, Ina May - a nationally acclaimed midwife and cofounder of the Farm Midwifery Center - and his five children. As Gaskin put it, “You must never underestimate your ability to help other people, no matter how small you are.” The value Gaskin placed on altruism is also echoed in The Sun ’s pages. In an early issue Safransky writes of Gaskin’s “emphasis on honesty, hard work, and genuine fellowship” and his compelling perspective on psychedelics. The author of eleven books, including The Caravan, Mind at Play, and An Outlaw in My Heart, Gaskin described his “main occupations” as “hippie priest, spiritual revolutionary, cannabis advocate, shade-tree mechanic, cultural engineer, tractor driver, and community starter.” His life and ideas influenced many people, including Sy Safransky, who founded The Sun in 1974. “Enlightenment,” he said, “is getting off your tail and doing something.” But unlike many other spiritual teachers, Gaskin wanted to inspire action. With his long hair and intense gaze, he even looked a little like Jesus. (You don’t have to use drugs to reach a higher state of consciousness, Gaskin would explain, but they can help.) He pulled religious ideas from diverse sources, including Buddhism, Hinduism, and Christianity, and made them accessible. ![]() Over the next three years the class grew, and the venues changed - eventually there were 1,500 people sitting on the floor of a ballroom near the Pacific Ocean - but the format stayed the same: perched cross-legged on a cushion, Gaskin would open his freewheeling seminar with a silent meditation, and then he’d share some thoughts and field questions on subjects ranging from auras and astrology to ecology, morality, and, of course, getting high. ![]() Twelve people showed up for Gaskin’s first class, which was held on a Monday night in a room on the San Francisco State campus. And since he’d recently been experimenting with LSD, he also “wanted to compare notes with other trippers about tripping and the whole psychic and psychedelic world.” Gaskin decided to start a public conversation about those topics and other, more esoteric ones, from Eastern spirituality to telepathic communication. The country was in flux, and many young adults were asking questions about the ongoing war in Vietnam and domestic issues related to civil rights, poverty, and inequality. (“I’d gotten too weird to rehire,” he said.) He came up with an idea for an unusual sort of learning experience that focused on current affairs. In 1967 Gaskin, a former Marine turned hippie pacifist, was teaching English and creative writing at San Francisco State College when the administration decided not to renew his contract. Gaskin was a prominent figure on the countercultural scene in San Francisco in the late sixties and went on to found the long-running intentional community the Farm, which is still thriving in rural Tennessee. S ixties icon and self-styled “nonviolent social revolutionary” Stephen Gaskin died this past July at the age of seventy-nine.
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