I was born Gary, Philip McIntyre on the 26 July 1950 at 12:19 PM. I’m a high Nooner. With the sun, Pluto and mercury in my 10th house. That simply means I have something to say to the generations. Neptune and Mars were on the ascendant, Libra, which indicates my energy is available in other worlds to get the Message fairly. It’s so you’ll get an honest Judgement. My moon at 29° Sagittarius in the third house, implies a subconscious that is expanding and learning. Saturn the planet of limitations is in my 11th house basically untouched by the other planets. Uranus and Venus are together in the ninth house, the house of higher learning. But it’s in opposition to my moon. Indicating trouble with females and sudden changes. Jupiter is in my natural house, the fifth house. I undoubtedly have mega luck. These are my qualifications to see and to help.

I was born in a prestigious family. My Father was a Federal Judge in Washington DC appellate court. My mom was the secretary to General Lemay at the pentagon. I was the oldest, my sister, an Angel on Earth, Joan came two years later, and my brother, Brian lived 21 days before he passed, he was the last. I had a loving family. I had the best parents and sister and uncles and aunts and grandparents, anyone could have. I kept to myself for most part. Not a talker I was a listener. I became very attached to my friends. We had a baby boomer gang called the Langley Gents. Probably about 25 kids. I started drinking alcohol at 12, I was able to buy alcohol in Washington DC when I was 15, 16 was the age limit. We did cough medicine, pills, and drugs. The first time I got thrown in jail was when I trusted a cop. About 15 of the Gents were behind the A&P drinking beer. We would always run in the woods when the cops showed up. This time everyone ran when they cruised around the corner and I sat there with my beer between my legs. The cop said, why didn’t you run? I said because the last time we talked to you, you said, “I really don’t mind you all drinking a few beers, but it really pisses me off when you all run”. Get up I’m taking you downtown. But you…. He said, “I lied”. I was 16, it would be legal 2 miles away in DC. My Dad came to the Hyattsville jail and picked me up, he wasn’t that upset, he said, that should

teach you not to believe everything you hear.

Another bad time was when two of our gang got assaulted by People’s Drug store. Mike Kane was sucker punched and he was wearing glasses. The lens cut his cheek, they drew first blood. The alarm was sounded and 3 cars with 18 guys had their Dad’s guns in the trunk’s of the cars. We headed for retribution but the Greenbelt police caught us. We ended up going to court and it got thrown out for some reason. My Dad showed up for a hearing and testified we were a good bunch of kids but misguided.

I was headed down the wrong path. I missed 42 days of school in the 11th grade because I preferred a pool hall. On one of those days I drove to Great Falls, on the Maryland side with two friends, Donny Rodriguez and Alfreda Bracchi and almost accidentally killed myself, I was 17. Around Olmsted Bridge where it goes over a narrow gorge, looking down river and on the right is a sloped rock ( see photo). I jumped onto that rock and didn’t calculate the slope, went right off in tippy toes. Down into the swollen gorge I went. Suddenly I was 10 ft below the surface of the water in a full fledged torrent from the rain. It surprised me how quickly I got in trouble and wondered what I should do, I could be thrown into a rock and never wake up. From a Batman comic book came the solution; curl up into a ball and you will come to the surface. That’s what I did and when I popped up all around me is all vertical rocks. I saw a finger ledge and with 8 fingers I pulled myself out and up. I held on like life itself depended on it. My friend Donnie drove me home, cold and wet and humbled.

Things got so bad they wouldn’t let me back in public school. I was a spoiled, out-of-control, juvenile delinquent. The world was my oyster, and I was gonna partake in as many things as I could. My parents showed an unending love and patience to me and provided an answer. I was to be sent 2500 miles away to a private boarding school in Arizona call ed Judson high school in Scottsdale. Because I was under a lockdown, except on weekends if you were good they would let you out, all I could do was study, and I made the honor roll. Also I participated in sports I came in second in the State in the 165 pound wrestling class. This school was like a big family. It took kids from kindergarten to senior high school. It was a place for wealthy people to dump their children. Doesn’t sound good but I can guarantee you everybody there got a good education.

I graduated in 1968. my dad got me and  a friend, Jim McCallister, a summer job with the department of interior working at Kings Canyon national Park in California. I came home and got accepted at Kent State university. I drove the six hours home and back to school every weekend. I didn’t care for Ohio’s weather. It was always windy and cold, and their beer was watered to 3.5.

