From its waterfront perch in Sausalito, the Trident’s clientele could see the San Francisco skyline and the Golden Gate Bridge. The club/restaurant was “a trippy space ship” whose passengers just happened to be a Who’s Who of rock & roll (the Stones, Quicksilver, Crosby, Garcia, Lesh, Sam Andrew, Peter Stampfel) and Hollywood (Clint Eastwood, Warren Beatty, Sterling Hayden) and elsewhere (Alan Watts, Sonny Barger, Bill Cosby), not to mention Robin Williams was one of the busboys and the tequila sunrise was invented at the bar. The Fifties became the Sixties at the club, then the Sixties became the Seventies…Benito Vila takes us back, through the words of those who were there.

Sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. It gets people out of bed and into trouble. So do waitresses wearing next to nothing, free-flowing tequila and across-the-bay views of San Francisco. Combine those with the best weed in town and discovering Sonny Barger, Clint Eastwood, Alan Watts, Bill Cosby and Sterling Hayden at the bar––that’s a recipe for trouble, too. And that’s The Trident, the late Sixties’ and early Seventies’ Bay Area go-to spot for organic food, good drugs and fabulous people in much the same way Times Square’s Tin Pan Alley (The Hi-Hat in HBO’s The Deuce) was the place for New York’s pimps, porn stars and prostitutes in the late Seventies and early Eighties.

The Trident’s attraction? The girls? The setting? The menu? The clientele? It depends on whom you ask. But in a place where Robin Williams was the busboy and porn film producer Summer Brown was a waitress; where Keith Richards tasted his first tequila sunrise and cocaine was a currency; where weed was being delivered by boat and Hells Angels could be found banging around on the deck, there were plenty of reasons to go––reasons that had nothing to do with the city view or the brown rice.

“When he hired me, Frank was in jail. The deal was that he could work at the restaurant, Monday through Friday, but he had to sleep at the jail.”

Located on the waterfront in Sausalito in what once was the San Francisco Yacht Club, The Trident was the brainchild of Frank Werber, the manager and producer of The Kingston Trio––the top pop-folk hit-makers of the late Fifties and early Sixties. When Werber first came across The Trident in the late Fifties, it was a nightclub known locally as “The Dock”, a sawdust-on-the-floor, bucket-of-blood for local mariners. In 1960, he and The Kingston Trio befriended Village Vanguard manager and Lenny Bruce pal Louis Ganapoler on a trip to New York and soon invited Ganapoler to Sausalito. In being convinced by Ganapoler to hire him as their new restaurant manager, Werber and the band collectively transformed the gloomy club into a Beat jazz bar, where patrons were treated to local pianists Vince Guaraldi, George Duke and Flip Nunez as well as headliners Jon Hendricks, Bill Evans, Sergio Mendez, Bola Sete and Willie Bobo.

Jon Hendricks – “Gimme that wine!” – Live at the Trident 1963:

By 1966 Beat poetry, Brazilian jazz and The Kingston Trio had fallen out of favor, setting Werber to forego his life as a music producer and instead turn The Dock into the sort of place his hippie rock star and Hollywood friends would want to go. That decision led to a gutting of the club’s interior and the introduction of curved wooden partitions, private banquet seating, a see-the-whole-place bar and a colorful peyote-culture ceiling mural by local artist Steve Elvin. That renovation also led to a new name––The Trident––the old yacht club taking on the name of Werber’s production company. It also led to hiring practices and standard operating procedures that would create front-page lawsuits today: Polaroids of all applicants, a be-as-bold-as-you-dare dress code, an ample drug cache for employees and patrons alike and the constant suggestion of sex.

Walls don’t talk but people do. Here are behind-the scenes stories from The Trident:

Trident hostess Cathleen Civale: Sausalito in 1969 was a whole different time. The park was still open, there were all these little shops full of all these interesting characters who had survived the Depression and World War II. I asked the old man who ran the dry cleaner and the grocery store why he worked so hard, and he said, “I no work, I die.” I had moved there from New York with a girlfriend into an apartment on Bridgeway. We had no furniture, just our bags, and half of those got stolen after we moved in. We took a job at a shop on Main Street making patchwork lace dresses; a couple of them sold and the next we knew we had Barbra Streisand and Miles Davis coming in. Miles liked to play chess, and we had a chess set in the window.

