It was a very good year
1969
Pre-yuppie
Still sixties
Easy rider
No “chill” yet, big or otherwise
We thought that we could re-invent the world
Make a difference
That we could change the order of things
Not become part of some blue jean fashion revival
Nostalgically chic
Some twenty or forty years later
Helping sell bell bottoms and ties dies on Telegraph Avenue and Rodeo Drive
Before JFK, RFK, and MLK were Drives, Airports, and holidays
When they were just fallen leaders, grieved for by our nation
Things weren’t so squeaky clean in ’69
like they were in ’49 or ’59
During McCarthy, the Red scare, and Ike Eisenhower
When everything was button downed and cookie-cutter conformity
When “Duck and cover” meant 6th grade air raid drills
and “water” was still for drinking; “gates” for opening and closing
In ’69 we liked the dirt and grit of the road
We thrived on politics, protests, and fighting for civil rights
We knew “the times were a changin'”
No matter how George Will condemned us years later for being a “failed generation”
Whose “all you need is love” and “give peace a chance” were mere pie in the sky illusions of “youthful idealism, self-indulgence, and immaturity”
I had been born for the year
I grew up at 1969 Valentines Road
I was always looking at the numbered sign post in our front yard
with the green holly and red berries all around it
always wondering “WHEN would that far off year ever come around?”
It was always 1952, 1955, 1958
When I was 11 years old, in the fifth grade
Waiting out front of our 3 bedroom ranch house in the New Yawk suburbs on Valentines Road
for Mis Lockeledge, my 5th grade teacher, to come driving by in her green and white ’56 Oldsmobile special
I’d jump up and down and give her a big wave and shout
“Hey! Miss Lockledge!”
And she’d give me a big smile and wave back
from under her red curly, Howdy Doody hair
It was so great
I was there every day to make sure she wouldn’t miss me
And she never did
because she saw pretty well with her tortoise shell specs
until one day we knocked them off her face with a flying red Converse All Star
Afterwards, I remember sitting in Principal O’Farrell’s office
My first run in with “the law”
but definitely not my last
Then it was finally 1960
We had a brand new, rust-colored, Chevy Impala station wagon
The one with the flat fins
Not the curved ones like the year before, ’59
But the cool flat ones
Like a rocket ship
The Impala became mine when I was old enough to drive
To take the guys to school
Or down to the beach
West End 2
Or to Nathan’s Original hot dogs in Long Beach
It was me who wasn’t very cool though
I got put in with the smart kids
With Nicky Blaustein who had eye glasses with Coke bottle lenses
and with all the other nerds
“Mom, please don’t make me do it!”
“It’ll be good for, son.”
And so it was
Because I had no voice or power of my own
Then it was 1965
when I finally graduated from W. Tresper Clarke High School
in Westbury, Long Island, New Yawk
and I went to UB, soon to become the State University of New York at Buffalo
where I was an unhappy collegiate camper for 4 years
never having a date, never having sex, always looking to fit in
where I didn’t turn out like I was supposed to
become “my son, the doctuh”
with a happy wife, 2.2 children and a 2 car garage
Instead I got an advanced degree in frisbee
Summa Cum Laude
With a minor in sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll (without the sex!)
Ya see, drugs weren’t so bad back then
And the cops weren’t so good (are they ever?)
We thought we could learn a few things from a little grass
and a little hash
We didn’t main line or “just say no”
Instead, we said “yes”
to alotta things
We “turned on, tuned in, and dropped out”
We opened our minds, expanded our consciousnesses, and thought we’d never look back
I had this poster on my college bedroom door in 1969
A picture of a 22 year old Dustin Hoffman from the movie, “The Graduate”
It asked in a very large font
“What’ll you do after you graduate?”
Good question
A lot of us wanted to know
We weren’t as smart or insecure as the kids today
We didn’t graduate with useless MBAs
to join the lines of the unemployed
or delay our enormous students loans
by moving back in with our parents
We guys just wanted to stay out of the draft
Keep away from the jungle called Viet Nam
It wasn’t until we saw the movies “Deer Hunter”, “Platoon”, and “Full Metal Jacket”
that we felt guilty for not laying our lives down for our country
We were born to wear white collars
Cocky young college kids
Who burned our draft cards
Or got high lottery numbers, like me, to avoid the draft when we graduated
Or if didn’t, we crossed the Canadian border
Or went to graduate school at the London School of Economics
We weren’t going to die in a war we didn’t believe in
We gambled that we’d be forgiven
Because we knew someone else was committing the crime
The “masters of war”, not us
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We said “white”
Except in the case of race which most of us didn’t want to run
Jimmy Hendrix asked all us wanna be hippies, “Are you Experienced?”
