As I settle comfortably into January’s arm chair world of Geezerdom, it is amazing what a time machine I have in my mind. As I hop into bed at night, I can practically assure myself that before too long, those dreams will come along, and I will step through the portals of time, and once again enter the dim distant past; only that past will very much seem like the present, all over again.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I will be traveling with my parents, or enjoying one of many vacation destinations. Sometimes, and surprisingly often, I will find myself back in the classroom, preparing another lesson for the students. Oftentimes, I will be transported back in time to some Florida pawn shop where I'll be wheeling and dealing for some old musical instrument that I found way up high on some dusty old shelf. I sure wish I could re-visit that old Panama City pier where the aromatic oyster bar sat right where the fishing boat pier met the sidewalk. You could get a dozen fresh hot Oysters Rockefeller for a couple of bucks, right from off that same boat. You had to get there by 3, because they were gone by 5. The proprietor had only part of an ear too. It was said that a shark got the other part of it, but no one was ever brave enough to ask him about it. Sorry, but I blissfully digress here.
And then, yes, sometimes, there are those other nightmare dreams of tragedies, close calls, and triggered unhappy memories of those times when, but for the Grace of God, things could have ended up far worse in my life. Lots of those dreams involve either me, or some loved one, and I will wake up absolutely traumatized by the visions that my mind provided to me.
Dreams, as all of us know, don't just happen in the night. Sometimes, those random thoughts and memories flood back to us when we open a drawer, look at some picture, notice some object, or hear some expression on TV, or whatever else might cause the past to come alive uninvited into our minds. You young ones will have these thoughts someday, if you live long enough; but again, I digress here.
It was written long ago in that Great Book, regarding the last days, that our sons and daughters would prophesy, our young men would see visions, our old men would dream dreams, and that whole time frame thing has certainly rung true in my own life. As a young man, I sure took changing the world seriously. I saw many visions indeed, and tried to make as many of them as possible come true. Did quite a bit of prophesying m’ self too, particularly with my songwriting. My guitar, banjo, and drums were not so much objects of entertainment, but serious social machines; purchased to effect change. It certainly was a starry-eyed quest on my part back then.
The thing was, yes, I actually was able to help to change a lot of things for the better over the years. I tried to rise and either tame, or slay, every dragon that came along.
Anyway, I was just thinking about a time, 50 years ago, in 1968, that I dream about probably more than other times, because it truly was a time when this writer, as a 16-17 year old, came of age. In my own life, and in the life of our nation, terrible and traumatic things happened that caused everyone who survived that year to understand that something indeed had happened. There's an old saying that when we lose innocence, we gain experience.
That happened to all of us, dear friends, in 1968. As Buffalo Springfield played and Stephen Stills sang in 1967, there WAS something happening here...even in Lakewood. If you think times are strange now? You needed to be here then, and perhaps you were...
For me personally, I had an unfortunate experience back then with someone whom I thought was a good friend that really affected my life; leaving me confused and shaken to the point that it would be a long time before I would ever trust anyone again. Come to think of it, I'm still not a very trusting person, but I digress here.
Coming of age? Oh yeah.
Our country too, was also being severely traumatized in 1968. At the beginning of the year, the Battle of Khe Sanh in Vietnam, followed weeks later by the Tet Offensive, showed all of us that the Vietnam War was far from over. Those North Koreans were at it again too, seizing a U.S. Navy ship; the Pueblo. Our confidence in how the Vietnam War was being waged would soon be further shaken by events like the My Lai massacre. (an incident that would not fully be disclosed until the following year)
Colleges erupted in protests over the need for more Afro-centric studies, and of course, the Vietnam War too. The dream of nonviolent protests died with the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, and the Summer of '68 became a bloodbath, as American cities burned with fire and protest.
Later in the year, Richard Nixon would be elected to the Presidency, replacing (in January, 1969) Lyndon Johnson.
Oh yeah, and for what it was worth to y'all, I finally got REALLY serious about playing the guitar, or rather bass. In '68, Dad got me a bass guitar. The first tunes that I learned on it were the Surfari's "Wipeout" and "Snoopy and the Red Baron". I used that bass in school, and in several garage bands, before I traded it off to a friend who played professionally around Cleveland for years. That bass went through a few more hands before coming back to me several years ago. It still works well, and is sitting right next to me by the piano, to this very day!
At the beginning of 1968, I was a very confused kid. At the end of 1968, I was becoming quite an activist. As a semi-constructive way of dealing with my outrage, I would later major in Political Science in college, at least when I was not raising cain on the Rock and Roll and social protest stages of life. (My own fight mostly centered on rights for people with disabilities) Whether in college, or on bass, guitar, banjo, or on my double-bass set of drums, I was ready to change the world! (or, as the old saying goes, I was trying to make sure that I would not be changed by the world!)
I learned a great deal in 1968. One of the best things I learned was how to SURVIVE people, places, events, and indeed, life itself. In 1968, indeed, I, and the rest of the world, grew up and came of age...Lakewood High too, was changing. Student styles were morphing from tucked-in button-down shirts and beehive hair-dos to wide belts, mini-skirts, paisley shirts, hop sack jeans, and of course, for guys and gals, long stringy hair, and the longer, the better.
What I personally took from all of that social stuff was that no longer would it be possible to stand on the sidelines of life and look on passively. You were in the middle of it, like it or not. No doubt about that. You were either going to be a part of life's problems, or life's solutions. There would be no in-between. No compromise. No surrender.
Later on, of course, I would learn that compromise is possible and even sometimes desirable, but never at the expense of human rights, human dignity, human respect, and human freedom.
Of course, all of that finesse stuff indeed, would come later. You also have to learn to pick your fights.
In 1968, it was pure war, and quite honestly, it was a war from which few of us have fully recovered.
Photo attached: Gary, playing for a dance at Horace Mann School, with Lakewood's SKIE Band, circa 1968.
How about you all? Any memories from back then that you'd like to share?
Happy New Year All,
Gary Rice
