The Garden Street House - Santa Barbara, 1974
Lori Slayton
In 1974/early 1975, I was renting an upstairs studio inside a stately old Victorian. No kitchen; you washed dishes in the bathroom sink. The rent, $106.00 per month, proved to be too expensive. I was supporting myself designing hippie girl clothing fashioned out of rummage/estate sale vintage fabrics, and hand dyed t-shirts. Santa Barbara was a haven of surfers, hippies, artists, some escaping the material trappings and commercial aspects of larger California communities. The nude beaches were an attraction naturally, but the beauty, peaceful surroundings and un-crowded living conditions in Santa Barbara were idyllic. New friends, constant introductions and parties led to an amazing extended group of playmates, boyfriends, lovers and roommates.
To economize, I moved into a small old rather run down California bungalow on Garden Street. Sharing this small house were two other females, both a little younger than myself, age 25. Garden Street bloomed into a flourishing social life for all. There was a back house, an old garage presumably, that was occupied by Leslie Westbrook, a tall, sweet, long-haired beauty, who attracted many suitors. For unattached males, the 800 block of Garden Street turned out to be a good place to hang out. I had done some modeling myself, for my employer, the creator of the old time photo franchises located at Universal City Studios in Hollywood, and around the country. And little known Kym Herrin, (airy, lithesome Santa Barbara "surf" goddess, barely out of high school) would go on to be a well known Playboy model. In fact, Kym is what attracted Tony Power to our house, as I recall. As time passed, he and Kym never hooked up, but Tony and I became involved, and managed to kick out Kym and Jodi.
We became known for our parties. One party I remember distinctly: Tony was from the East Coast (attended Harvard, as I recall him telling me), and proposed the idea of a Mint Julep party. Here we were, a poor hippie couple, but we went all out, renting special Julep glasses, pounding mint leaves, concocting simple syrup, inviting characters from our colorful cadre of friends. I still have the recipe written down, found in the Joy of Cooking.
First impressions of Tony: he was an attractive guy, slender, reddish hair, caught up in a long ponytail. A carpenter by trade, played guitar, and was into 60's jazz. The perfect composition in my eyes. He drove a red International truck, and before he moved in with me, he had a very cool little pad somewhere up in the hills of Santa Barbara. He was separated from his wife Jill, and he had a small son, Cory, who he adored, and surely felt guilty about the separation. As I recall, according to Jill, she did not want to be married. She was a bit wild, and I used to see her dancing at the local clubs, but a good mom. Tony and I began fixing up the Garden Street house. Things were blissful, so I thought, until he began to freak out. There was a lot of cocaine and marijuana around in those days. I knew he had a drug problem, cocaine, and it stressed me. We had plans to go to Hawaii, live on my father's land, and to my recollection, have kids. For the first and last time in my life, I was collecting vintage baby clothes. Hopes of another life with Tony fell apart. He claimed that he was having dreams about being with Jill again, that he really loved HER and needed to get back together, partly for Cory's sake. Another blow was my terminated pregnancy. Distraught and broken-hearted, I went to my best friend's house, to recover. About five days later, he found me and begged me to come back; he had made a big mistake. Warily, I packed my things and returned. We had about a week together before he went "mad" again; he just couldn't make up his mind, and was driving me insane with his craziness. One morning we had a fight, he purportedly left for work and didn't come back all night. He arrived the next morning and started taking his things and saying he wasn't coming back. I was near breaking point; he wasn't helping me pay the rent, and was unreliable at best. Tony was only the second person in my life that I had been in love with; my first boyfriend Jim Allen, kindred spirit, soul mate, died from drugs at age 23.
I never knew about Lori Trainer, nor heard of her death until I found his story published on this web site two weeks ago. Tony's memoir is dated 1995.
Note: Upon first reading this yarn, I mistakenly thought he was referring to me when I saw the word "Lori". Little did I know that not only was he making excuses that he was not able to commit because of his wife, but he was hanging out at East Beach during the day, "thinking of taking her back to the house on Garden Street," when my girlfriend was at work. What a louse. I was killing myself cooking for rich people, so that we could have a house to live in, while he was out scoring coke and eyeing young things. It's disheartening, light years later, to read his accounts of these events, without mere mention of the emotional roller coaster or serious involvement with two other significant females.
There is one lasting tangible memory, a consolation, at least for me. Some odd 45 years later, an original copy of John Coltrane's "My Favorite Things", a treasured LP, is still among my Coltrane collection. Inside the twofold cover is written "Anthony Power, 1964."
Lori Slayton
Santa Barbara
October 25, 2012