But “No”, I wasn’t, although I desperately wanted to be
I was just a camp counselor for 10 year olds
Who sometimes inspected swimming pools over the summer for Nassau County
I’d never been anywhere
Never seen
anything
Then one day on The Bowery, living in the Om Zig loft
Finally having cut my painful childhood umbilical cord
I met curly Joe and I crooned
“You’ve seen everything
You’ve been everywhere
Texas, an’ Alabama, an’ Montana, an’ Washington State
I wanna be like you when I grow up
Like you and Bob, and Woody and Jack
And his “on the road” Neal fucking Cassidy
Tramping forth this great big US of A
Living on speed like Joe Shit, the Ragman
And dying of “exposure” some ten years later
next to a lonely, unmarked rail road track south of the border
Frozen solid by the elements like some hunk of beef left out over night
Too drunk or stoned to know the difference
Too many miles on the odometer
Like Jimi, or Janis, or Jimbo of the Doors
A world-wide celebrity even in his grave at Pere La Chaise cemetery in far off Pareeee
“I’m gonna see every city I ever heard of
I’m gonna stay there as long as I like
Take my 850 dollars that I saved up from my unwanted, miserable Bar Mitzvah
And I’m gonna meet people
I’m gonna do things
Drive really far
Really hard
Hit the road, Jack,
with no return in site
Sure, I’m scared
So scared I can’t even talk
Hell, I lost my voice 3 months ago in the East Village
Dancing for the first time
Learning about my body for the first time
So introverted and scared I couldn’t even make a peep
But I’m hungry, ready to learn, ready to fly………..”
And so that’s how it was
on the first day of Spring, 1970
I was 22 years old
I had this 1964 blue Pontiac Tempest
with a green and brown, camouflage-painted, left year fender
And I was going to drive up and down this country like it was one big map
The Tempest’s name was “Steppenwolf”, or “Wolfie” for short
Named after Hesse’s novel or Credence’s song, maybe both
And he was my best friend
My only friend
And we were off to see the world
At least that part of it called “America”
All 50 states
At least the 48 on the mainland
We were gonna see The East Coast
the Confederate South
Fort Sumter, the Civil War, Uncle Tom’s Cabin
On top of Old Smokey, way down upon the Suwannee River
Selma, Montgomery, the Battle of New Orleans
Texas, the Alamo, the Wild West
The Mid-West, Kansas-Missouri
Mark Twain, the Mississippi
Honest Abe, Crazy Horse, and Geronimo
Davey Crockett, Wild Bill Hickok
Everyone and every place I soaked up in 11th grade history with crazy Miss Bandiero
Jellystone National Park
Mount Rushmore, the Badlands of South Dakota
And “there’s gold in them thar hills”
All the way to Summer of Love Cal-ee-fornia!
I wanted to see it All
To do it All
I’d been saving up a long time
I was a volcano ready to explode
I had seeds to sow
Places to go
Years to grow
But what first?
“Which way, Wolfie?”
I bought me this map
A 1970 Rand McNally “Road Atlas of the United States”
Big and thick
Like a 24 inch baloney sandwich
You take a long time to eat it
One bite at a time
One road, one page at a time
A lot to digest
“Maybe I should just blindfold myself
And take a stab at it?
Whataya think, Wolfie?
You know, like wherever my finger lands
That’s where’ we’ll go first?
But what if it lands on Bismarck, North Dakota?
Not only will it be cold, bleak, boring, and depressing
But how will we get there?
I mean, from New York?
Without driving through Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Chicago, and Minneapolis
Not to mention all the other places along the way?
No
Seems like a better plan
A more orderly one
To see the great country one city at a time
Starting south
Or at least, heading off in a southerly direction”
So…
that’s how it was
I got into the Wolf
And headed off into my first sunset
Spring, 1970
To my first destination
Baltimore, Maryland
Home of the Orioles
And many other birds I had never met before…………