Mother David and the Mandorla Gallery

Although I had made a couple of visits to the Stein Club with John, a gateway to actually knowing people there was the Mandorla Art Gallery at 14th Street and Peachtree, opened in 1966 by David Braden, lovingly known to the burgeoning hippie community as Mother David. There were not many men at that time who dared to embrace being gay. But David carried his distinct lisp and delicious swish with a fine sense of humor. Combined with his sweet nature, people were naturally drawn to him. The few times I met him, he was surrounded by an entourage, and it was obvious Mother David was a star.

The main level of the Mandorla sold custom-designed jewelry and artwork. Also the Gallery Illien, owned by Anna Belle Illien, was there [More about Anna Belle Illien]. Although I met Anna Belle a couple of times, Yves Illien, her husband, was a Stein Club regular. Yves was French, and like many men at that time, he had a beard. Unlike a lot of the others, his looked good, always trimmed and groomed.

In 1967, I was 18 and John was 27. A lot of the people I met were older than John. My mind simply could not comprehend being that old. Yves will be the first, but not the last, about whose age I can only say he was a lot older than John.

In the basement of the Mandorla was a coffee shop and also a printing press where the first few editions of The Great Speckled Bird were printed. A few years later the basement became a bar called the Catacombs, a very successful hangout for hippies. I remember sitting there one day during some sort of angst playing A Whiter Shade of Pale on the jukebox over and over. It was kind of like catacombs, dark and dank, made of stone . . . perfect for angst.

On the top floor was a shop John and Ben Douglas rented to make jewelry. Ben was older than John, but not a lot older . During this time a strange social mixing was taking place: wealthy, upper-class, Buckhead ladies were slumming in the 14th Street art district. And, boy, did they love that custom jewelry . . . and sometimes the jewelers. They also loved makers of leather goods, painters, potters and, well, you name it. These men who smelled slightly of sweat, wearing nothing under those bell-bottom jeans, rough and ready, were something different for the ladies who lunch.

If memory serves, Ben Douglas was a Leo. If not, he should have been. He was tall, had wide shoulders and a large head. Blond hair down to his shoulders just emphasized his leonine appearance. Raised in a small town outside Atlanta, he had been married and had several grown children. Had he stuck to the straight and narrow path, he could have taken over the family business and his income and inheritance would have been sizable. Instead, he made jewelry and rented a basement apartment on Clairmont Road near Emory University, with John and another roommate. That apartment and the Catacombs had a lot in common.

It always seemed to me that different groups of friends in the Stein Club formed circles. These circles could intersect, with a member of one circle being friends with a member of another, but the basic circle remained intact. Ben stood at the center of one of the largest circles. It even outlasted the Stein Club. Ben was a person of power.

It was the sexual revolution, and John and I were doing our part. On the large Mandorla staircase, things were getting hot and heavy when John led me to the second floor, past the jewelry shop to a room I hadn't seen before. The only thing I remember seeing is this lovely pallette, perfectly made up, with a makeshift night table, and lighted lamp. It just looked so cozy and inviting. Who could resist? Well, probably anybody with any sense of privacy and decorum, but that left us out.

I can't remember exactly how long it was -- except that it wasn't long enough -- when this very gruff voice said, "WHO'S IN MY BED?" It's been 40 years and I don't remember what we said, but I'll just about bet "Hey, man, we're cool," came in there somewhere. The bed owner turned out to be David Frye. Lucky for us, he was one of the calmest, best-natured people ever, and became one of our favorite Stein Club friends.

A sad note to this story is what happened to Mother David. For the first few years, the hippie movement was made up of college dropouts, who were antiwar activists, or just dropping out and turning on. Lots of them came from middle and upper-middle class families. Parents were upset. Business people were upset. The religious community was livid. Something had to be done.

The scapegoat was David Braden and the Mandorla. First, pressure was put on Sam Massell, owner of the building and later mayor of Atlanta, to throw David out. I remember Mr. Massell saying that they were good tenants who took care of his property and paid their lease on time. He refused to be bullied.

Mother David was set up, according to those close to him, and arrested on March 12th, 1968, for selling marijuana. He was placed in solitary confinement under $25,000 bond until his trial on April 22nd. The details of this trial can be found in a contemperaneous article at this link: David Braden Trial. And, once again, I thank TheStripProject.com for the good information and pictures I have found there. Briefly, he pled guilty to possession of marijuana and was sentenced to seven years in state prison. It seems hard to believe now, doesn't it?

I don't know how long he served, but I remember when he got out, and it seemed like a long, long time since the days at the Mandorla. Whether this was covered in a newspaper or on TV, I can't remember, but I do know that he was not well. Who would think such a Wildean story could happen in the 60's? John says his memory is that after his release, David moved to Alaska.