Read (or watch) Chapters 21–25 of my stuff if you want to see what happened in Northern California during “the summer of love.” The “SoCal” version was different. So was the NY version. More than “very little” changed.
“Scott McKenzie sang his dork song about how everybody ought to go to San Francisco and wear some fucking flowers in their hair. It was far out. It was groovy. It was over. Then it was early October, the Fall of Love. All the hippies got together and gave Haight Street a funeral…”