After the fall semester, I told my parents I didn’t want to go back. This is where the National Guard killed 4 students in the Spring of 1969. They’re pushing for me to get into another school, which seem like the proper thing to do at the time because of the draft. If you carry a “C” average you couldn’t be touched. I got into the University of Maryland only 3-4 miles away, the classes were huge and besides that they gave me a parking lot 3/4 of a mile away. I couldn’t take it. I quit. I came home, threw my books on the kitchen table and said I’m joining the Army. But I was frustrated. I wanted adventure so I took a flight test with the US Army, passed it by three points and was able to enlist for helicopter pilot training. That was an eye opener and I learned discipline with barely no free time for a year. We did get weekends off in the last 5 months of school. One time coming back to base after visiting a friend living off base I got into an accident that could have been serious. It was raining cats and dogs at night, and in a slow right turn doing 55 mph my tires went off the road and the drop off was at least 2 inches. I over corrected when I turned left to get back on the highway. Soon I was out of control, doing donuts, full 360’s, I was thrown down to the floorboard

on the passengers side and the last thing I saw was 2 headlights bearing down on me. Wham! an oncoming car hit my right rear quarter panel. I went before a Judge in Savanna, Georgia and showed him who I was. He said, “Your going to Vietnam, that’s punishment enough, case dismissed”.

I got a 30 day leave, came home and got in trouble again. There was a big party going on and I couldn’t resist not going. Of course there were drugs and the place was raided by the Montgomery Police. Someone had a beef and called the cops on us. I had papers to Vietnam and I heard it got dropped because the paperwork wasn’t right. All my experiences in the military made me a man however.

After one year of training, I was given one year in Vietnam. I was supposed to do four years, but President Nixon was winding the war down and he gave us a two-year drop. War is a state of insanity, there should be no last resort concept, except for talking. I felt it firsthand, a lot of times with a birds eye view, 50-100 feet off the ground. A couple of incidents destroyed my concept of humanity.

One was killing people, and children and animals because some guy in the command and control chopper decides they have been helping the VC.                  Destruction of

human life up close and personal. At the same time this is happening on my helmet headset,  the Beatles “Let It Be”song came on, it served as a reminder to me from God. Something also happened, when we were in a firefight my new Seiko watch came off my left arm and fell to the Vietnamese village we were attacking, no doors on the choppers, symbolizing to me the stopping of time. We are powerless to avoid what we must experience however. Another time the gunship platoon wanted me to try out and be one of them. I went for one ride as copilot and was told to take out a farmer with a rocket…… I declined and they kept me in slicks. That was simply a horrendous experience.

A 3rd world farmer, alone minding his own business seen us coming. He throws his hoe down and turns to run. Then he realized there’s no place to hide so he turns and looks at us defiantly and throws his arms out. The rocket goes whoosh and lands just in front of him. These rockets explode nail shaped metal pieces and immediately I see 3” lines of blood all over his brown sweaty naked body, 50-100 bloody lines. I thought no I can’t do this and yet I’m in it.

Things weren’t all bad. I ran some medivacs. One time South of Ving Long I was peeled off to help a Major find his two staff sergeants. They were on a mission with a Company of South Vietnamese and had run into a bad firefight. He had lost radio contact and now I was flying like a sitting duck flying low and near the tree lines looking for Whisky 1 and Yankee 2, their call signs. I had used up all my fuel, past the reasonable limit. I said Major we got to to go and I turned the bird towards Bien Hoa, as I gained altitude my right side crew chief and gunner says over the intercom, “Sir I got him at 5:00”. I quickly flew in on our soldier and was aghast at his predicament, a lonely black American where one of his bloody arms with mud was raised to the sky out of the rice paddy.

Imagine yourself in his position, watching us flying around for over an hour and then thinking we were leaving. We had found Whiskey1 and got him on board, shot badly. I raced to Bien Hoa for fuel, they radioed back fuel is down, something is broken.

I sat by the pumps no more than a minute and made a command decision, but verbalized it to the the crew. We are going to Tan An about 15 minutes to the North, we may run out of fuel, who’s in? It was an unanimous go for it. I knew the compass reading so I stayed low level to save what little fuel we had, pushed the cyclic forward and the tail was up towards the sky at 40 degrees. Hitting 90 Kilometers, in 10 minutes I pulled back on the cyclic and up we went, I could see where we were and landed it like a sports car on a track. What a relief, I think I got him to medical help still alive and the bird was still running. It was a good day. I always thanked God for every day, but HE always got extra

Reverence when something extraordinary happens.

