Being the music lover I am, I have often boasted of a birthday that falls on the day after Elvis Presley's, the same day as Joan Baez’s, and the day before Rod Stewart‘s. (As if it is some badge of honor to pin on my lapel. We all take pride in something, right?)
Little did I realize that I also shared a
birthday with Richard Nixon; a historical representative of one of the largest
presidential landslide victories in the history of the United States. In 1972,
he marched on to defeat George McGovern by a margin of 23.15% as one of a few
presidents to ever win all fifty states.
Despite being one of the most popular
presidents of my lifetime, he also turned out to be one of the most scandalous
as an exposed network directly linked him to operatives who broke into the Democratic
National Committee headquarters with intentions of disrupting the election
process, the controversy we know as Watergate.
His resultant resignation on August
9th, 1974 was a prime sign that the times were definitely changing. An
America that once blindly trusted its government saw for the first
time glaring vulnerabilities as we were compelled to acknowledge the
potential of corruption. We, as a nation didn't want to believe it could happen
on our own soil. Because we were good. Yet now we stood forced to have a
painfully honest conversation with ourselves.
As Alexis de Tocqueville once famously
said: “America is great because she is good.
If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.” And now we faced
the compulsion to question what we always understood deep down to be
inherently good.
The fun, flowing, free-spirited
counter-culturalism as we knew and understood it was also on its way out.
Images of anarchist, peace-loving hippies turned into real-life nightmare
scenarios when cult of personality leaders such as Charles Manson manipulated
followers into committing great and terrible murderous acts for whatever his
insane, twisted and sick motive may have been.
Dreams of a free-thinking,
Utopian, communal paradise were also shattered as the news broke of 918
followers of Jim Jones' Peoples' Temple committed mass suicide by poisoning in
Guyana, Central America on November 18, 1978.
Addictive, more potent, and more
stimulating drugs such as cocaine and heroin took the place of the psychotropic
recreational variety thus introducing America to a new war: The
War on Drugs.
Soldiers blighted by P.T.S.D.
came home from a war considered by many as a lost cause and a waste of time to
face sour and bitter greetings, unlike the war heroes who fought before. They
would also turn to self-medicating means to cope with the anxiety they faced
upon returning.
Despite cultural circumstances,
it wasn't a terrible time to be a kid in the seventies. We had plenty of
colorful distractions that allowed us to focus on just being kids. It seems
life was more carefree back then. My
first taste of sovereignty came with my first bicycle; a 1978 AMF Gold Fever
BMX. I didn't want it at first. But once I got over the falls and bruises and
wobbling around and earned to actually ride it, I embraced the freedom as a kid
to zip around the neighborhood with other friends and explore at will.
Other than my bike, my favorite
toy was less conventional than perhaps a set of Hot Wheels or the popular Evel
Knievel stunt cycle. It was my Bee Gees themed suitcase-style record player and
a small collection of Kiss records: Dressed To Kill, Rock-and-Roll... Over,
Dynasty, Destroyer, a rotating combo of the four solo albums, Alive, and Alive
II.
Kiss was quite a novelty to small kids such as
myself. We found ourselves drawn to their over-the-top theatrics. Summer
friends who lived in my Mamaw's neighborhood and I would spend time within the
carport as we listened to Destroyer on cassette and attempted to emulate the
personas of The Starchild, The Demon, The Spaceman, and The Catman.
I will never forget my
enthusiasm when on December 10, 1979, I got to see them in concert at the
Jackson Coliseum. It was a great but frustrating experience as there seemed to
be internal issues going on with then drummer Peter Chris. Much to the
confusion of the roaring crowd, the show stopped abruptly several times. We
would all learn later that Chris had threatened to quit repeatedly and the rest
of the band had to coax him back to finish the show. I'm glad he did. Two
nights later in Biloxi, Mississippi, he would play his last show with them
until they would temporarily reunite in 1996.
All the novelty surrounding Kiss toys, lunchboxes, and cartoons led me
to believe my experience would be a kid-friendly one; like going to the circus.
Yet how frightened and surprised I was to discover that it was anything but. I
enjoyed the pyrotechnics, the lights, the antics, and the volume didn't bother
me. Somehow even at age six, I could discern the smell of weed in the air, but
I remained undeterred. It was about two-thirds of the way through their set
when Gene Simmons fully morphed into his demon alter-ego as he assumed the
stage unaccompanied to perform his customary bass solo. It was more of an
interacting taunt with the crowd as he traded scowls with onlookers, his
signature blood dripping and erupting into a retch from his mouth. At one
point, a barely visible cable from the scaffolding hoisted him above the crowd enabling
him to spit fake blood on the gawkers below. What a memory it must be to know
you were once spat on by Gene Simmons.
