The next step was "the road", and it was like living the life of the Beatles in A Hard Days Night. Landing in Chicago, they were immediately the subject of much scrutiny by the members of the American Legion who were convening at the same hotel at which the long-haired Turtles also stayed. The group joined the Dick Clark Caravan of the Stars, and it was immediate stardom and lots of screaming girls. Instead of the band forging their own path by playing a series of clubs to whoever had heard of their one hit, they took the stage to full, enthusiastic houses, supporting much more popular stars.

These road tours, which packed seven or eight gigs sometimes into the space of six days, were the primary manner in which rock 'n' roll toured in those days. It was only later that tours by individual bands became economically feasible.

When the Turtles played at the Phone Booth in New York, they were pleased to see Bob Dylan sitting a mere eight feet away. He had his shades on and was slumped over. Afterwards the boys eagerly introduced themselves. Dylan responded, deadpan, to the Turtles live performance of their hit, Dylan's very own "It Ain't Me Babe,": "That's a great last song, it should be a record."

...The Turtles rebellious energy was initially channeled into the whole folk rock, protest period, and while they hit it big with "It Ain't Me Babe" and Sloan's "Let Me Be," they did initially turn down his "Eve of Destruction," which became a Number One for Barry McGuire. Not ones to make the same mistake twice, the Turtles chose "I Get Out Of Breath" as their next single. It could have been a hit, but it was left in an uncompleted state after "You Baby" (another Sloan-Barri song) became a hit and dictated a candy-coated, poppy direction.

Then and there the Turtles eschewed the grubby, mud-on-the-boots folk rock of their first album cover, and donned the J.C. Penneys clean-cut image of the second. The White Whale honchos, with visions of increasing their bank accounts even more. wanted the group to record one of their own songs, so they could reap the extra income from the publishing. It would take more than a Philip Marlowe to discover why as unlikely a song as "Grim Reaper of Love" was selected to follow the poppy "You Baby."

The song was a very strange distillation of Indian and marijuana influences and odd time signatures, with an uncharacteristic Kaylan vocal, all bathed in a dreary atmosphere. It's a very interesting record, and was selected probably because it was the band's best composition at the time.

In any event, if the Beatles - who were continuously leading the way - could smoke marijuana and play Indian influenced music, so could the Turtles. This. "if the Beatles could do it, so could we." philosophy would come to mold much of the Turtles' direction. The Beatles were the prime heroes of the day. The Turtles became their "disciples."

The music was all new, there were no precedents. and the Turtles seemed at times like a funny mirror image of the Beatles. Despite the fact that the song didn't fare too well, it may have been the first American acid-rock single, pre-dating the Byrds "Eight Miles High" by many months. When the Turtles played New York, they introduced "acid rock" to many for the very first time, including a version of "Tobacco Road," loaded with feedback, that the Blues Magoos later recorded.

With its unimpressive showing, it was time to return to the safer, good-time strains of "Can I Get to Know You Better." Strangely, that didn't fare any better. The band scraped together a Warren Zevon song (who was also signed to White Whale), "Outside Chance." It was an excellent record in every way; hard and poppy, like the Beatles "Day Tripper. It wasn't the naive joviality people expected of the band, and it too flopped.

Panic set in. Don Murray - the Beatle-ish heart-throb of the band - succumbed to personal pressures and walked out before the recording of "Outside Chance." (Johnny Barbata replaced him.)

Portz, the only other Turtle member with genuine teen appeal, threw in the towel shortly thereafter, and returned to school.

Even though the band was called the Turtles, they were, in spirit, still the Crossfires from Westchester High. Portz and Murray, both band members since 1962, both part of the family, had departed. With three flops in a row, the forever soaring plane finally touched down.

The group's only saving grace was the commanding live show. From having cut their teeth on frat parties at an early age, they knew exactly what the college audience wanted, and were always successful on the circuit.