I needed to make some extra money so I went across the street to The Trident. I remember someone taking my picture and asking me what sign I was. I told them I was a Scorpio because Scorpios are supposed to be sexy, wary and appealing and all that. I’m really an Aries and I thought Aries were assholes. I was hired to be a hostess and that’s what I did at The Trident for four or five years, on and off. As the hostess, I didn’t dress as freely as everyone else did; I wore lot of vintage clothes. But we all dressed with not a lot of clothes on; we never wore bras. My belly button was always sticking out. Most of the other girls wore a lot of transparent stuff. They didn’t do it to be sexy; everyone who worked there was sexy. It was a way to be yourself, to be feminine, to be flowing––long hair, flowers, ripped jeans, T-shirts. There was no dress code and it was a bit of a shock for people coming in––a beautiful girl, nearly naked, revealing a part of herself––waiting on you. Customers came in and didn’t always know what to do with that. It was exciting and interesting for them, and for the girls––in their cowboy boots, jeans and cut-off tops, in cowboy shirts and short shorts, or long, delicate dresses.

Trident patron George Walker: The Trident was all about hippie chicks; scantily clad hippie chicks. It was an interesting hangout––to get a drink or a bite to eat, meet your dealer, look at the chicks. That’s pretty much what was going on. I remember a boat full of weed from Thailand came in there; it was at the dock and got busted. There’s a guy who was in on that who I met in Hawaii that is still, I believe, all these years later, on the FBI’s most wanted list. I was going around with a whole gang of people in those days, none of whose names I actually knew. Everybody went by a phony name and everybody knew everybody was using phony names. We just figured it was best never to use our real names on phone calls and stuff like that, or on anything that you ever mentioned to anybody. One guy in our circle got busted and then everybody vanished. I made zero effort whatsoever to find any of those people. They didn’t ever come after me and I figured that’s just fine.

That first night the Rolling Stones came with Bill Graham [June 1972], the restaurant had been closed. A handful of people were called in to open it up for them.

Trident hostess Mae Mougin: It was 1972, I had graduated from the San Francisco Art Institute and I wanted to spend the summer in Marin [County]. Someone said, “Oh, you should go work at The Trident in Sausalito.” I went there and I was told you had to show up three Mondays in a row and that once you showed up three Mondays in a row, Frank would see that you were interested. So I did that, and I got hired to be a daytime hostess. When he hired me, Frank was in jail. The deal was that he could work at the restaurant, Monday through Friday, but he had to sleep at the jail. That was his deal when he got sentenced: he slept in jail every night that summer. [Editor’s note: Werber managed to skate free of several marijuana arrests, beating all but one conviction. In that conviction, the judge ruled Werber’s use of pot for personal religious purposes wasn’t constitutionally protected.]

There was a sexy, hippie draw to The Trident because of its time, its location and the sun. There was lots of skin: girls wearing tied-up handkerchiefs for a top, and wearing loose flow-y skirts. I noticed guys would come in in groups to sit at the bar. A lot of them became regulars that summer because of the girls, but it was a good vibe. It wasn’t a predatory vibe or anything like Hooters is today. We didn’t dress provocatively; we did our best to be sensual.

Trident patron Carl Gottlieb: The Trident had a deck with an expansive view of all of San Francisco and the most gorgeous waitresses north of the Playboy mansion. No airbrushing and no implants. Trident women had rings in their noses and tattoos of flowers and butterflies where you could see them, and sometimes where you couldn’t. There was no house uniform so waitresses could wear anything from Victorian velvet to see-through Indian gauze. Some shaved, some didn’t.

Trident waitress Nancy Winarick: There was a day I wore a crochet top with a crochet skirt. I didn’t have stitch on underneath. I loved it, feeling that free. I got tipped in cocaine that day, which really wasn’t that unusual.

Trident bartender/juice-maker Mark Lomas: I got out to Sausalito in 1973. I had two brothers who claimed they were in California surfing, having a great time. I came out to find nobody was surfing––it was more about taking drugs, having sex and people discovering themselves––it was all very curious for a college kid. I went into The Trident as a customer and was blown away. I came back a couple of weeks later and applied for a job. At that point, I had long hair, with a ponytail all the way down my back. My interview consisted of answering one question and taking a Polaroid, which is how the Trident hired people. The question was about my astrological sign. Apparently, they wanted Geminis that week.

