These days I seem to think a lot

O n c e   w a s   a   t i m e . . .

Once was a time I thought when everything could be accomplished or improved or repaired. Essence of the sixties, that fabled period of time, so like a modern day version of Camelot--at least so it seems in the collective memories of the survivors. A time of peace, love and understanding--and of the Cold War, race riots, the Space Race, the Kennedy Assassinations, as well as the murder of Martin Luther King, and that dirty little war in Southeast Asia, VietNam. Turmoil and trouble, sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, culture clashes between white and black, young and old, hide-bound and free-spirit, the decade encompassed so many dramatic events, so much conflict, so many highs and lows that it seemed to be longer than a mere ten years.

When it was over, minds and bodies littered the landscape in numbers unseen except in those conflagrations known as the World Wars. While there had certainly always been conflicts between the generations before, by all appearances the schisms that opened during the 1960's were deeper and more severe than any before or since. In some ways, what transpired resembled mass insanity. Some excuse may be made for various parts of society under the influence of various and sundry mind-altering substances (alcohol, pills, pot, acid, mescaline, peyote, speed, a rainbow of uppers, downers and tranquilizers), but it fails to adequately account for the extent and vehemence of the extremes to which violence overtook society and became the defining characteristic.

Beginning with the tragically brutal ineptitude of the Bay of Pigs invasion and continuing through to the murder of four students at Kent State University, the sixties era was marked by bloody conflict, assassination, murder and casual violence. The evening news was taken over by an increasing predilection for violence, airing reports from the South showing dogs attacking Civil Rights protesters, police using fire hoses

Whether hippie or hard-hat, Black Panther activist or ax-wielding redneck, society gave every appearance of coming apart at the seams. Indeed, many publicly and privately wondered if civilization would withstand the forces atplay, pushing and pulling, seeking dominance or destruction, working toward opposing goals and all demanding equal time on national TV. Andy Warhol set the tone early in the decade when he presciently observed, "In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes," ensuring himself his own 15 minutes in the process. It soon became obvious that many people took his words to heart, memorized them in fact, and sought to act on them. Self-aggrandizement was elevated to an art-form that remains a fundamental of public relations and a steppingstone to fame today.

A sad corollary to that was the corresponding lack of interest in other points of view. Of course, this is the basis for many, if not all, breakdowns in communication, and the ultimate breakdowns in communication lead to war; in the current era we are reaping the harvest of these sins of omission and commission in communications skills. As all groups and their individual members remained convinced of the infallibility of their positions, polarization set in with the ponderous finality of a glacier. Little surprise then, that events unfolded with predictable results and further deterioration of communication between groups; whether right-wing or left, black white or brown, young or old, everyone had an opinion held firmly and unequivocally. From gang-warfare to the ranting of commentators on radio and TV, it seems as if no one is willing to respect the rights and beliefs of others; as if someone wearing a different-colored scarf or hat, or professing different beliefs somehow threatens those who think or dress differently. The response is the same, unfortunately, whether in the form of road rage or drive by shootings or accusations of unacceptable political beliefs; intolerance has become the method and the practice, too often worn as a badge, proudly. Even those who subscribe to believe in a leader who counseled “love others”, that “love” is tempered by whether one shares their beliefs.

Recovery from this protracted entrenchment of beliefs seems impossible at this late a date. Everyone has their belief system, and theirs is the only right one: all others are not just suspect, but mistaken and misguided. Whether it is a gang, or a religious belief, or a political philosophy, one and all are convinced of the rightness of theirs and the wrongness of all others. “Liberal” is used as an epithet of the worst sort, because just the very possibility of someone else’s ideas having any value or worth is too threatening to many, if not all. The heady ideals of the 60’s, peace and love, free speech and acceptance of others on their own terms, all have become targets of ridicule. The flag-wavers who would have you believe they are freedom’s champions seem to have lost sight of the concept most embraced by the Founding Fathers, that we allowed and supported the differences of beliefs, the “right” to speak and worship as we wished, or not.