As much as college type gigs were a staple, they were not without their unprofessional aspects. For an afternoon show at a field house, 20 cafeteria tables were braced together to form the stage.

The Turtles were these happy, funny, jump up and down, heavy guys. The band started the first song to 3,500 cheering kids. Volman went into an initial Townshed-meets- Fantasia leap. Instead of his normal, graceful pirouette, the impact of his landing caused the "stage" to collapse, with the band sucked into the center. The chaos gave way to laughter.

It was like a bad Shelly Winters movie. After the stage was braced together again, the Turtles played their set. John Barbata proved to be one of rock's very best drummers. Jim Pons left the Leaves (whose only hit was "Hey Joe") to replace Portz on bass. With new band members and a revitalized direction, the era of "the Turtles" was among us.

The group pulled out a gem of a song they were holding until this exact do-or-die moment. "Happy Together" was written by two members of a New York band called the Magicians.

Gary Bonner and Alan Gordon proved themselves to be superb songwriters who were to compose many of the Turtles better records. White Whale elected to replace Bones Howe, and Joe Wissert was selected to be the band's second producer. It took off immediately, became a Number One record, and rejuvenated the group's career.(It should be noted that Chip Douglas, who replaced Portz briefly before Pons joined, piayed the bass on the hit version of the song, and arranged the horns.) More hits came, and the group's place in the History of Rock was insured.

To understand the Turtles, is to realize that they were for most of their career, a tight knit bunch - they really were those "happy together guys." There was very much a feeling of brotherhood. It was common for the band members to congregate in the middle of their tour bus and, after having smoked some grass, to collectively chant.

Now, this was not merely a ten minute exercise, but one that often went on for hours. as the bus traveled say, from Tennessee to Illinois. The various members would settle into their own notes, and droning harmonies would elevate the experience to an even higher piane. Jim Pons brought a more consciously spiritual direction to the band. He turned them on to "The Impersonal Life," and led discussions on the philosophy expressed in the book. The group totally believed in "the power of God." This "oneness' helped them to face the occasional near misses with death: like the time two huge, semi-trucks barreled down on their car from a two-lane highway, only to skirt upon the side embankments to allow their car to barely scrape through; or the time the Turtles private plane crash landed in a field in Altoona, Pennsylvania.

The solidified lineup at this point was a great live band as well. Three songs were cut live for the English BBC's "Saturday Club," and a casual listen reveals those performances to be nearly indistinguishable from the hit versions. Jim Tucker left the group at the end of the tour. A rhythm guitarist, he was not replaced. The Turtles were now five.

When the strain of endless touring and hassles became too much. and the boys needed to let off steam and relax, rather than heave TV sets out of windows - which was the fashionable thing to do - they would return to the hotel, ingest various mind-altering substances into their systems, and get "out of it,' totally. They then proceeded to rotate whatever instruments were handy, and "butcher" pop classics of the day. Typical was their medley of "Johnny B. Goode" and "Exodus." It was an interesting face. The underside of rock 'n' roll coming out; the Mr. Hyde to the Dr. Jekyll.

On record the Turtles were pristine, polished and accomplished. Back in their hotel rooms, with their hair down even farther, they were loose, consummately sloppy and incoherent. Perversely enough, Kaylan and Volman recorded all of those interludes (which slowly eked out in limited editions as "The Rhythm Butchers") on a normal, cruddy cassette machine.

Occasionally songs were even written in this fashion, like "Can't You Hear the Cows," which was the "B" side of "The Story of Rock 'n' Roll." This ritual carried over into the Mothers, and on subsequent Flo and Eddie tours.

The roll peaked with two Top Five hits, "Elenore" and "You Showed Me," in 1969. On the accompanying album, Battle of the Bands, (produced by Chip Douglas), the satirical concept that was inspired by the Crossfires experiences of those rituals, was very different trom the two-included pop hits. The group had started to assert more of its collective musical identity.