On October 29, 1970, the Byrds flew to Miami for a series of concerts, happy to escape to the road after all the drama surrounding recording in LA. Roger McGuinn had decided we could use a little first class relaxation, so Jimmi Seiter upgraded our plane tickets. We’d deal with the accountants, who were notoriously frugal, upon our return.

As we boarded the plane, we noticed that the spacious section of the plane held only two other passengers, one of whom looked familiar. A collective sigh of relief could be heard as the Boeing 747 lifted off from LAX. Shortly after takeoff, Clarence White strolled over to the other occupants, chatted a while, and returned with the familiar one, whom everyone now recognized. Jim Morrison of the Doors, a little heavier than when we had previously seen him, was traveling to Miami with his lawyer for an arraignment over charges that he had exposed himself onstage at a recent concert.

“We’re going upstairs to the lounge for a drink,” Clarence said. “Wanna join us?” Now, flying back then was rather different from today’s security-driven flights. Among other things, first class on a 747 included a well-fortified bar, which we were all looking forward to visiting. I loved those jumbo jets for their spiral staircases and penthouse watering holes. In a moment, all of us were upstairs, ordering drinks from a pretty flight attendant behind the bar.

Within an hour or two, Clarence replaced the attendant behind the bar, mixing Brandy Alexanders for the rest of us while Jimmi schmoozed the stewardess. By now, most of us were well buzzed and happy. It didn’t take much for a relaxed Morrison to coerce Clarence into a game of “stretch” using the guitarist’s Swiss Army knife. The two lined up and began tossing the blade into the floor, accurate throws sticking in the plane’s thick wall-to-wall carpet. The rules of the game required a player to place a foot wherever the blade stuck, players alternating turns until one or the other stretched out to their bodily limits and finally giving in or falling over.

Jim took a lead early in the game, his taller body and longer arms and legs giving him an advantage. Whack! He’d throw the knife and Clarence would stretch. Thud! Clarence threw the blade and Jim stretched. After a while, Clarence turned the tables on Jim, painfully stretching the singer out close to the floor.

“You got him now, Clarence!” I yelled, “Get ’em!” One more throw, I figured, and Morrison would be done. Suddenly, the co-pilot walked into the lounge unannounced, and all activity stopped dead. He sternly looked at all of us.

“Enough!” he shouted with authority. “Time to calm down.”

“And you,” he said, pointing to the stewardess, “you are needed downstairs.” We were busted! Feeling guilty, everyone in the lounge grinned sheepishly at his rebuke, turning our eyes away from him, boys with their hands caught in the cookie jar.

“Okay, now,” he said softly after the attendant returned to the main cabin downstairs. “Let’s smoke some of this.” A chunk of hash magically appeared in the co-pilot’s palm. No one could believe it! Jimmi blocked the staircase to prevent anyone else, including other flight crew or even Jim’s lawyer, from entering. Someone produced a pipe, and Roger dipped into his ubiquitous bag of gadgets, emerging with an Ozium sprayer to mask the smell of the burning hash.

It was one wild ride to Miami, drinking Brandy Alexanders and smoking with the Byrds, Jim Morrison, and the co-pilot. I felt lucky that there had been no emergencies requiring the co-pilot’s expertise! After landing, everyone quietly got off the plane, even though we were all completely bombed and buzzed. We all put on sunglasses to shut out the bright Miami sunshine from our bloodshot eyes and disembarked as if nothing had happened. I concluded that Jim’s attorney suspected something, but I’m sure he was happy to avoid hearing the details. We were back on the road again!

Watch: The Doors in 1970, “The End” [at youtube.com]

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