The last 3 months in Vietnam they let me serve as a Command and Control pilot. I’m above the ruckus and in charge of 5 slicks and 2 gunships. Luckily I had no casualties. I lost a good friend in Vietnam. Donald Krumrie was a pilot also. We played hard and worked hard. One night when we both had the next day off we stayed up late in the Officers Club. We had been playing poker all night and putting down 7&7’s and it was about 3:30AM when we had enough. We were both beyond normal drinking inebriation. I owed him $180.00. The next day Donald was gone, killed by a helicopter accident. They had woke him up at 6:00AM to fly because someone called in sick. My pool room is honored with a plack with his name. Forty years later I gave $360 to the Wounded Warriors Organization. I think Donald would have wanted that.

I got released from active duty on 3 March 71, my best and worst year. Two weeks after discharge from the Army I was back home in my stomping grounds, Langley Park, Maryland. One night about 9:30 PM me and about 5 friends entered the Golden Cue Pool Hall. There was Mark and Danny Ryan, Frank Barbero and Steve Asher. The place I spent most of my youth. It held about 12 tables and it had big picture windows facing the street, bathrooms were in the back. As we entered, it appeared empty, we were very high on pot. There were 2 African Americans at the counter and I headed for a bathroom. Danny Ryan headed to the counter to grab the balls, but unbeknownst to us we had walked into an armed robbery. I’m halfway to the bathroom and I heard a scuffle at the counter, so I turned and walked towards Danny.

These 2 black men are shouting something we couldn’t understand, sounded like,”get in the back of the room”. The black man levels a hand gun at me and fires. He finally got everybody’s attention. So all 5 of us hippies go to the back wall and assume the position. Hands over our heads against the wall. The guys are still screaming get to the back of the room. We had complied, what’s their problem? I looked to my left and I see the bathroom is filled with about 12 customers. He’s saying get in the bathroom this whole time. Only problem, there’s no room left. There were actually 4 robbers and they were busy robbing the customers. Now they are yelling get your hands down. If a cop drove by it would have been a sure give away. Anyway’s our bumbling short circuited their robbery. After getting what they wanted they were gone. We examined the bullet hole in the wall and it lined up with my head. I had just survived a gun shot that was closer than anything in Vietnam.

Everybody had a needle in their arm when I got back, I’m ashamed to say.  I did it and thankfully realized what an addiction it can turn into. I was 2O years old. $600 bought me a 1964 VW beetle and I converted it into a sleeping area. It was my transport and hotel. My Dad and Mom wanted me to continue my education so I was able to enroll into Georgetown University in Washington DC starting the summer courses. I lasted the summer semester but was too restless to stay for the fall courses. I got with a childhood friend, Mark Ryan and we hit the road. Free from the discipline structure of the military and school we lived loose and carefree. We started north, up into New York hitting bars and playing pool. Then we headed for New Orleans. We stopped in Eatonon, Georgia to see a Partner Pilot I was good friends with in Vietnam.

Jimmy Gregory really felt like my older brother. Did we ever have a good time on R&R. First night in Bangkok we couldn’t go out… we couldn’t move. The hotel could have burned down and we would have just watched it. The guy that gave us the smoke had put opium balls in the front of the joint.

We got to Mississippi and my little beetle was breaking down. It was loosing compression and only went 20 miles an hour, riding on the shoulder of the road. Sometimes we got up to 40 mph. When we got to New Orleans I found a mechanic who could fix the car for $400, so I dropped it off there and told him no hurry I would have to save my money. Now we were in the Big Easy, public transportation and a never ending party in the French Quarters.

We became street people, drinking Boones Farm wine and smoking pot, and psychedelic drugs. I never pan handled, but instead walked 2 miles twice a week to give plasma for $6.00 a visit. I ate at Buster Holmes red beans and rice in the Quarters for 30 cents. He made his fortune serving the street people one plate at a time, with all the French bread and butter you wanted. I was still getting $117 a week unemployment insurance from leaving the Army. So after about 6 weeks I got my beetle out of the shop.

