by Andy Roberts
The intense press interest came to fruition in mid-March when London Life heavily trailed its forthcoming LSD exposé. London Life was the quintessentially Swinging Sixties magazine, featuring hip society gossip, fashion, nightclubs, boutiques and music. The editor had been offered an exclusive interview with Desmond O’Brien, co-founder with Michael Hollingshead of the World Psychedelic Centre. This was O’Brien and Hollingshead’s big chance to expound their LSD philosophy to a wider audience. But Hollingshead knew nothing about the interview until he saw the lurid TV advertisement. It was shown during breaks on peak time TV; cheap psychedelic visual effects with a voice-over intoning: “LSD – the drug that could turn on London. Read the exclusive story in next week’s London Life.”
Hollingshead was appalled, but it was too late to prevent publication. Perhaps O’Brien had been caught off guard by the fact that Hugh Blackwell, one of the reporters, was a friend of Hollingshead’s and regular visitor to the WPC. Or he may have been unaware that Blackwell intended to sell his story to London Life. When questioned by Hollingshead, all Blackwell could offer by way of an excuse was that he was so stoned he didn’t realise what he was doing.
The London Life interview was published on March 19, the day after Hollingshead’s first court appearance following the January arrests at the WPC. Luckily the case was adjourned until May, giving Hollingshead the opportunity to read what the “straight” world thought of his psychedelic antics. Headed “The Drug That Could Become A Social Peril”, the article opened with O’Brien rather unwisely introducing himself as “Mr. LSD” and claiming that anyone could take control of London in under eight hours by putting LSD in the water system.8
Yet if the reader ignored these unlikely tales of psychedelic terrorism and read carefully what O’Brien was saying, a clear picture of the new LSD philosophy could be discerned. O’Brien explained how carefully his LSD sessions were run and what motives lay behind the WPC: “The plan was to disseminate knowledge about LSD to responsible, intelligent people who could appreciate and benefit from its properties. It was introduced to intellectuals, writers, artists and other creative people in London as well as minor people in the lower realms of politics.” This was the philosophy Aldous Huxley advocated for LSD but it wasn’t exactly what had happened.
O’Brien also acknowledged that the drug could have negative effects: “It must be remembered that while normally agreeable or even beautiful sensations predominate, they are not guaranteed. Their very depth and intensity must give rise to occasional feelings of non-comprehension and disquiet.”
Unfortunately these balanced considerations of the drug’s use were subsumed by London Life’s garish accounts of people imagining themselves to be Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest. The editorial message was summed up with the portentous statement: “In these days of instant trends there is a very real danger of this dangerous drug spreading, as purple hearts did, among wider sections of the population. Who knows what moral lethargy could result?”9
If the London Life piece were not enough to worry London’s psychedelic pioneers, the following day saw both the News of the World and the People enter the debate. The People had infiltrated the WPC so successfully they had been able to take photographs inside the flat, showing bags of sugar and psychedelic posters. The sugar was presumably there in connection with Joey Mellen’s theory that it kept people calm while they were under the influence of LSD. The People captured the depths to which the WPC had fallen: “The Centre was deserted and in a state of considerable chaos when our investigator gained entry on Thursday. There were used hypodermic syringes, empty drug ampoules and a variety of pills. Among the litter of paper were dozens of phone numbers, some of them well-known show business stars and personalities.”10
O’Brien was traced to his Cheshire home where he told the People: “You could call me Mr. LSD, but I’m not a pusher of the stuff ... Such drugs enlarge the mind, the perception and understanding of life.” Among the usual uninformed dire warnings from the police and medical experts the People featured a lengthy story about Stewart Gunther-Rains who, they claimed, had been driven insane by his addiction to LSD. The fact that LSD is neither physically or psychologically addictive had been conveniently ignored in the paper’s rush to be a player in the moral panic being stoked by the press. At another LSD centre, a flat at Emperor’s Gate, West Kensington, LSD dealer Kevin Bayliss gave the People just what it was looking for. Bayliss cheerfully sold the undercover reporters LSD on blotting paper saying, “Just chew it and you’ll have a nice scene.”