I went in for my first day and was trained to be a busboy by Robin Williams. I worked with him bussing tables, emptying garbage, doing all the shit work that busboys do in a restaurant. We spent more time talking about the girls than clowning around.

Cathleen Civale: Robin [Williams] came when he was out of school [Julliard]. I always remember his humor was a little too much––it wasn’t my taste––but we became very close. He had a knack. He could be all over the place, jumping onto things, surprising people. He was funny and very, very smart. When there were people around, he was on. When people weren’t around, he was quiet, pensive. He wasn’t famous then, but he could stop the room, even when he was just clearing tables.

There was a bar in Sausalito that used to have talent night. Robin met the people from Laugh-In there [for the failed 1977 Laugh-In revival]. We all showed up to support him. He landed that and then he went on to more.

Trident busboy Robin Williams on David Crosby: I never knew David then, I just knew they would park their sailboat and all of the sudden, beautiful girls would be picked up in a dinghy and taken out to the boat. It was like shore leave. Shore leave with caviar and coke. Take on provisions and two sultry women in batik. [Long John Silver voice] Grab her, aye; have her washed and brought aboard. Fire a couple of bongs over the bow, Johnny [As himself again] David would park it right there; drop the sails and then drop trou.

Mark Lomas: Crosby was in a lot, but then again so were Steven Stills, Graham Nash and the members of Quicksilver Messenger Service, The Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane. Country Joe McDonald, Carlos Santana, Janis Joplin, Buddy Miles, Big Daddy Donahue [legendary ‘free form’ radio deejay], Van Morrison, Bob Marley, Link Wray, Joe Walsh, Leon Russell, Merl Saunders, the Smothers Brothers––they all came through [The Record Plant, a much sought-after recording studio that broadcast a live radio show, was located blocks away]. You can see The Trident from those days in Woody Allen’s Play It Again, Sam. There’s a scene at The Trident that goes through the restaurant and out onto the deck; I don’t think they used extras. I think they shot it late in the lunch shift.

Cathleen Civale: Lots of Hollywood and lots of big names came through The Trident: Julie Christie, Warren Beatty, Clint Eastwood, Jane Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Bob Dylan, Bill Graham. We had Robert Wagner, Natalie Wood, Lily Tomlin, Walter Matthau, Dino DeLaurentiis, F. Lee Bailey, Sterling Hayden, Ken Kesey, Timothy Leary––if Leary’s wife or girlfriend used the word “intergalactic” one more time, I was going to shoot her. We were used to having these people around all the time; they just came and went. No one did anything different when they were there, except for when Groucho Marx came in. He was such a notable figure that he stopped the room. We had the [San Francisco] 49er football players in a lot, too. One of them had a kerfuffle with some Hells Angels, and everyone went charging out of the place when the fighting started.

Trident runner Thomas Burford: The day the Hells Angels and a San Francisco 49er had a confrontation I was on a first date with a young lady I was trying to impress. We were up on the third level. On the second level was the 49er on a date with his girlfriend and on the first level, overlooking the bay, is where the Hells Angels came in. There were two of them; they sat down and ordered coffee. Unfortunately, the waitress wasn’t moving fast enough, so they started using expletives and made her even more nervous while she was getting their coffee ready. I don’t know exactly what happened, but they started getting louder and then they started yelling at her.

One of them picked up a glass ashtray and threw it at her. The ashtray hit a wooden railing and it broke. Part of the glass flew up and hit the back of the hand of the girl who was on the date with the 49er. He yelled down for them to come up and apologize to his girlfriend. The two Hells Angels used some very unfriendly words towards him and made references to his girlfriend that he didn’t like. He said, “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you: get up here and apologize to her.”

Now, I’m telling my date not to move because I’m not sure which direction this is going to go. Meanwhile, the Hells Angels came up to the second landing, and when the 49er started to get up out of his chair, he kept getting up––he must have been about six-foot-eight; he was a man mountain. I had no idea anyone was that big. One Hells Angel jumped on him and then the other one. They were beating him; they had him on the ground. All the sudden, they were airborne––both of them––like you see in the movies. He sorted them out from there; this was a fight went on for a couple of minutes, again, like in the movies. It was ferocious; it was noisy; a few people were hurt but it wasn’t the 49er.