Through some contacts I found a company hiring for rough necks on an oil platform. I had secured a job over the phone and me and Mark headed out for Grande Isle, a very remote place on the Gulf Coast. Mark was a Green Beret and neither one of us looked like soldiers. Our hair was long and we had beards. I guess we fit the counter culture. We arrived when the boss was leaving work, we were pulling in the driveway. I got out to introduce ourselves and soon as he saw us his hand goes over his eyes and he’s shaking his head like no, no.

People down here were untouched by counter culture and we were not the typical looking rough necks. So he says I’ll try you out, but I can’t keep you on land, you might get hurt it would be more accepting if you worked on the rigs.

He said go on in and tell cookie to get you something to eat, they are just done with dinner. We got a room in an old motel and the schedule was up at 3:30AM. Breakfast at 4:00AM, on the boat at 4:30AM. We get to the oil rig at 6:00. Work a 10 hour day and ride back to the motel at 5:30PM. We eat dinner at 6:00PM. That lasted about 2 weeks. Who wants to get beat to death by the waves before and after work.

Not me. I thought it’s beautiful out there on the rig, couple hundred feet above the water and when the sun comes up, it’s magnificent, but we weren’t cut out for this daily grind.

Mark headed back home to Maryland and I found a place to stay at 2468 Dauphine St. with an artist that worked around Jackson Square named Kenny Kilpatrick let me stay on the floor on a screen porch at the back of the house.

I had run myself down, partying, giving plasma and not eating right. I still had my two favorite books with me, Leaves of Grass and Cosmic Consciousness. I was also reading A Separate Reality. All my psychedelic experiences were positive. I had seen the Who play at the warehouse, a power adrenaline experience.

But the other shoe was about to drop, heard around the world. AND YOU ARE THE WORLD THAT’S GONNA HEAR IT. On a Monday night around Thanksgiving   In 1971 I’m smoking hash from a piece that’s 2”x2”x1/2” and then dropped acid. Over the next 12 hours I was incapacitated, thank God Kenny was there. I sat cross legged on the floor and experienced what Heaven is, what Hell is, and what Purgatory is. I was looking for an answer to this life, and it was delivered to me by God Himself. Whoa whoa I hear half of you saying that’s a drug induced experience, not valid. But your having a chemical induced experience now stone sober. I was terrified, I felt alone, the old Gary McIntyre was transformed. I thought I was insane.  This trip revisited me 3 times in full blown flashbacks in 7 day intervals to the hour. I will tell you I was consumed in a transparent geometric grid that had vertical and horizontal little crosses like plus signs, they were red blue white and transparent that permeates everything in existence tying everything together as ONE. The in and the out were the same. I wanted my old life back, terrified I turned myself in to the VA hospital. I really felt damaged, like what can I do, what job can I have if I keep flashbacking.

I was put on the mental patient floor for 30 days. My Doctor was named Dr Fudge and my nurse was named Stephanie, both excellent health care professionals. I was diagnosed with a major depressive disorder. They put me on Valium for the 30 days and reassured me I would be alright, that I had an intense learning experience. I more or less lost my physical body, I had osmosisified myself into everything. I started a new life, unbounded by barriers. I realized that I was alone in this new world.

Everyone else lived in the world of duality, separate, and selfish and were driven by symbols, like country, culture, man or woman rich or poor. These things or symbols didn’t mean anything to me anymore. I had become everything, ONE with the Creator and Creation.  I see we are all in Cosmic School and only by determination and Grace can you see.

It was time for me to settle down, get a job and find a girl. Through a good friend, Matt Donahue I landed a job with Maloney Concrete driving a truck. Steve Crump was hired too, another person I consider an older brother who was an MP in Vietnam.

Washington DC was building the subway and there was plenty of work. It paid $5.85 an hour and I was in the Teamsters Union. It was a good job for me, I was alone and spent time just observing the city and people. I was #1 truck and I put an additional advertisement on the door; 1 Way. I had a ponytail and a beard and carried Leaves of Grass like a bible. I could spout whole sections by memory. This job lasted 2 years, up to the point when they wanted me to wash the truck with hydrochloride acid to scrub the spatters of cement off the back and barrel with no safety equipment.

I quit for a good reason but disqualified for unemployment compensation payments by 6 weeks. I had met my girlfriend and first wife, Joanne just before I quit. I had managed to keep my rent low, $50 a month because I cut down a huge tree in the front yard of the landlord’s rental property. I cut it up in 2’ pieces and the neighbors helped themselves. It was gone in a week.

