It was the summer of 1969, and I was living near Los Angeles, sharing an apartment with two friends, Charlie and Dave. We had spent the bulk of the day working on our motorcycles when Dave heard the phone ringing in our apartment. He ran to get it, and seemed to be gone a long time.

When he got back, he was very excited, and said that Roy, an acquaintance of his, had just gotten a big load of weed in from Mexico, and he was looking for customers. It was the height of the '60's, and everyone was either smoking grass or trying it. My friend Charlie seemed interested, and so we all took off to try the "fine new weed."

Halfway there, we met up with some other bikers. While waiting at a particularly long stoplight, we told them where we were going and why. They got very animated, and asked to tag along.

At that precise moment, a voice spoke in my ear, and said, "Don't go!"

I looked to Charlie and asked why not, and he said, "Why not what?" I said that he had just said that he didn't want to go to Roy's, but he denied saying anything. At that moment, the light changed, and we gunned our engines and drove another couple of blocks.

Approximately six blocks from Roy's place, we stopped for another light. Suddenly I heard the voice again, this time louder and more urgent. "DON'T GO!" It was as though someone was standing right next to me, shouting in my ear. I looked around, but no one in my motorcycle group had said a word or was paying the slightest bit of attention to me.

Abruptly, I shouted that I was going to ride to a coffee shop in Santa Paula, about 15 miles away, where a girl named Ronnie worked. The others tried to dissuade me, saying that we could get coffee at Roy's, but I said no. I wanted to go to Ronnie's. I ended up persuading Charlie and about six others to come with me. We peeled off from the main group and raced off on what they thought was a purely impulsive trip.

When we got home that evening, all our friends were talking about the terrible tragedy that had taken place at Roy's. Some of the strangers that we had met up with had been carrying loaded weapons, and they had claimed that Roy had tried to cheat them during the buy. Guns were drawn, shots fired, a few people were dead, and everyone had been arrested and gone to jail on multiple charges ranging from possession to murder.

Only the few who had gone with me to Santa Paula for coffee had escaped, and only then because someone or something had warned me.

Jim (Died of cancer because of Agent Orange in Vietnam)

Submitted by a friend as Jim related it.

Posted 3/2/2012