News of the World reporter Charles Sandell weighed in with a piece headed “Menace of the ‘Vision of Hell’”. Sandell discovered he could easily purchase LSD in Chelsea for around £1 and he too stressed the possible psychiatric problems LSD could cause. A detective was quoted as saying, “It presents a much bigger threat than marijuana and purple hearts.” Just why it presented such a threat was not explained. The statement, one of many such warnings about LSD issued during 1966, suggests there was concern in the corridors of power about the drug’s potential for personal and social change.11
The media’s ruthless investigation of London’s LSD scene had exposed a naïvety among the psychedelic pioneers. No matter how educated and socially sophisticated the leaders of the psychedelic revolution were, they had no idea how to deal with the press. Although LSD was still legal, by allowing reporters into the WPC and other psychedelic centres O’Brien, Hollingshead and the others had played straight into the media’s hands. By claiming he was “Mr. LSD”, O’Brien had unwittingly painted himself as a criminal “Mr. Big”. Irrespective of O’Brien’s eloquence in describing the positive uses of LSD, the frightened British middle classes felt something they didn’t understand was taking place, and they were only too happy to believe anything the popular press told them. Bob Dylan had summed up what the LSD users thought of the straight world on his 1965 LSD inspired album Highway 61 Revisited when he wrote: “Because something is happening here/But you don’t know what it is/Do you Mr. Jones?”12
Despite their urbane cleverness in tricking the first wave of LSD proselytisers, the police and press had also made errors. In their haste to warn that LSD use caused insanity, “visions of hell” and immorality, they had inadvertently highlighted a crucial fact. At each of the properties infiltrated, observed or raided the LSD dealers had a non-stop stream of customers. Yet no one was forcing these people to use LSD, it was a conscious decision. As LSD was non-addictive it was clear that young people were using it repeatedly because they liked the experience and gained something from it. It was also clear to LSD users that despite the press hyperbole LSD did not automatically cause insanity or immorality. Firsthand reports from LSD users almost always stressed the positive effects and qualities of the drug, while the “bad trips” were simply accepted as a necessary part of the experience, to be dealt with as they arose.
London Life, the People and the News of the World were read by hundreds of thousands of readers. In their pursuit of public outrage and sales figures these news sources had also raised the public profile of LSD to an unprecedented level. Prior to March 1966 the British public had little knowledge of LSD and these exposés were the first time most young people had read anything about the drug. Now the letters LSD were a household name, and to anyone curious enough to read beyond the hyperbole the clear message was “LSD exists, it is easy to get, and it will blow your mind”. What better advertisement could a drug and a subculture have?
In the same edition the News of the World revealed another psychedelic menace to the British public: morning glory seeds. While fulminating against their misuse, the paper explained exactly how to prepare the seeds for use as a psychedelic drug. As evidence of how popular the seeds were becoming they cited a shop owner in Richmond who had sold his entire stock of seeds to one young man. As with the media revelations about LSD, most young people were similarly ignorant of the fact that morning glory seeds could be used to get high, but following the scare story it
was public knowledge. Garden centres began to notice an influx of a much younger clientele who just wanted to make the one purchase.13
There was an immediate knock-on effect from these revelations. The Home Office rapidly issued a statement requesting the seed trade observe a voluntary moratorium on sales of morning glory seeds. The Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britain took an immediate interest in the seed buying habits of Britain’s youth and initiated an investigation. As with LSD, the press was trying to use its muscle to have a drug legislated against. That no deaths or serious illness had resulted from the use of morning glory seeds appeared to be irrelevant. The simple fact that young people had discovered a cheap, legal and effective way of getting high was enough to outrage the tabloid press.