Joanne was pregnant with my first son, Mason, born 6 July 1974. I had actually quit Maloney Concrete over not getting paid for the July 4th holiday which was a Thursday. The Union said I had to work the day before and the day after to get paid. Joanne had gone to the hospital on the 5th a Friday and I took off that day. Mason was born on Saturday. I thought a good excuse would be considered, no such luck.

Joanne’s father whom I hadn’t met yet supplied us with a car. It was a 1966 Checker Cab car. Great car, lots of room. We packed up and headed to California via New Hampshire where her family was living. She was the 2nd oldest in a family of 13 kids. A good Catholic family. I have nothing but high praise for my mother and father in law, Richard and Emma Brown. There were 8 sisters and 5 brothers, the youngest and last was a 2 year old named Jennifer. She tragically lost her life in the front yard pond.

Dick as he liked to be called gave me and Joanne 2-1/2 acres and I had started working for a master carpenter/ builder by the name Harold McDonald. I learned everything about construction in my 2 year apprenticeship. With the help of many people I got my public life’s work started, but another silent work was hidden. It was God’s work laid on day in and day ttfout until today.

There was Harold McDonald who taught me my trade. Herby Scribner who was also a neighbor helped with the well and septic. The local sawmill which cut native wood that you could buy at the time for 10-15 cents a board foot. Harold was paying me $3.10 an hour under the table for a 40 hour week. Plus I was using the GI bill to go to the University of New Hampshire Tuesday and Thursday 5 hours each night, 5PM to 10PM.

From the age of 24 to 29 I built my house, my in- laws a huge house, helped a  Langley Park friend BD or Bobby Dolen build his house, raised my son Mason, got a Bachelor Degree in General Studies, ( major in philosophy and US History) and ended a marriage that wasn’t going anywhere, all with a full time job. Joanne and I had reached an impasse and she wanted me to leave.

So at the end of Dec 1979, I left in the middle of the night while a blizzard hit. I had all my tools in the back of my 1971 Ford pick up and headed for warmer weather, New Orleans. I drove straight through about 18-20 hours, and ended up crashing in the front seat in a parking lot in the French Quarter, snow still in the back, but it was now 65 degrees.

I was severely depressed, so much work, seemed to be all in vain, but I neglected my marriage and I had to leave my son. But I grabbed my cat who had been with me since 1972. Her name was Shiva, a ferociously independent but unbelievably faithful and loving companion. She was a super cat, backed down many a dog. She would sleep sometimes on the dashboard, other times on the seat behind my head. I named her for the Hindu God of destruction and death. She was with me 18 years.

I looked in the Times Picayune paper for work and found a construction job for $3.10 an hour plus a room at the Scottish Inn on Airport Drive. A new life was starting with new friends. All the newness helped me recover from the disastrous marriage. It was fun working in New Orleans again, 10 years later but I was better equipped. I had a pick up, tools and a Trade. I worked for the owner of the motel with 3 other guys, Greg, Everett, and John. I also met a very dear friend through Everett, his brother in law Harry Anderson.

We all worked for Phil who was remodeling a spec house. Then me and Greg got upgraded together we started working for Linda Mayor a wealthy 40 year old woman who lived in the Garden District. She had a spec house on Louisiana St. that we could live in, pay increase to $5.00 an hour. Once she could see what I was capable of I became her personal carpenter at her residence. She had a huge deck in the back built and a huge remodel of her kitchen, all in mahogany.

It’s the Big Easy, no hurry, drink some beer while you work, everything was laid back. Walk to Magazine St and get a Po’boy for lunch. No rush on the work and a friendly boss, what more could you want?

About 8-10 months went by and Joanne is telling me the house needs to be sold, so I take a leisurely drive North and stop by my parents house in Maryland. I spend a few days and on to New Hampshire. I had some work to do before I could sell it. I had procured a good buy on oak flooring 2”x3/4”. I put that down, made a nice finished look, but interest rates for mortgages were 17% in 1980 and buyers were not around.

Finally someone offered $42,000 when the county had assessed it at $62,000. But it was a fire sale and I wanted to get back to New Orleans. We made $22,000 for our troubles and we each got $11,000. Now I had a grub stake and a place to go. I was eyeing land in Mississippi, 1 hour North of New Orleans.