Here’s the last installment of Brooklyn Beat’s memories of the Summer of Love in Brooklyn and the head shop in Windsor Terrace.

Well, as incredulous as we were about the Head Shoppe’s appearance in
the neighborhood (remember, back then one would have to take the subway
into Mahattan to pay 50 cents or a buck for a copy of the Village Voice
at a newsstand ),  like something from outer space, it proved to be a
will o’ the wisp, as ephemeral as the 60s themselves would prove to be
in some regards.  Possibly a day or two after it opened, we passed it
to see that someone had thrown a garbage can through the window of the
Head Shop. And, while my memory may be fuzzy, I think it was one of
those heavy street corner Department of Sanitation trash cans.  And, if
I recall correctly, the shop quickly closed and never reopened..   

But the Summer of Love to me at twelve years of age in Brooklyn was a
brand, a distant concept, almost a vision, something to aspire to
as I got older, as though, perhaps, with time, and movement out of my
parents’ home and sphere of influence, I too could dare to step into
this new world of music, excitement and Love…

Speak memory…