I was scarcely born, I think, before the inanity of society's standards was apparent to me. It was a good thing, therefore, that when I was four, going-on five years old, my parents decided to drive us all (down Highway 101, as it was then) to Santa Barbara and back, passing notably through the Redwoods, and Chico, and spending I think about a week in San Francisco and Oakland. I remember our suddenly flying (so it seemed) in the Chevy coupe' over the Golden Gate Bridge from the Marin County side, with San Francisco, the White City, dream-like before us--and I was sold: Something deep within me said, "This is what it is to be human."