I sat on the floor and watched, along with my high school friend Charlie Osborne, whose father, Richard, was hosting this affair. There were a lot of people in conservative Pebble Beach who felt that Richard had no business inviting a known radical singer into his house to raise money for a measure seen by them as a threat property values. That Joan Baez was concerned and political was no secret. She sang at concerts, at political rallies, at sit-ins, and over American radio the lyrics of a new American songwriter. Bob Dylan. “How many roads must a man walk down / Before you call him a man?” As she sang, she tilted her head, her brow furrowed, and her eyes took on a questioning look. “How many times can a man turn his head,” she asked, “and pretend that he just doesn’t sec?”
To Charlie and me, of course, Baez’s presence seemed magical. We listened what she had to say, and it seemed sensible to us. How many roads did a man have to walk down, after all? But we were soon shunted upstairs, where we no doubt worked on perfecting our cigarette habit. FROM AN AMERICAN STORY
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