A Head Shop of Its Time Turns 30

On that certain January morning more than three years ago when the earth definitely didn’t stand still, a young man named David Silverman picked up the pieces at his home and then anxiously drove to his place of business, a distinctive boutique his father opened when David was just 3 years old.

Silverman knew that the windows of the Van Nuys Boulevard shop were probably shattered as well as much of the merchandise inside. It was with some anxiety, therefore, that he noticed a small gathering outside. Looters?

“We’re protecting the store,” one man explained. This ad hoc neighborhood security force then transformed itself into a cleanup crew, helping Silverman cope with the damage.

“I was so touched,” Silverman says.

Say what you will about Captain Ed’s H & H Shoppe, moralize if you must, but it’s a survivor. Today, having endured the war on drugs, several police raids and the Northridge earthquake, it seems safe to say this 30-year-old head shop has found a soft spot in the tolerant heart of Los Angeles.

For those who may be too old, too young or too naive, Webster’s defines “head shop” as “a shop selling drug paraphernalia.” At Captain Ed’s, the Zig Zag man, symbol of the famous rolling paper, is painted on the storefront window, and inside you’ll find a time warp to 1967. Vibrant, vintage posters cover the walls and ceiling. Overhead is a famous poster of the era, a child’s drawing of a flower and the words “War is not healthy for children and other living things.” Tie-dyed shirts hang from the rack and a collection of water pipes is on display behind a glass counter.

Those who enter may smile knowingly as they read a prominent sign that went up after one of the LAPD crackdowns of the mid-1980s:

WARNING

You will be refused service for saying any of the following words: bong, weed pipe, coke spoon, straight shooter, crack pipe, shaker vial, tooter or any illegal reference. All items intended for legal use with tobacco only.

This pretense is now part and parcel of this business. A state law adopted in 1983 made the sale of drug paraphernalia a misdemeanor. In 1986, Silverman’s father, Irving, pleaded no contest to the charge.

Before the bust, the store was called Heads & Highs, but to conform with the new law, management had to divorce the store’s merchandise from overt drug references. T-shirts bearing the image of cannabis leaves were removed and the store’s name was changed to Ed’s H & H, after the colorful Ed Adair, the store’s manager and one of Irving Silverman’s partners.

Today anyone interested in browsing through such titles as “A Treasury of Hashish,” “Marijuana, Medicine & the Law” and “Drug Testing at Work” simply has to walk next door to Colours and Sounds, a sister store specializing in music. Here, but not at the paraphernalia shop, you can find High Times magazine and jokey T-shirts for stoners (“Only users lose drugs”).

The store’s name informally evolved to include Adair’s honorific nickname simply because Adair was so well known. Captain Ed, who died five years ago of leukemia, was an unreconstructed hippie who had been a singular figure in the movement to legalize marijuana. “He was absolutely legendary,” Silverman says. “He’d be out on the road in his Deadhead bus . . . “

No doubt Captain Ed would have been thrilled that California voters recently approved the use of marijuana for medicinal purposes. Federal officials may be putting up a fight in court, but the vote reflected a change in attitudes from the days when it was commonly preached that a toke would inevitably lead to something deadly.

Several years have passed since Captain Ed’s H & H Shoppe attracted the attention of law enforcement. LAPD Det. Dave Lambert, a Valley narcotics investigator for 11 years, says drug paraphernalia laws are still enforced. “If there were allegations of criminal violations, then we would investigate,” he said.

Although Lambert couldn’t recall any complaints against Captain Ed’s, he takes a dim view of the business. “If customers weren’t there to buy that equipment for illegal purposes, that store would not make it.”

Told that Captain Ed’s recently celebrated its 30th anniversary, Lambert had a one-word reaction: “Amazing.”

Dave Silverman thinks it’s amazing too. He suspects that Captain Ed’s may very well be the nation’s oldest such business in a continuous location. “I couldn’t really prove it. But I’ve never been disproven.”

Silverman, a UCLA graduate who majored in economics and sociology, even suggests that the enduring outpost of counterculture may merit official designation as a cultural landmark. “Where else could you go that typifies the ‘60s or the hippie movement or any of that? If you want to walk into a living museum, you would have to go to Captain Ed’s.”

Most such businesses don’t last beyond the original operator’s interest. Dave Silverman grew up in Captain Ed’s and, while some people may see it as a den of iniquity, he suggests that the store’s endurance is more a testament to the laid-back pursuit of fun. Silverman lives in North Hollywood with his wife and 18-month-old daughter, who often wears tie-dyes from the store. “You can’t see the stains,” he says.

On a recent day at Captain Ed’s, a variety of customers passed through. Tony was a middle-aged man who bought tobacco for his pipe. A young man in dreadlocks inspected the water pipes and another with a buzz cut asked for a gas mask. Silverman pointed to a a lone gas mask hanging on a wall, a mask that apparently works in reverse. It is, Silverman explained, a “silly” fad that supposedly enhances the ability to smoke. Tobacco smoke, mind you.

It was a warm day and Richard Fair, proprietor of Fair Bail Bonds, dropped in to buy a T-shirt. Fair explained that he had a golf date that afternoon and the long-sleeve knit sweater he had donned at home would be too hot for the course. Fair smiled, recalling how he had been visiting the store since it opened in the ‘60s and, yes, there were some occasions when Captain Ed himself had required his services.

This was a rare day--Silverman unlocked the black-light room for some visitors. Now it is used for storage, but in the store’s heyday, Silverman recalled, “there was a nice, big water bed right here.” As a child, Silverman says, he used to bounce up and down on the bed. Late at night, he would later learn, it served other purposes.

Here too the walls and ceilings are plastered with ‘60s and ‘70s nostalgia. There are posters of Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Bruce Lee. “This vacation,” declares a sardonic blast from the past, “visit beautiful Vietnam.” Off to the side is the familiar cartoon figure of a man leaning backward as he struts down the road. “Keep on truckin’,” it says.

The room is now locked, Silverman explains, because of these kids today. Well, not all of them. Most teenagers who venture into Captain Ed’s are “super cool,” Silverman says. But there were some who’d climb on each other’s shoulders, tear the fine old posters off the ceiling and laugh as they walked out the door.

“Some of these kids,” the shop manager says, shaking his head. “There’s just such disrespect.”

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com. Please include a phone number.