On a rainy San Francisco evening in late November 1959, Albert Saijo, a thirty-three-year-old Japanese American poet, climbed into the back of an eastbound Willys Jeep station wagon. The wagon belonged to the red-haired poet Lew Welch, also thirty-three; in the passenger seat was the author Jack Kerouac, thirty-seven, fresh from an appearance on the Steve Allen Show, and eager to be home on Long Island, New York, for Thanksgiving. Welch held the…
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