On 7 April the Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britain reported to the Home Secretary, Roy Jenkins that “... some species of the plant could, if seeds were eaten, produce hallucinations and well-being”. Could a substance that produced feelings of well-being, with no serious medical contraindications be legislated against, and if so on what grounds? The Home Secretary needed time to consider and it was noted that, “... the organisations concerned would consider separately the implications of the report and have further consultations.”14
Throughout 1965 and 1966 Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, the Swiss chemical manufacturer responsible for discovering, producing and distributing LSD, had become increasingly worried about the recreational use of the drug. On 15 April, after a spate of lurid LSD press stories from America, Sandoz announced it was ceasing to distribute LSD to the medical profession there, believing this would prevent LSD from leaking out to the hippies. This may have been a good public relations exercise for Sandoz but it was a futile gesture – too little, too late. The vast majority of LSD being manufactured for recreational use in America and Britain was now being made by legendary underground chemists such as Augustus Owsley Stanley III, known as Bear. It would not be long before maverick chemists would be producing Britain’s own illegal LSD.
On Wednesday 6 April, Britain’s first LSD court case opened when John Esam stepped into the dock at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court, charged with conspiracy to distribute LSD. George Shindler, acting for the prosecution sounded unconvincing in court when he outlined the legal issues, noting that the drug did not yet come under the Misuse of Drugs Act, but hoped it would soon. Some of those in the public gallery wondered why Shindler was so hesitant and why, if LSD wasn’t covered under the Misuse of Drugs Act, there was no mention of it being covered under the Poisons Act. Shindler added, perhaps in an attempt to have Esam remanded in custody, that: “It is clear that Esam is in touch with people all over the world who are taking this drug.” But the magistrate was minded to grant bail to Esam and his co-defendant Russell Page, until 19 April.15
Following the revelations by London Life, the People and the News of the World, it was inevitable that LSD would come to the attention of the BBC. When it did they immediately commissioned a freelance producer, Jack Bond, to film a piece on LSD for its 24 Hours programme.
Bond decided to film an LSD party at the home of Chelsea antique dealer Christopher Gibbs on April 16. Gibbs was well-known on the LSD scene, having been a visitor to the World Psychedelic Centre, and his Chelsea flat played host to many LSD sessions. Gibbs was an enthusiastic LSD user and for him it, “blew away the cobwebs and removed lots of layers of armour.”16 With its sumptuous decorations and view of the River Thames, Gibbs’ flat was not only beautiful, it was regarded as the place to take LSD. The wealthy and socially mobile Chelsea set took LSD there many times and film maker Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon recalls taking LSD there with Mick Jagger.
The People paid £100 for a tip-off about the party’s location and sent a couple of reporters to cover the story. Their report, splashed across the front page the following morning, was predictably sensational. The BBC and People journalists witnessed what appeared to be a wild “happening”, with numerous people under the influence of LSD and other drugs. “A happening is a party at which people do whatever comes into their heads – self-expression, man” one guest at the party told the People. Self-expression was just a tad too much for the journalists who could make no sense of the event. Sensory overload was the order of the day, with many attendees decked out in what appeared to be fancy dress. Some people stared transfixed at temporary sculptures in one room. In another room there was a traditional psychedelic light show; and in another a surreal film was being projected. While some of the People article sounded plausible, other parts appeared to be fresh out of the book of drug clichés. One such questionable quote was: “Look at me, I’m high on LSD. I’m a baby again.” The People’s traditional prurience shone through in the accounts of how “Men danced with men – women danced with women” and its observation that in a darkened room where the LSD trippers were watching a light show, men and women were embracing.17
The BBC filmed what they could and fled, one of the crew saying, “I’ve had enough – that was too much for anyone to take”. When the BBC saw the front page of the People they back-pedalled, a press officer stating, “What part of the film is used is an editorial decision. It is still not certain when we shall include this material in the programme or how much of it or in what form.”
At Esam and Page’s court appearance on 19 April the prosecution introduced new evidence into court. Alongside the charge of selling LSD Esam and Page were also charged with sale of DMT. DMT, or dimethyltryptamine, is a fast acting psychedelic drug several times stronger than LSD. The effects of DMT are difficult to describe but some DMT users have likened it to being launched, seemingly for eternity, into a million alternate universes, though the effects last in reality for no more than thirty minutes. DMT was available throughout the Sixties in London but due to its dramatic and unpredictable effects it was taken by relatively few people, most preferring the much more manageable and user-friendly LSD.