Freedom has become an endangered concept of late, as those who claim to be its protectors act instead as its fiercest attackers. The infringements on freedom today would not be accepted by Americans of the first half of the 20th Century. There is no excuse for the excesses that are taken for granted today. Somewhere along the line, from the turmoil of the 60’s to the bedlam of the new century and a new millennium, we lost sight of who we are, what we stand for, the values we represent. This isn’t a positive change, not one to be proud of, but one instead that relegates us to the same dustbin of history as the other, now-tarnished societies of old that fizzled out and fell apart from internal conflicts, waste and greed.

The shining example set by those who contributed to what became the greatest experiment in social engineering, is beset by accusations of torture and inhuman crimes, guilty of acts that would never have been tolerated only a short time ago. As we face another set of elections, we must ask ourselves, are we doing our best, is this what our ancestors would have done? Are we accepting less than we have a right to expect, from our leaders, and ourselves? Are we on the right path, acting in the right manner, to achieve the goals we, as a people, have always held in our hearts? Can we continue, on the path we are on? I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, but I know they have to be asked, because these are the very questions asked by Americans who passed this way before. These are the questions we ask ourselves, as we make our way through our own lives. How we answer them determines how our lives run their course; as a society, how we respond to these questions determines how our country and our society continues its course, and what course it takes, for good or worse.

Those were the days, my friend, we thought they would never end

L a d i e s   a n d   G e n t l e m e n, . . .

t h e    B e a t l e s

I first heard the Beatles on a "Hit or Miss" call-in on KOMA, 50,000 watts of power from Oklahoma City, OK, in November, 1963. It was the weekend after the Kennedy assassination and there was nothing on TV (as I tell my sons, you could watch anything you wanted, as long as it was on that ONE channel!), so I was tuning a huge old Zenith radio that had been left in the house we were renting at the time, searching the static-y airwaves for anything that resembled the sound I was seeking, a sound I hadn't even heard yet, but somehow knew was out there, somewhere, waiting for me. I had tinkered with this radio on several previous occasions, with varying degrees of success, managing to capture KOMA for a few songs before losing it to the atmosphere. The reason for this problem was simply distance, and the fact we lived among the Rocky Mountains on the western slope of Colorado, nearly 1,000 miles from the broadcast booth!

I finally managed to snag the wisps of the station’s broadcast, and listened to the Essex' "Easier Said Than Done" before the DJ, “J” Mike Wilson, announced the Hit or Miss candidate for the evening, "a record from England by a group called the Silver Beatles, who are quite popular there, right now". He explained the rules, and said that because the record hadn't come with a recommended "A" side, he would play both sides and they would tally votes on both songs before reporting the results. I listened to the 1st song with some excitement, but thought it similar to the type of songs typical of the early 60's, with a much stronger beat and a rousing instrumental accompaniment. The song was "I Want to Hold Your Hand", of course, and, after several ads, the DJ returned to announce the flip side of the disc, "I Saw Her Standing There". From the opening drum roll, I was hooked! I hung on ever note, willing that crotchety old radio to drag the signal in clearly. I didn't want to touch the dial, even though the signal faded and static threatened to take over, but I knew if I moved the dial, I would lose it, and I wanted to hear this song! When it ended, I sat there staring at the face of this large wooden cabinet, with a small glass dial in the middle of the top half, and the art-deco-styled letters spelling "Zenith", with a big, goofy smile on my face. I knew somehow that the sound of rock and roll had changed. The music that I had been only somewhat interested in had transformed, in the space of two minutes and 55 seconds, into something far more alluring and wonderful.

The DJ came back on and chattered away, in the style of early 60's Top 40 jocks, although I wasn't paying any attention, then gave way to more ads, during which the static finally took over. The signal "traveled" and it required constant micro-tuning to keep a clear signal coming in, no small feat considering the dial was no larger than a half-dollar! I quickly moved to recapture this connection, but it took me several anxious minutes to get anything clear enough to understand. Some nights, the atmospheric interference was so great it was impossible to hear the station, and some nights it wasn't even possible to separate its signal from the haze.

