On Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles, a fiercely bearded hippie buttonholes a passerby: "If you ain't saved by the blood of Jesus, man, forget it. You're damned to the pits of hell." Along Broadway in San Francisco's honky-tonk North Beach, hirsute zealots plead with gawking conventioneers to bypass the topless-bottomless shows. Outside Atlanta, amid the acid rock, nude bathing and casual lovemaking of a rock festival, a young couple and their friends man two "Jesus tents" for the lost and lonely. In Boise, beaded and bell-bottomed converts wade into the river for a...
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