Once again there was some confusion in court as to just which law Esam and Page had transgressed. Esam now believed he had not broken any law and pleaded not guilty to the charges against him, reserving his defence. None of the newspaper reports about the case mention which law they were being prosecuted under and, looking at the case in retrospect, it is hard to understand why the magistrate did not discharge the pair.
John Ryman, for the prosecution, argued: “We are dealing with the use of a type of drug not considered by the courts to any extent.” Here, Ryman was being disingenuous as he knew full well that until now LSD had not been considered in any court. He added: “We must, therefore, have the best considered judicial interpretation of these matters.” The magistrate gave Esam and Page bail to allow the prosecution to organise its case. It was to be several months before they would be in court again.18
History shows Esam to have been correct in deciding to challenge the law. Others weren’t so prescient. The first successful prosecution for LSD took place in late May when Roger Lewis, a freelance photographer, appeared at Marlborough Street Magistrate’s Court charged with possessing thirteen LSD-laced sugar cubes and aiding and abetting the sale of LSD. Lewis’ defence was that he had become interested in LSD after reading about it in London Life and that he had bought some in a Chelsea coffee bar. He pleaded guilty and was discharged on the count of possession but fined £25 for aiding the sale of LSD. It was clear to London’s judiciary that Chelsea was becoming well-known as a place where LSD was frequently used and could be easily bought. In an LSD prosecution in August, involving a King’s Road boutique owner, the magistrate noted: “There are too many drugs going about in Chelsea.”19
Michael Hollingshead was sentenced on 24 May. Legal Aid had been refused and, though he could have paid for legal representation, Hollingshead’s ego and megalomania got the better of him and he decided to conduct his own defence. He compounded this folly by arriving at court high on LSD which, as he notes in a classic piece of understatement, “... enhanced the unreality of the scene ...” Hollingshead accepted the charges relatin
g to cannabis, but denied being in possession of heroin and morphine, saying they had been left in his flat by a man named Arthur. Needless to say, the judiciary was unimpressed with his defence and he was sentenced to twenty-one months in custody. 20
As prisoner 4380, Hollingshead settled down to life in London’s Wormwood Scrubs and tried to make the best of a bad situation. While in prison he noted: “I myself had a reasonably steady supply of hashish, and a stash of LSD which Richard Alpert and Owsley had left during their visit to the Scrubs.”21 Hollingshead might have had LSD in prison, but once again it seems his ability to mix fact with fiction got the better of him. Owsley, a.k.a. Bear, (now living in Australia), utterly refutes this claim; “I’m sorry – your source is false about me ... I never met Michael Hollingshead.”22 This is yet another example of Hollingshead’s disingenuity, a mixing of fact with fiction to create a mask of public identity. All his stories, unless backed up by third party evidence, must be treated with a degree of suspicion.
Hollingshead’s time in prison was uneventful, with one major exception. The MI6 agent, George Blake, imprisoned for forty-two years after it was discovered he had been passing on secrets to the Soviets, was also a prisoner in Wormwood Scrubs. During conversations with Hollingshead, Blake expressed an interest in taking LSD and one Sunday afternoon when the prison was quiet and inmates had free access between cells the pair took the drug. Initially everything was all right but Blake soon began to tense up and became paranoid that Hollingshead was working for the intelligence services and had given him a truth drug. Blake eventually calmed down, spending the final hours of his LSD experience in deep thought, reflecting to Hollingshead that he might not be able to cope with his long prison sentence. Blake escaped and fled to Russia a few weeks after his LSD trip and Hollingshead’s account of his LSD trip has never been corroborated. Hollingshead, thought to be a model prisoner, also left Wormwood Scrubs, but by a more conventional transfer to the open prison at Leyhill in Gloucestershire.