When the DJ returned to announce the results, they weren't encouraging. “I Want to Hold Your Hand” got some 74 "hits" and almost as many "misses"; "I Saw Her Standing There" didn't fare as well, racking up only 62 "hits" and even more "misses". I shrugged, even at 14 being something of an iconoclast and independent of others opinions. I knew somehow I would hear more from the "Silver Beatles", although I did think it a screwy name. Of course, at the time, groups were usually fronts for singers, such as Jimmy Gilmore and the Fireballs, whose "Sugar Shack" had been at #1 just 3 weeks before and was still at #4 the week of November 23--30.

Years later, after “Beatlemania” had faded, been resurrected as a stage show and passed into the history books, I saw two performances of the multi-media show, "Away With Words". This was a four-screen, quadraphonic performance of "every" Beatles song, that toured the US in 1973. The opening scenes showed life in the 50's, while songs from Bill Haley, Little Richard and Elvis thundered from the massive speaker array. Even though they had been mixed for this event, the tinniness and crudity of the early rock classics was readily apparent. The display turned to the turmoil of the early 60's, the race riots, Bay of Pigs, Cuban Missile Crisis and A-bomb explosions, then focused on a black limousine turning a corner. Asthe events in Dealy Plaza played out, the music became quiet, then after the scenes of John-John and the funeral played out, transformed into Beatles-only songs.

A very effective and appropriate turning point, as I, and undoubtedly many others, had felt for years, the Kennedy Assassination represented a dividing line between the "old" world and the "new", if not better, world we suddenly found ourselves in, a world of VietNam and student demonstrations, race riots and the growing gulf of the "Generation Gap". A world in which the nightly news displayed images of vicious fighting in the jungles of a southeast Asian country no one knew anything about. We were subjected to nightly images of coups, burning Buddhist monks and baby-faced GI's, nervous and callow, who were being shuttled off to die in rice paddies in a country few could have located on a map, while politicians at home assured us this was necessary to prevent the need of fighting the "godless" communists on our own shores. The first "Wag the Dog" war, VietNam sparked powerful reactions on both sides of the issue, ultimately polarizing a generation. Bill Clinton went to Oxford on his Rhodes Scholarship, Tom Delay, Bill Frist, Rush Limbaugh and many other prominent Republicans in today's news sought and received "deferments“. George, Jr, joined the ANG, but decided not to fulfill his commitment, regardless of whether Dan Rather used "falsified" documents or not. The Beatles provided the soundtrack for the times, releasing "Revolution" at the height of the divisiveness, a subtle poke at those who thought Mao's "little Red book" was merely a treatise on the secrets to a better life. Their closing remark on the era, as the Beatles exited stage left, was "Let It Be", a well-deserved commentary on the battles and the drugs, the losses and the changes, the rocky road we had traveled together, the final blessing wished on a generation riven by turmoil and strife. Alas, by that time, the effects were too significant, too deeply etched in the character, to ever be undone.

The tone of the performance of "A Way With Words" (yes, it was shown both ways), seemed to cast the Beatles as something MORE than merely musicians and songwriters, but messengers from on high, sent to guide us through these difficult times. Whether they did it successfully, or according to the initial plan, is certainly open to speculation. It is significant that, even now, some 40 years later and counting, books are still being written about the four lads from Liverpool, their effect on music, fashion, the arts, and the product is snapped up by an eager public. One would think that everything that could be said has been, everything that could be marketed, has been. Just take a look at the auctions on eBay, for memorabilia and CD's, posters and autographs. Perhaps, in some far-distant future, historians and professors will teach classes on the Beatles, much as they teach Shakespeare. None of us will know, of course, but the possibility, assuming mankind survives the consequences of his stupidity over the course of this past century, is certainly a strong one, and there is much there to glean, even still.