Sonny [Barger] was hanging out with Clint Eastwood at the bar a lot back then because he thought that Clint would make him more famous. And Clint was hanging out with Sonny because he thought Sonny would make him more famous.

The Hells Angels got off the ground and ran out. I imagine they went out to go get some help from their buddies out on the street. By this time, though, Lou, the manager, had run up to find out what was going on. An hour or so later, Sonny Barger, the president of the Hells Angels, who was in town that day, was the one who came back. Sonny had a conversation with Lou and started kicking out $100 bills to pay for damages, buying everybody’s lunch and apologizing to everybody. You could tell Sonny didn’t want to be banned. The whole chapter was in town that day; they had come through like rolling thunder. Sonny wanted to be able to be at The Trident with its celebrities and he made himself humble, in his way.

Mark Lomas: Sonny [Barger] was hanging out with Clint Eastwood at the bar a lot back then because he thought that Clint would make him more famous. And Clint was hanging out with Sonny because he thought Sonny would make him more famous. All I heard is that Sonny was afraid that he was going to be kicked out forever. I understand he got up to about $1,600 dollars before Lou told him he was fine, that he could still come in. As you might imagine, that’s not the only time someone put in an immense effort to get into The Trident. Some mafia frogmen pulled up underneath and robbed the place [in October 1971]. They came in on some sort of skiff after hours. You can read all about that in A Rookie Cop vs. The West Coast Mafia; it’s a book written by the detective who was on the case.

Trident custodian Patrick Pendleton: About 2:30 in the morning, I was mopping the kitchen floor and I felt something behind me. I turned around to see the largest gun I’d ever seen, pointed right at my face. The guy holding it was a little shorter than me, dressed in a wetsuit that was not wet. He had a neoprene hood that covered everything but his eyes and his nose. He asked me who was here and I told him about Tom [Ribar], the window washer, in the dining room. They grabbed a dish-apron off a counter and threw it over my head. Tom and I were led to the men’s room and told not to talk, and to sit on the floor and stay there.

We could hear the guys drilling the safe. They came in periodically to check on us. After about an hour and a half, we risked talking and determined that these guys had gone and that we ought to tell somebody about it. So we got up and quietly checked the premises for stray bad-guys. Once we saw it was all clear, I hit one of the panic buttons and went out into the parking lot to wait for the cops to show up. Meanwhile, Tom cleaned up evidence of our drug use before the police got there.

After being interviewed by the detectives, I still had to finish cleaning the kitchen. Chef Pierre [Flaubert] was not one those guys I wanted to disappoint. I was just finishing up when he came in at about 6:30 am. After I told him our sad tale of woe, Pierre had this amused look on his face as if to say, “Goofy, I’m glad you managed to not get your head blown off.” It turned out the robbery guys had come all the way over from San Francisco in a zodiac boat and somebody saw them on their way back and that’s how they came to be caught.

Cathleen Civale: The robbery, impromptu parties, calls from Patty Hearst––those were just another day for us. The Trident was constant showtime; it was like you’d stepped into a play, or onto a trippy spaceship. It was sort of like Star Trek: we were the crew and we never knew what was coming next. When the call from Patty came, her lawyer Bill Choulos, [who represented Lenny Bruce, Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin and Timothy Leary, and who had represented Jack Ruby with law partner Melvin Belli], had to go to a pay phone to figure out where Patty was and what the SLA wanted next.

That first night the Rolling Stones came with Bill Graham [June 1972], the restaurant had been closed. A handful of people were called in to open it up for them. I still remember exactly what I wore: satin thigh-high boots and an old Chinese kimono top and nothing underneath, or at least not on my boobs. I opened the door for the band and their entourage; it was about 35 people. I saw their bodyguards had a gun. I was shocked by that. They came into the restaurant, walked around and got comfortable at the big roundtable and we waited on them. We didn’t leave until 5:30 in the morning, but no one got so outrageous because you didn’t want to blow it. Do you know what I’m saying? You had to be cool and you had to do your job, but everyone was out of their minds. Everyone always was.

Patrick Pendleton: I have a distinct memory of Patsy and Josie in the ladies room trying to decide if Josie should go sans panties. The ladies of the Trident pushed the envelope to its extreme that night. Bill Graham arrived with about eight stretch limos and our “guests” were shown inside. The point man for this whole crew of was [the tour manager] Peter Rudge. Once the ice was broken, Frank, Lou and Bill retired to a quiet corner to swap “promoter stories” that nobody but themselves would ever appreciate.

