38 Roads by Gene Lee

38 Roads stands out as a novel that those born in the years following Word War 2, and coming of age in mid-1960’s and early 1970’, owe it to themselves to read. Detailing the times and travels of Sean Morgan, a young man adrift in America after Woodstock, and the collapse of the Counterculture, 38 Roads does for the Baby Boomers what Jack Kerouac’s On the Road did for his generation.

With language that is at times humorous, tragic, encouraging, sad, sometimes all of these at the same time, Sean Morgan’s young life and adventures roll out on the page like a fast moving car does on an endless highway.

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Excerpt from 38 Roads © Copyright 2025 Gene Lee

Part 1: Gainesville & Beyond

~ 1 ~ University Drive

“Stop the War,” Sean Morgan yelled out with the rest of the throng as they marched down University Drive. “Stop the freakin' war now.” Sean had promised his pal Chuck in the Gainesville chapter of the Vietnam Vets Against the War that he'd be at the protest. It was a promise he had forgotten all the way up to the weird, yet fortuitous, moment that brought him there on that Friday night in early May doing what he had said he would.

A restless sense of unease hung like a pall over Gainesville that spring of 1972—maybe over the entire state of Florida as far as Sean knew. Recently turned twenty-one, he had six credit hours left to finish his first two years of higher education. He was unsure if another two were needed. Nixon was gearing up to run for re-election with the war in Vietnam blazing away at high speed. His girlfriend Luellen had gone off to pursue a dream that Sean couldn't pursue with her. So yeah, when he thought about it there were reasons for him to be uneasy.

Like most of his friends, once the summer after his high school graduation was over Sean had made a beeline for college. In his case, the junior college in Gainesville where he arrived in the fall of 1969. He had one break from his tenure at Santa Fe, caused by a love affair that didn't turn out the way he would have liked. That found him, along with his pal Bob Wilcox, or Boober, stranded in western Mass as another fall was coming on. With Boober staring down the draft, and Sean missing the easy money from his dead father's Social Security benefits, the two of them hitchhiked back to Florida. Gainesville, or G'ville as students called it, where they re-enrolled in the junior college. Sean was planning to stay enrolled come hell or high water. As for Boober? He wandered off after one semester and Sean hadn't heard from him since.

Now another spring was in the air and Sean was still faced with many of the same issues he'd had to deal with after graduating high school. When not in class, which was often, he spent his time loafing around the campus, enjoying the warm days, sneaking a joint in the sunshine while watching the hippie girls going to class—girls enjoying the warm weather in shorts, halter tops, or thin tee shirts. If he had them on hand, Sean would hawk Sopers—that wonderful new addition to the Quaalude family—to his fellow students. Sometimes, during the process of hawking his wares, Sean was offered an invite to partake of them with the buyer. If the buyer was female, these were invites he didn't hesitate to jump on.

In this way April of 1972 had passed, the new month finding Sean strangely alone one Friday night, and suddenly aware of the unease that he had been trying to ignore.

The war, whether or not to continue his education, the creepy president, these were only minor factors behind Sean's unease. Other than having long blond hair the army would immediately cut off, and being nearsighted, which the army had no problems with, he was a prime candidate for cannon fodder. Fortunately, courtesy of the recent draft lottery and the high number his birthday earned him, going to Vietnam was no longer an issue in his life.

As for his education? The truth of it was he didn't really care—he was just passing the time as pleasantly as he could. He didn't care about the upcoming presidential election either. And Luellen? Yes, he missed her. But he had won and lost at love before, sometimes his fault, most times if he were to be brutally honest, and sometimes the girl's fault. There would be another. And that another might just be the One.

What he really cared about most on that first Friday night in May as he sat stoned in the house he shared with Will and Tommy, were the FDLE agents swarming their sleepy little college town. In the process, said agents were busily arresting people Sean knew and had done business with. This is what he was contemplating on that Friday night when there came a rude and unexpected knocking on the front door.

The house—the Cave they had named it after moving in—sat at the very end of a dirt road off of Route 20. The nearest neighbor was halfway between it and the highway, and across the street stretched nothing but pine trees and scrub. The concrete block construction kept it nice and cool, while the oak trees all draped with Spanish moss surrounding the structure, made it very dark and cold inside. Hence the name. But it was cheap. Better even than the low rent? The house was remote, a remoteness providing a sense of security when Sean and his roommates were off loading or sending the bales of reefer that paid for the place.

Will was off that night with the Tampa boys lining up a shipment of the Michoacán they had a steady line on. Tommy had borrowed Sean's old Ford pickup for a dope mission of his own. The Johnny Winter band was coming to town and Tommy, their local man, had to line up some smack. Through his efforts, whenever the band came around, Tommy earned both cash and smack for his own use. If Sean felt the need to go anywhere that night, Tommy had left his 650 Bonneville behind for him. It was a better than even trade. The bike was not only faster than his Ford, but a lot more fun to wheel around on.