There are those who insist, of course, that the Beatles were only another teenage phenomenon, like Elvis, before them, or Frank Sinatra in the 40’s, but neither of those artists controlled so much of their own creative output, nor had so dramatic an output an effect on their generation. The Beatles influence was felt from one end of the spectrum to the other, ultimately becoming an adjective for fuming parents, and for nascent “west-coast promo men”, eager to discover, and sign, the “next big thing”, ala the Beatles. That none of the other British Invasion bands had such an impact is not surprising in itself, even those who survived longer, or recorded more albums. The main claim for the Rolling Stones, labeled the “greatest rock’n’roll band” by Rolling Stone magazine (they do have a vested interest, after all), is the fact they are still on the road, 43 years later, even if a pre-30 Mick did say he thought it revolting for anyone 40, or older, to be posing as a rocker. He got over that more than 20 years ago (“ ’twas 20 years ago today, Sgt Pepper taught the band to sing…”). Today, he just counts the money and laughs all the way to the bank. The Beatles progressed on to the pantheon of stars, never to return, never to reform, but remembered and revered, and studied, pored over anddissected by historians and fans in attempts to capture what it was that was so special, so memorable. Their introduction into American households, via the then-modern marvel of TV, on the evening of February9, 1964, began “Beatlemania” with the screams of the studio audience. It also marked the beginning of the modern era, the age we find ourselves in, of diminished expectations, a known world with no new worlds to conquer, no unexplored areas, lying in wait for the tread of an adventurer’s Nike. That may well be the Beatles legacy and purpose, after all, to define the time in History when we transitioned from ascendancy to decline, from the time of infinite possibilities, to the time of dotting the “I”s and crossing the “t”s. Maybe that was the actual reason for the “dropped” T on Ringo’s drumhead, a clue to the shape of things to come.

The View From Here

W e   A r e   N o t   O n e

I keep my heart in a velvet-lined box, locked tightly
In a chest, upon a pedestal, inside a guarded room,
High up in a great tower, without stairs or windows,
Safe against assault by those who would shatter it. :                                                                               :

I keep the key on a carbon-steel chain of intricate
Links, forged in the heat of passion and tempered
By tears shed in private and ever always held close
While I sleep, so no one can steal it away from me. :                                                                               :

I built this tower, brick by brick, year after year,
Rising ever higher with each new loss, the mortar
Grist from my heart’s hardened edges, reinforced
By the steel-eyed gazes belying any hurt feelings. :                                                                            :

I look in from the dark, through a gauzed window,
At the happy people gathered around one another,
Wond’ring how easy for some and yet so difficult
For the others, and what difference leads the way. :                                                                            :

I laugh and pretend it really doesn’t matter at all,
Knowing no one knows or even really cares to know,
Yet knowing they wonder, safe in their own tower
Waiting, hidden deep inside, far from prying eyes.                         
 :                                                                            :  

I know this to be true of us all, we each share such
Loneliness, piercing and deep, fueled by our fears,
Driven by the wolves of doubt, a desperate need
To become more than one, to exchange me for we.

Time, And Again

L I f e’ s    c y c l e

Waiting here on the distant edge of forever,
Standing in favor of another cruel dawn,
Watching as the night’s last few stars twinkle
Quietly into that gathering blue sky above.  

These times we’ve shared fade into time
Setting off on the long march into oblivion,
Remembered by fewer each passing day,
As the inevitable void embraces us all.  

Between this beginning and that end,
Lie the differences in each of our stories,
Playing like an old movie in a deserted
Hall where the lights are forever dimmed.  

When the music does come to an end,
And gravity finally looses its hold on us,
As we set sail again, on one more new
Adventure, traveling into a distant future.  

Where time plays no part, and keeps
No record of our passage, or presence,
Whether we will be together then or not,
Only the shadows will know for certain.  

If such a time and place ever exist again,
Where the heart can be free from worry,
Won’t you join me there for the interval
Measured ‘twixt one breath and the next?