David Allen Goes Crazy on LSD 

At first David and the Swami lived together peacefully in the large hall, the Swami working concentratedly on his side of the partition and David ranging throughout the large open space.  David, however, continued taking marijuana, LSD and amphetamines.  Prabhupada had no choice but to tolerate it.  Several times he told David that drugs and hallucinogens would not help him in his spiritual life, but David would look distracted.  He was becoming estranged from the Swami. 

But Prabhupada had a plan to use the loft as a temple – to transform it into New York’s first temple of Radha-Krishna – and he wanted David’s cooperation.  Although the neighborhood was one of the most miserable in the world, Prabhupada talked of bringing deities from Jaipur or Vrindavana and starting temple worship, even on the Bowery.  He thought David might help.  After all, they were roommates, so there could be no question of David’s not cooperating, but he would have to give up his bad habits.

Prabhupada was trying to help David, but David was too disturbed.  He was headed for disaster and so were Prabhupada’s plans for the loft.  Sometimes, even when not under the influence of a drug, David would pace around the loft.  Other times, he appeared to be deep in thought.  One day, on a dose of LSD, he went completely crazy.  As Carl Yeargens put it, “He just flipped out and the Swami had to deal with a crazy man.”  Things had been leading to this – “he was a crazy kid who always took too much” – but the real madness happened suddenly.

Swamiji was working peacefully at his typewriter when David “freaked out.”  David started moaning and pacing around the large open area of the loft.  Then he began yelling, howling and running around.  He went back to where the Swami was.  Suddenly Prabhupada found himself face-to-face, not with David – the nice David who he was going to take to India to show the brahmanas in Vrindavana – but a drugged, wild-eyed stranger, a madman.

Prabhupada tried to speak to him – “What is the matter?” – but David had nothing to say.  There was no particular disagreement.  Just madness …

Prabhupada moved quickly down the four flights of stairs.  He had not stopped to gather up any of his belongings, or even to decide where he would go or whether he would return.  There had been no time to consider anything.  He had taken quite a shock and now he was leaving the arena of David’s madness.  The usual group of bums was sitting in the doorway and with their customary flourish of courtesy, they allowed him to pass.  They were used to the elderly swami’s coming in and going out, going shopping and returning, and they didn’t bother him.  But he was not going shopping today.  Where was he going?  He didn’t know.  He had come on to the street without knowing where he would go.

He wasn’t going back to the loft – that was for sure.  But where could he go?  The pigeons flew from roof to roof.  Traffic rumbled by and the ever-present bums loitered about getting drunker on cheap, poisonous alcohol.  Although Prabhupada’s home had suddenly become a place of insane terror, the street at his door was also a hellish, dangerous place.  He was shaken.  He could call Dr. Mishra’s and they might take him in, but that chapter of his life was over.  He had gone on to something better.  He had his own classes, young people chanting and hearing.  Was it all over now?  After nine months in America, he had finally got good response to his preaching and kirtana.  He couldn’t quit now.