JFK said, before he died, that America would put a man on the moon in the same decade. It did.
I remember July 1969 when the Apollo 11 mission landed on the moon, and Neil Armstrong descended the ladder from the module on live TV to set foot in the Sea of Tranquility to proclaim American dominance. He said, "One small step for man, a giant leap for mankind."
I went outside at that moment to look at the bright moon and exult. I exult no longer, because America is no longer dominant, and that was almost half a century ago.
Armstrong died today at age 82. So many hopes, so unfulfilled.
Showing posts with label 60s. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 60s. Show all posts
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Sunday, November 22, 2009
That Day in Dallas
Forty-six years ago I was sitting in math class at Edwin Markham JHS 51 on Staten Island when school principal Miss Anapole came on the school intercom system and in what I now recognize was a hysterical voice announced, "The President has been shot! He's dead! President Kennedy is dead!" One student broke into a cheer and Mr. Guzio yelled at him, "You shut your mouth!" Tension and oppression immediately settled over us seventh graders and we sat in shocked silence. Those were in the days before they sent grief counselors to the schools.
We were called into the school auditorium where Miss Anapole harangued us some more about the event in a shrill voice. I remember the loudspeaker system humming as she shrieked and glared at us. Then we were turned out of the school shortly after noon and we all went home. It was a long walk home on that gray, cold November afternoon.
At home I lay on my parents' bed for awhile, listening to the radio. That was how we mostly got our news in those days. It kept replaying Walter Cronkite's intonation that it was confirmed, the president of the United States is dead. I cried for awhile, quietly and alone, because I thought that was the right thing to do.
When I visited Dallas last summer and toured the Texas School Book Depository, where the fatal shot came from, people around my age were asking each other where we were on that fateful morning. That's a reference us baby boomers can relate to, sort of like do you remember what you were doing the moment you heard that the Challenger had blown up (shopping at Target in Boulder and I saw it on a demo TV) or when you first heard about 9/11 (at Metro Center waiting for a Red Line train and Metro announced that trains were running slow due to "the attack" at the Pentagon). I was only eleven the day JFK was shot but I remember it quite clearly.
We were called into the school auditorium where Miss Anapole harangued us some more about the event in a shrill voice. I remember the loudspeaker system humming as she shrieked and glared at us. Then we were turned out of the school shortly after noon and we all went home. It was a long walk home on that gray, cold November afternoon.
At home I lay on my parents' bed for awhile, listening to the radio. That was how we mostly got our news in those days. It kept replaying Walter Cronkite's intonation that it was confirmed, the president of the United States is dead. I cried for awhile, quietly and alone, because I thought that was the right thing to do.
When I visited Dallas last summer and toured the Texas School Book Depository, where the fatal shot came from, people around my age were asking each other where we were on that fateful morning. That's a reference us baby boomers can relate to, sort of like do you remember what you were doing the moment you heard that the Challenger had blown up (shopping at Target in Boulder and I saw it on a demo TV) or when you first heard about 9/11 (at Metro Center waiting for a Red Line train and Metro announced that trains were running slow due to "the attack" at the Pentagon). I was only eleven the day JFK was shot but I remember it quite clearly.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Going down, going down now, going down.
When I started blogging in 2007 I listed my favorite songs on my Profile. The ten I selected were all produced between 1965 and 1971. Hmm. Last year I listed my favorite albums on my Profile. I've already discussed one by the Beatles and one by the Stones, and one by Procol Harum, leaving seven LPs. The seven remaining represent the core of rock and rolldom. You'll notice that they're all productions of the late sixties, a cultural phenomenon that I experienced as a young man.
I recently read an article that the generational gap so prevalent then is back. I wouldn't be surprised or dismayed. But this is nothing new. The young should question authority and strive to change things, as we did back then. There was a war then, and there's a war now. Undoubtedly it's not a coincidence. For 2009, I'm going back to listing just songs again on my Profile.
Who's Next by the Who (1971). I dropped out of college in 1972 and went to work on the McGovern campaign in an attempt to defeat Richard Nixon's re-election bid and end the amoral Vietnam war. I used to come home during that summer bone-tired after yet another 15/7 day at the campaign headquarters of Staten Islanders for McGovern and put this album on the turntable to unwind before I went to sleep. My favorite cut was Won't Get Fooled Again. Roger Daltry told me all summer long that the shotgun sings the song. McGovern got crushed so badly that I swore off ever again working in a political campaign. Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
The Doors by the Doors (1967). An incredible debut album. Beyond the seminal Light My Fire, my favorite groove was Back Door Man. You men eat your dinner, eat your pork and beans, I eat more chicken than any man ever seen, yeah, yeah. I'm a back door man, the men don't know but the little girls understand. All eleven cuts by Jim Morrison are truly classic. Jim Morrison, dead at an early age.
