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Robbins in 1981 |
I'm not ashamed to say I was pretty much in love with Tom Robbins, who died yesterday at the age of 92. The only personal ad I ever wrote said, "Ellen Cherry Charles seeks Boomer Petway," naming two characters from his novel
Skinny Legs and All. (The paper refused to run the ad because I wouldn't say how old I was, or was looking for. They missed the point.)
The author of nine wild and wonderful
novels like Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Robbins also penned a memoir titled Tibetan Peach Pie: A True Account of an Imaginative Life, which describes
in a series of stories his “lifelong quest to personally interface
with the Great Mystery (which may or may not be God) or, at the very
least, to further expose myself to wonder.”
Born and raised in the South, Robbins worked as a copy editor for The Richmond Times-Dispatch, a job he
continued after graduating with a degree in journalism in 1959. But, according to the New York Times,
"he chafed under the restrictions of Jim Crow-era Richmond, including a
prohibition at the newspaper against printing photographs of Black
people — a transgression he nevertheless committed several times."
He moved to Seattle and worked at the Seattle Times, where he wrote art reviews and unusual headlines for
Dear Abby columns during what he calls “that nondescript period between
the end of the beige '50s and the beginning of the Day-Glo '60s.” He
read about Gordon Wasson’s sacred mushroom experiments in Life magazine and—having explored Zen, Tantric Hinduism, Sufism and the Tao—he sought
Wasson’s experience, but was lead to LSD instead.
Describing his first LSD trip in Tibetan Peach Pie, Robbins wrote that the session ended with his consciousness entering a daisy’s, described
“like a cathedral made of mathematics and honey.” He credits this
life-changing experience with enabling him to lose his “terror of the
eternal,” and finding the connection between modern painting and the
psychedelic sacraments:
Each…offered humanity a new way of seeing, an enlarged and deepened
definition of reality, a freshened and intensely sensual awareness of
what it means to be a cognitive mammal on a tiny planet spinning
precariously in the backwash of an infinite universe…
He wrote of visiting Amsterdam “to take the waters,” and recounts his
participation in the historic 1963 LeMar (Legalize Marijuana) event
organized by Allen Ginsberg at the Women’s Detention Center in Greenwich
Village, “to protest that the prison was crowded with females of all
ages whose sole criminal act was the private, orderly, nonviolent
inhalation of tiny plumes of smoke given off by a smoldering weed.”