My 70’s Journey

The ‘70s and Me: Hippie to Shipbuilder

Art Academy Blues

The ‘70s hit like a freight train. At 17, I was at the Art Academy in Den Bosch, department of Spatial Design, accepted for my drawing, painting, and LTS-honed skills—handling tools, nailing perspective, sketching finished visions. But the academy sucked. Teachers shoved their styles down our throats, leaving no room for mine. Young and wild, I ditched classes, swept up in a raw new world. My bike became a moped, my hair and beard grew, and I rolled in as a budding hippie. Five years, no diploma—yet it shaped me for life.  

Hippie Heaven

Home with my parents was a powder keg. In 1970, a screaming match with Dad nearly turned ugly. I bolted out the back door, cursing, into the night. My brother tracked me down, offering a bunk at his Agricultural College’s clubhouse. Weeks later, I landed in a hippie house—Orthenstraat 65, Den Bosch, backing onto the fire station. Heaven. Free at 17, I lived proudly among kindred spirits. Our door was open 24/7—nobody dared steal. Eight to ten of us shared the squat, a hub of sex, drugs, rock & roll, beer, wine, and endless nights. We’d pile seven into my 1960 Chevrolet Impala or VW bus, tearing from Den Bosch pubs to Antwerp to party harder. Rules? Barely.  

Life in the Squat

Martha, my girlfriend and the “house mom,” held it together with her lab job at Caroles Hospital, visible from our windows. She was head of the hospital laboratory, cooked in the evening healthy meals for whoever showed—sometimes ten of us—over good music, no fights, just peace and love. We debated politics, art, the world, and wild ideas. Pubs like Big Pink, Kaketoe, de Palm, were our haunts. My photos of Orthenstraat capture the vibe. Bad influences crept in—I once broke into a shop, felt awful, and returned the loot. Parking meters at our door piled up fines. I chose two weeks in jail over paying—a bizarre, one-time stint.  

Building a Church

After three years at Orthenstraat, Martha and I moved to Vught, Verlengde Kampdijklaan, a sweet rental with my Volvo Amazon out front. I cut my long hair and joined a project with Jan Daudey, a childhood friend. His dad, a UTS director, bought a derelict church in Bokhoven to make a family home. For three years, Jan and I built—laying bricks, fitting windows, plumbing, wiring. I learned tons, earned cash, and created something lasting. Jan’s sister, Louise, still lives there. See details of church here .

Zorg & Vlijt: Our Ship

Boats haunted my dreams since childhood. In 1975, I spotted a “For Sale” sign on Zorg & Vlijt, a 1917 Luxe Motor barge—27 x 4.88 meters, 6-cylinder Clöckner Deutz, €8000. I bought it to turn the rusty freighter into a plush liveaboard. Three years of blood, sweat, and tears—welding, woodworking, improvising—made it a floating pearl. My LTS skills (welding, calculating) were gold; at 25, I’d already renovated a church. In 1979, I sold Zorg & Vlijt in Amsterdam for €46,000, funding a year-long world trip. My photos—before, after, and the sale ad—tell the saga. Many years later, I saw her for sale in England for €245,000.  

In 1971, as I skipped classes, a computer engineer sent the first e-mail—a quiet spark. Like my hippie house and Zorg & Vlijt, it was about connecting beyond the mainstream. The ‘70s forged me—hippie, builder, dreamer—ready for the world with Agnes waiting.  

70’s Summer hit

This 70’s summer hit played an important role in our nightlife without a doubt. During the construction of the “Zorg & Vlijt” this hit did not only scream from my radio, but from all radios wherever you went. It later turned out to be one of the biggest world hits ever.

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Facts or Notable Events from the 60s

• E-mail’s Quiet Birth (1971): While I skipped Art Academy classes, a coder named Ray Tomlinson sent the first e-mail—a nerdy test message. No headlines, just a spark that linked computers. It was anti-establishment tech, built in a lab, not a newsroom. [Source: Computer History Museum, 2012]  
• Squatting Goes Global (1970s): My Orthenstraat days weren’t alone. Across Europe, squatters like Amsterdam’s krakers and Berlin’s Hausbesetzer claimed empty buildings for art, music, and rebellion. They turned decay into community, no MSM praise needed. It was the ‘70s spirit—live free, build your own world. [Source: Adapted from Squat.net Archives]  
• Punk Explodes in London (1976): Forget polished pop—punk erupted in gritty London pubs like The Roxy. Bands like The Clash and Sex Pistols screamed raw energy, spitting at mainstream charts. Their DIY ethos—ripped clothes, self-made records—where rules didn’t exist. No radio needed; this was street sound. [Source: Adapted from Punk77.co.uk]  
• Reggae Rasta Roadshows (1975): Bob Marley’s Natty Dread hit, but reggae’s real pulse was in UK sound systems—mobile DJ setups in backyards and basements. Jamaican immigrants spun dub and roots, like my Zorg & Vlijt welding sessions with music blaring. No corporate labels, just bass and soul. [Source: Smithsonian Reggae Archives]  

• Comics Get Gritty (1971): Underground “comix” like Zap by Robert Crumb ditched superhero fluff for raw, adult tales—drugs, sex, satire. Sold in headshops, not newsstands, they laughed at the mainstream. [Source: Adapted from ComicBookHistorians.com]