San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park ritual that just won’t die

Picture an old wooden boat. As its planks decay, shipwrights swap them out for new ones. After a few years, fresh planks have replaced all of the originals. The structure is the same, but its components are different. Is it still the same boat?

The “Ship of Theseus” paradox has puzzled philosophers for more than 2,000 years. But if you spend an hour at Hippie Hill on a sunny weekend day, you may find the answer. 

San Francisco’s Summer of Love came and went, and the original hippies of the Haight have grown old or died. But while the people have cycled out, Golden Gate Park’s drum circle remains, a jittering heartbeat without a body attached.

The drum circle at Hippie Hill dates back to the 1960s. While you might not see any of the original drummers, the action continues weekend after weekend, decade after decade. A dedicated group flocks to Golden Gate Park, hauling wagons with tall wooden drums and cases of Pacifico beer. They show up one by one, unfurl their camping chairs and, from early afternoon through dusk, play the drums. 

The insistent pattering sounds out through the eastern side of the park and around the Panhandle. The constant hum swallows the nearby tennis courts and leaks into the Haight. A friend who lived on Oak and Stanyan grew accustomed to hearing the drums every weekend afternoon.

On a recent overcast Sunday, around 30 people drummed, danced or didgeridoodled. On a sunny day, you can expect twice as many.

Richard Lake, 72, says that he lived with the Jefferson Airplane when he was 17. He’s been drumming in the park since 1970, as long as anyone else who was present last Sunday. While the drum circle has no leaders, he observed that his experience has made him “kind of a teacher.”

“You know who Beethoven is, right?” he said to me, in between tokes from a pipe. “I’m like Beethoven on the drums.”

The drummers gather around the same worn green bench at the foot of the hill. A plaque on its back calls it Isaac’s bench — it’s unclear who Isaac is — and its chipping paint reveals gray, weathered wood underneath. Others sit on camping chairs or stools. Some wear bandages on their fingers. (“No pain, no gain,” Lake told me, pulling back his sleeves to reveal two calloused palms.)

No flyers announce the drum circle’s start time and location. People simply show up. The circle does, however, have a newly minted Instagram page.

From what I gathered during my visit, the drum circle’s history is somewhat murky. Everyone I spoke with agreed that it has a long legacy, but that’s about it. Nobody I interviewed knew the exact start date, although two of the oldest members said it was probably sometime in the 1960s. Most said it’s always been at Hippie Hill, but another said that the circle used to be at Aquatic Park. One longtime drummer maintained that its first meetings were under the Janis Joplin tree, a stone’s throw away from Isaac’s bench.

Johnny Christian told SFGATE that he first joined the drum circle in 1997. As a kit drummer, he didn’t expect to be challenged, but playing in the circle, he quickly realized that there was far more to the drumming than he knew. Christian described a “close to ecstatic” state that the drummers strive to reach. “It can bring you into a kind of trance where the drum is playing itself,” he said. “… We strive for that. We come to the circle to make that happen.”

I’d heard that anyone could join the Hippie Hill drum circle. I hoped it was true, because I wasn’t able to find a drum beforehand. On the walk to Golden Gate Park, I purchased the cheapest percussive item I could find at Cole Hardware, a gray plastic bucket for $10, and kept the receipt. 

I saw hints of the ecstatic state Christian described on the faces of the drummers: Some closed their eyes; others stared into space. Kate Millea, 40, who has been dancing and drumming in the circle for three years, called it a “powerful portal of healing and spiritual energy.” 

I asked her how she knew what to play. “You listen and feel,” she said. “Those are the two most important rules of music. Listen and feel.”

I struggled with my bucket for a few minutes before a kind man offered me his conga and stool. While I locked in, he lit a stick of palo santo. The bright resinous aroma briefly eclipsed the pervading weed smell, and I settled into a rhythm. At first, the panoramic patter of drums was overwhelming. But with attention, a rhythm emerged from the thicket of thunks. I started conservatively — one hit per measure, then two — before getting up to speed. More syncopation, more hits. I caught myself instinctively listening for empty spaces and adjusting my playing accordingly.

By the time that session petered out, my hands hurt. I didn’t enter a trance, but I found a certain focus, sort of like the highly attuned, thoughtless state that runners achieve by the second mile of a long race. 

As I shook out my hands, I chatted with Salvador Reyes, 67, who’s been coming to the drum circle for 25 years. Along with his two congas, his wagon contains claves and a guiro from Cuba. As we spoke, he pointed out a younger man playing his drums. The man was the nephew of Chepito, he said, the famed Santana percussionist. (Santana has visited the circle at least once.)

Several members of the drum circle described its location at Hippie Hill as the site of a sort of spiritual energy. But even if you don’t believe in ghosts or the other side, it’s plain that the drum circle is a center of social gravity in Golden Gate Park. Concentric circles form around the core of conga and djembe players. On the lawn, there’s an outer ring of instrumentalists: a didgeridoo, an accordion and an electric guitar with an amp powered by a portable battery. Beyond that, a man juggles bowling pins and tennis balls. On the hill, others lay out blankets, smoking and admiring the scene. Even tourists and passersby find themselves drawn into the circle’s orbit. They pause and watch, with wide eyes, grins or both. 

It’s hard not to be pulled in. I plan to return soon and bring a better drum — another fresh plank tacked on to the old ship. The faces might change, but the vessel remains.