At one point, Frank asked me to turn on the tiny faux fireplace for the sake of ambiance. As I finished lighting the fireplace, I felt something hit the back of my head, so I turned around and there was Keith Richards, biting into cocktail shrimp and tossing the uneaten tails around the room. He had a mischievous grin on his face––like he was daring me to do something about it. Right then, I suddenly felt this presence next to me and I turned to found myself eye-to-eye with one of the most menacing looking black men I had ever seen [Mick Jagger bodyguard, Leroy Leonard].

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it”, he said to me.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name’s Leroy, and I’m the head of security for this tour.” He was built like a linebacker.

“You want a drink, Leroy?” I asked.

“Nope. Working,” he replied.

“Well, how about some coffee?” I asked.

“Sure”, he said.

So I went and got him a cup of coffee, and we sat and talked for a couple of hours. At one point I looked up and Stones bassist, Bill Wyman was getting tag-teamed in backgammon by [Bill Graham Presents’] Jerry Pompili and Barry Imhoff. Peter Rudge was chasing Josie all over the restaurant, in vain, and saxophonist Bobby Keys was telling road stories in his Southern drawl: how he and Waylon Jennings burned out a hotel room somewhere in Ohio and how Bonnie Bramlett punched out Elvis Costello onstage. Charlie Watts was sitting in rapt attention, drinking what looked to be scotch.

Trident bartender Bobby Lozoff: Mick Jagger came up to the bar and asked for a margarita. I asked him if he had ever tried a tequila sunrise, and he said, “no”. So, I built him one––Jose Cuervo tequila, orange juice and a drop of grenadine over ice––and they all started sucking them up. After that night The Stones took that drink with them all across the country. In fact, Keith Richards called that [Rolling Stones 1972 American STP] tour “the cocaine and tequila sunrise tour” in his autobiography, Life.

That particular recipe came about because [fellow bartender] Billy Rice and I started experimenting with using tequila to make drinks that were usually made with gin or vodka. Our first tequila sunrise was really a tequila version of the Singapore Sling. We built it in a chimney glass: a shot of tequila with one hand, a shot of sweet and sour with the other hand, the soda gun, then orange juice, float crème de cassis on top, grenadine and that was it. We were serving hundreds of drinks per hour, dozens of drinks per minute. We had four or five registers and two bars going, so we didn’t run anyone a tab. It was cash money, only. We were all about volume, volume, volume––using both hands, going as fast as we could. Eventually, we simplified the recipe to just tequila, orange juice and grenadine.

Eventually, Lou talked to the Jose Cuervo people––we were their biggest outlet in the United States and they were talking to us––and that first recipe, the one with crème de cassis, went on the back of their bottles. At one point, our “new” Trident recipe made it on the back of the gold bottle [Jose Cuervo has since used their Rolling Stones/Trident connection from time to time in commercials, most recently, with “Miss You”, a 1978 track, playing over a 1972 scene].

Jose Cuervo ad inspired by the Stones/Trident:

Patrick Pendleton: The STP tour followed the release of Exile On Main Street and was The Rolling Stones’ first US tour without Brian Jones. [Editor’s note: It was actually their second tour without Jones; they toured with Mick Taylor in 1969]. You may remember the distinctive album cover: it had a jumbled anarchy, punk-look––it was designed by John Van Hamersveld, using Robert Frank photos. Mick Taylor, who had been in John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers, handled second guitar duties on the tour and was conspicuously absent from the party––not that anybody missed him. Jagger seemed rather subdued for all the publicity surrounding his escapades––maybe he was pacing himself since the tour was only about a week into it. Terry Southern wrote “Riding the Lapping Tongue” for The Saturday Review on that tour [http://www.unz.com/print/SaturdayRev-1972aug12-00025]

And Robert Frank chronicled it in the long-suppressed film Cocksucker Blues.

