By John Cofield

Either you know or you don’t. Of all the cool students’ houses in town, there was nothing then or now quite like the Hippie Hotel. 

It stood on Van Buren down in that hole off the Square, steps from The Hoka and The Gin. 

Those footsteps were wobbled many times as the party left the bars and headed for the hippest hangout we knew. 

Bohemians, frat boys, local drunks, undercover sorority girls, to Goth kids, wild away many small hours at the “hotel.”

And yes, pot smoke eased out most all the upstairs windows. We strolled in and staggered out. 

We played as hard as we dared at the Hippy Hotel. Back when the dew was still on our youthful lives.