Chapter 32

Jake Gholjub went, each day, to the city piers, and stuck out his thumb. Each night he returned to his cardboard box in the alley behind a row of restaurants. He had an 'arrangement' with the chefs. Every night one of the several restaurants fed him leftovers. At one meal a day, Jake was painfully thin, but he was strong. In exchange for his one meal, Gholjub kept the alley spotless and free from bums.

In 1960, J. Gholjub, Ph.D., naturalized citizen of the United States, native of New Delhi, India and research scientist in charge of certain possibly illegal chemical processes under the auspices of the CIA, had offended the wrong three people in one day ... all for the same reason.

"No. No, sir. Doing that I will not be. Offended I am that consideration of that is possible," he told the newly minted General now in charge of the Research Station.

When they sent the former civilian chief of operations to find out why he objected to the requested line of research ... they were, after all volunteers...

"No ... Volunteers may be, but in their eyes is a deadness. On animals testing I would not do. Humans never I test."

They finally sent the FBI. He still refused. "An ethical position it is."

Well, that settled it. No United States government employee can have ethics. It would make the rest look bad.

Security clearance pulled, Dr. Gholjub was blackballed. Whenever he managed to find a professional position, the lab was notified of Gholjub's incongruencies ... he was speedily discharged. Eventually no legitimate chemical concern would hire him even as a technician. By the end of 1960, Dr. Gholjub was unemployable ... through governmental interference he was also ineligible for unemployment. They also pulled his passport. He couldn't leave, neither could he work.

If only Dr. Gholjub were to embrace certain political doctrines, several California institutes of higher learning would be pleased to offer him a teaching position. He had grown up in India ... fomenting political unrest had no attraction.

Besides, the sub-continent of India had the oh so interesting problem of being, as a whole, thrust under the continent of Asia. Said process being responsible for numerous earthquakes of colossal magnitudes. Having left one danger zone, he had no interest in being dumped into the sea when the San Andreas Fault suffered 'the Big One.'

In 1961, Jake put his chemical expertise to use and started to manufacture Lysergic Acid 25, a derivative of rust on rye wheatgrass. The process was a Swiss formula but Gholjub wasn't concerned with patents ... he was interested in keeping his belly full, his car payments up to date and the rent and upkeep of his small lab met ... in that order of importance.

In 1962, LSD25 was NOT illegal ... but it was being 'investigated.' Governmental pressure on chemical suppliers dried up his legal sources of supplies and Jake's little lab went bust. By the start of 1963, Jake had ended up in New York City, unhappily ensconced in the triple layer cardboard domicile he called home. He had no phone, no power bill, no address, no postoffice box ... Jake had fallen off the radar.

Since the lab he used to run, was in Iowa and New York was now home, Jake had been introduced to the interesting mode of travel called hitchhiking. He had no interest in going farther north ... Iowa was cold ... New York was colder ... Boston was sure to be worse ... Farther east was wet ... West was going back ... it was said that the south was warm.

Water travel intrigued him.

Since the plague of the great unemployment, Gholjub had adopted that peculiar singsong Indian accent that so intrigued Americans. Upon hearing it, Americans have been known to pull money out of purses, wallets and pockets ... Gholjub was a reasonably successful panhandler. This paid for his one vice: Jake was a Coke addict. No ... not the powder ... the drink.

In 1963, his drink of choice was Coca Cola in the six and a half ounce bottle. The new ten ounce Coke didn't taste the same. The taste was the same ... the thicker glass of the smaller bottle kept the contents colder ... not that it mattered. Coke was trying to change. By offering the ten ounce at the same price as the 6.5, they hoped to reduce the cost of the bottle. The ten used less glass than the six. They also upped the deposit on the six to a nickel while keeping the ten at two cents.

So it was, that Jake Gholjub, coke aficionado, could be found most days, at the city marina, thumbing a ride south by boat. He became one of the eccentrics of the harbor. Enough so, that an 'investigative reporter' included him in an article 'Great Bums of the City' ... not that it helped him get a ride.

No ... Jake's future was still in Michigan, idling their way through Lake St Clair, dodging barges and shooting off fireworks.