All this nostalgia, for the Fifties and Sixties lately--'51 Mercs racing through the night, Conway Twitty on the air,
PEOPLE SEE US EVERYWHERE (little rejoiner from the back seat: "They think you're a f*cking square."); car coats and A&W's and roller skating waitresses. "Haven't you a girl like little Sheia, blue eyes and pony tail?";
Buddy Holly and the Crickets. The Teddy Bears. TO KNOW KNOW KNOW HIM IS TO LOVE, LOVE LOVE HIM.
Boogie cuts and boxcar hair for the guys, everybody's a Fonz, trying to stay cool in the back of the theatre,
your cigarette intact, but five guys are piling on you anyway, wanting to "polish your ivories." Blackboard Jungle, and Rebel Without a Cause (What was all that about anyway?)--All those days before Don McLean's AMERICAN PIE.
We were innocent, violent, rock'n'roll loving, coming back from the drive-in, "the fingerbowl", indeed holding up our fingers for our friend to smell--wishful thinking, really. Fifties crude. Who put the bop in the bop-she-bop-she bop? and the crude rejoiner, "Who put the meat in the Meteor?."
The condom in the wallet, almost always never used, the wrapper frayed. The falling in love, Rick Nelson
playing the soundrack for our love lives, which were largely nonexistent. The guys would brag to each other, but only one of five was really getting any. And those that were getting it were soon married and it was off to the Steel Company of Canada or Dofasco for to pay for baby's booties.
We were in some sort of penal colony, barely allowed to rock and roll, and Elvis was shown only from the waist up.
H-bombs were going off all over, one of them knocking out the earth's magnetic field for a full fifteen minutes.
Sputnik, and Laika the incredible space dog, Russkies at your doorstep and maybe even barefooted African troops.
Jim Crow ruled, nobody was voting in Alabama, and Chuck Berry was always getting arrested, though he could play guitar just like ringin' a bell.
And then the 1957 recession, and all the boys were joining the Service and George Diefenbaker here in Canada
and nuclear-armed Bomarcs, and H-Bombers flying over Winnipeg while Diefenbaker was sayin "No nuclear arms over Canada."
It was a mad time, but we were young, and sure to have our way.
And did we not have our way by the Sixties. The summer of Love, Haight-Ashbury the sit-ins and the love-ins.
Little bourgeois girls sitting on cold Yorkville Avenue steps, just to be part of the scene.
Long-lost classmates hardly recognizable from the drugs and booze. "I was so much older then; I'm younger than that now."
Sex, drugs and LSD. People hanging out of locust trees in the morning, all of them on MDA.
Mandala: "Love-itis got a hold on me."
Steppenwolf. And Burton Cummings. AMERICAN WOMAN.
What in hell was all that about?
American Graffiti, that's what it was all about.
But eventually, all the empty-handed soldier came home.
When childhood was over, the things of childhood had to be put away.
And now we reminisce.
It was a simpler time. It was a grand time. Everybody had money. You could afford to eat in restaurants. Beer was 26 cents a bottle. Everybody had reefers.
And your mother decked out as if part of the B-52's.
Daddy Let Your Mind Roll On!