As a six-year-old boy, I was frightened. I was relieved when this
part of the show finally moved on and I could get back to singing along with
the songs I knew and loved.
Not every person can say they had a first concert experience like mine. I
wouldn't trade it for anything.
It was a vibrant world for an American kid of
the seventies. Saturday morning cartoons were no exceptions. What a sacred
pop-culture tradition it was for us. I'm
not one to say my generation had the best-of everything while those of other
generations were second-rate, but we really had the best cartoons: Super
Friends, Jabberjaw, Scooby Doo, Captain Caveman and the Teen Angels, Fat Albert,
The Laff-A-Lympics, Schoolhouse Rock!, The Fantastic Four, and the
not-quite-a-cartoon Saturday show, Land of the Lost.
Life was good to wake up on Saturday mornings, fix a bowl of
Captain Crunch, sit and watch cartoons, and ride bicycles with neighborhood
friends the rest of the day.
We also had the greatest and most entertaining motorcycle stunt
man the world has ever known: Evel Knievel, although I shouldn't assume that
his influence was one to celebrate. The year before I got my own bicycle, an
older neighborhood kid and I got the idea we should stage a stunt of our own. I
would sit on the handlebars as he would take to a ramp built of cinder blocks
and plywood. We never even came close to clearing the ramp as the weight at the
front of the bike propelled everything downward and I went tumbling head first
into the asphalt. An hour later, I was in the emergency room picking gravel out
of my face. I walked away with several chipped front teeth and I still bare the
scar on my chin to this day as a forever reminder of that stupid boy thing I
tried to pull so many years ago.
As always, my dad was a gentle comfort. He knew how to convince me that
everything would be all right. Movies were a thing with him and I. And right
after we left the e.r, he took me to see The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again.
It hurt to laugh, but I did.
Movies were landmarks of that time.
I got to witness at the drive-in the genesis of one of the greatest movie
franchises of all-time: Star Wars. I probably weighed barely forty pounds. So I
sat on top of the car with my popcorn while now and then turning to the other
two screens to catch a glimpse Zorro on one and The Jungle Book on the other.
As one may think, my fidgeting around would cause irritable racket for my
mom and dad below and I would get the ole "Sit still or I will make you
get down!"
And on June 14th, 1978, keeping with the father/son any excuse to see a
movie tradition, as my mother rested in her hospital bed after giving birth to
my baby sister, we took flight to see the sequel to what many consider one
of the most frightening movies of all time- Jaws 2.
Even with an infant in the house throughout those first days, my routine did
not have to really change. It was pretty much more of the same that summer:
Wake up, cereal, cartoons, ride bicycles with neighborhood friends all day, and
that was just the weekend.
During the week, I could count on staying with my Mamaw as she kept the
cupboard stocked with plenty of sugary snacks and RC Cola. Lunch was usually
simple and wasn't anything I couldn't handle on my own: A can of potted meat
and about four slices of what she called "light" bread would do me
fine.
She always had cable TV, so I could catch The Bozo Show out of Chicago
every morning where I would vicariously insert myself into The Grand Prize Game
and imagine I was the one tossing ping-pong balls into pails to win prizes; the
grand prize always being a "crisp new one hundred-dollar bill!" And a
"brand new handsome Schwinn boys (or girls) bicycle!".
TV throughout the day would consist of The Flintstones, or even a
personal favorite: The Space Giants; A Japanese show from the sixties
about a family of robots living below the earth’s surface who could transform
into rocket ships created specifically to protect mankind from a nefarious
space villain named Rodak.
If you've never seen it, even in your wildest imagination, it
is hard to perceive just how strange and bizarre this little show was. But
I loved it and couldn't wait to watch it every day.
Unfortunately for a kid like me, WGN Chicago was the exclusive
broadcaster of The Cubs. Wrigley Field was still without field lighting, so
they played all games during the day. In Chicago, baseball is a high priority.
So if there was a schedule conflict with anything I enjoyed watching, it
always got bumped in favor of the game. My options were to find a different
channel, or watch baseball.
I sat through a few games, and I'm glad I did. There was something
nostalgic even then as I got to watch Harry Carey's seventh-inning stretch
antics in real time. He would get the crowd to join in with him to sing Take Me
Out To The Ballgame as only Harry could do. I never realized I was watching a
legend in action.
If I wasn't with neighborhood friends, I was with my cousins who never
lived far off.
It was like I had two families. I had my biological nucleus, but then I
had the extended ones with whom I was almost just as close and spent about as
much time with.
Boredom was not an option for a kid of the seventies. The freedom of
being young and carefree was awesome. But I would consider those first few
years of my life as something exceptional. Aside from the asphalt face plant, I
don't think I could have asked for much better.
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