Mark Lomas: There was a happy, positive, get high, stay high, drop off, turn-the-wheel–and-drop-in kind of mentality to The Trident, but there was also a dark side as you might expect in combining drinking men and beautiful women with drugs like cocaine and Quaaludes. Bill Cosby was also a regular at The Trident, and when one of the waitresses said he seduced her, drugged her and raped her, we didn’t give it the attention we should have. Things like that that happened. One waitress came in ecstatic that Warren Beatty had left her a message on her answering machine because then she could prove that she’d been out with him––but the message was that he’d gotten syphilis and wanted to do the responsible thing and call her back to let her know if by any chance he’d infected her, she could go see a doctor. Those were our kind of work stories. Every bartender who worked the liquor bar claimed they’d gotten laid on the bar.

When you got your paycheck, you were asked you if you needed anything––there was always either marijuana or cocaine. When you exited The Trident, there was a sign that read, “stay high”, with the letters carved into a wooden pole: S-T-A-Y H-I-G-H. During our breaks, we were allowed to go across the street, get high and come back to work. Meanwhile, I remember seeing Jerry Garcia and Phil Lesh come in, sneak out on the deck to smoke––hiding in the corner––when nobody gave a rat’s ass.

Cathleen Civale: Everyone took drugs. I don’t know anyone who didn’t. People smoked pot; there was lots of cocaine, lots of tequila and there were psychedelics there, for sure, from time to time. We were a lot more innocent, especially when it came to drug use. It’s not like we knew them as “bad”. You had to work. It was hard work, in the midst of pandemonium. You had to hold your own because if you didn’t you’d break the flow.

Mae Mougin: Frank taught me how to read a table, work with the waitresses and the bartenders and how to keep people moving. He also pushed me into the arms of Marshall [Blumstock], the manager. I was 22. Marshall was cute, and I ended up hooking up with him. I don’t think that would fly today. You can’t just hook up and move in with your boss like that.

Mark Lomas: The Trident reflected the times. People were trying to figure out what that love, peace and happiness thing from the Sixties really meant and how it was going to play out in the Seventies. Frank and Lou saw themselves as being part of that, of making a scene that was hip, cool and next level––they wanted to create a special experience for everyone who entered the building. Between the architecture, the location over the water and the people they hired, they nailed it. And it was more than just the staff being beautiful; most of us were talented artists, writers, creators and working at things beyond what we were doing at The Trident. To succeed at The Trident, you had to have personality and you had to be able to work. Management drove you hard––you’d get to work and you wouldn’t stop working. You had to have the smarts to deal with a high-pressure environment and had to be able to give people the sort of experience they were willing to wait two hours for.

Trident patron Sam Andrew: I had a friend come into The Trident with a roll of Necco Wafers. You remember the candy? The wafers in his roll had a drop of Blue Acid on each one. He went around The Trident that morning giving one wafer to each person––each waitress, each busboy, the manager––who was then Skip Cutty––and all the kitchen staff. Everyone got one. The place was dosed big-time as the lunch hour peaked––and so was the staff. One waitress poured coffee until her customer started shouting at her as the coffee overflowed from the cup to the saucer and onto the table––all while the waitress stared at the wonder of it all.

There was another day at The Trident when the two cold-side cooks––the guys that made the salads and sandwiches as opposed to the guys on the hot-side that made steaks and hot dishes––they decided to share a hit of windowpane [LSD]. They put it on the cutting board in front of the containers that held the day’s portions of ambrosia, greens and mixed salads to cut it in half. As the chef’s knife cut through the gelatin of the windowpane, the two halves popped out of sight. They froze looking at each other for a second––and then started laughing. Later that afternoon, there was a woman who was so enthusiastic about the deliciousness of her salad that the hostesses thought maybe she was a bit tipsy. She was stoned out of her head.

Trident patron Peter Stampfel: Mad creative happens when you have more than one alpha in the room. It’s not a matter of merely getting a group of people together. It’s when there’s more than one alpha in the room that kicks everything into gear. That’s what was really happening at The Trident. There was a charge going through the place with so many alphas in there that everyone could feel it––like, they were onstage and in on “it”. Poor delusional stoners. It was just lunch.

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Sources: Talks with Cathleen Civale, Mark Lomas, Mae Mougin, Peter Stampfel, George Walker and Nancy Winarick, with content edited from thetridentrestaurant.com, the Sausalito Historical Society, and from the David Crosby autobiography, Long Time Gone, co-written with actor/screenwriter Carl Gottlieb.

Photos courtesy of Mark Lomas.