Man With Sticks by Led Zeppelin (1971). Led Zeppelin was good. This untitled album, known colloquially, by me at least, as Man With Sticks, is great. When I saw the perfect photo from my trip last summer down the Grand Canyon, photo by Barry Sevett, I instantly named it after the most famous song on the album, Stairway to Heaven. Your stairway lies on the whispering wind. All the cuts are great. How about When the Levee Breaks. Little did I know as I listened to this driving hip hop riff that the wailing Robert Plant was portending the disastrous tenure of the Decider and his ruination of a great American city three decades early. All for the want of 400 votes in Florida. Going down, going down now, going down.
The rest:
Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs by Eric Clapton (1970). Like a fool, I fell in love with you, turned my whole world upside down.
Are You Experienced by Jimi Hendrix (1967). We'll hold hands and then we'll watch the sunrise from the bottom of the sea. But first, are you experienced? Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have. Jimi Hendrix, dead at an early age.
If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears by the Mamas and the Papas (1966). Another incredible debut album. California Dreamin' might be the most famous rock and roll song of all time. Its opening chords are instantly recognizable by anyone. This album was on when I kissed a girl for the first time, at a party. It was a long kiss, and I was in la la land for the rest of the weekend. Mama Cass, dead at an early age.
Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane (1967). The San Francisco scene, man. You better find somebody to love. I saw Jefferson Starship, sans Grace Slick, a year ago in Falls Church. Some things are better left strictly in the memory banks.
You come up with your favorite half dozen albums, excepting the Beatles and Stones. It's hard to do.
I recently read an article that the generational gap so prevalent then is back. I wouldn't be surprised or dismayed. But this is nothing new. The young should question authority and strive to change things, as we did back then. There was a war then, and there's a war now. Undoubtedly it's not a coincidence. For 2009, I'm going back to listing just songs again on my Profile.
Who's Next by the Who (1971). I dropped out of college in 1972 and went to work on the McGovern campaign in an attempt to defeat Richard Nixon's re-election bid and end the amoral Vietnam war. I used to come home during that summer bone-tired after yet another 15/7 day at the campaign headquarters of Staten Islanders for McGovern and put this album on the turntable to unwind before I went to sleep. My favorite cut was Won't Get Fooled Again. Roger Daltry told me all summer long that the shotgun sings the song. McGovern got crushed so badly that I swore off ever again working in a political campaign. Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.
The Doors by the Doors (1967). An incredible debut album. Beyond the seminal Light My Fire, my favorite groove was Back Door Man. You men eat your dinner, eat your pork and beans, I eat more chicken than any man ever seen, yeah, yeah. I'm a back door man, the men don't know but the little girls understand. All eleven cuts by Jim Morrison are truly classic. Jim Morrison, dead at an early age.
Man With Sticks by Led Zeppelin (1971). Led Zeppelin was good. This untitled album, known colloquially, by me at least, as Man With Sticks, is great. When I saw the perfect photo from my trip last summer down the Grand Canyon, photo by Barry Sevett, I instantly named it after the most famous song on the album, Stairway to Heaven. Your stairway lies on the whispering wind. All the cuts are great. How about When the Levee Breaks. Little did I know as I listened to this driving hip hop riff that the wailing Robert Plant was portending the disastrous tenure of the Decider and his ruination of a great American city three decades early. All for the want of 400 votes in Florida. Going down, going down now, going down.
The rest:
Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs by Eric Clapton (1970). Like a fool, I fell in love with you, turned my whole world upside down.
Are You Experienced by Jimi Hendrix (1967). We'll hold hands and then we'll watch the sunrise from the bottom of the sea. But first, are you experienced? Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have. Jimi Hendrix, dead at an early age.
If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears by the Mamas and the Papas (1966). Another incredible debut album. California Dreamin' might be the most famous rock and roll song of all time. Its opening chords are instantly recognizable by anyone. This album was on when I kissed a girl for the first time, at a party. It was a long kiss, and I was in la la land for the rest of the weekend. Mama Cass, dead at an early age.
Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane (1967). The San Francisco scene, man. You better find somebody to love. I saw Jefferson Starship, sans Grace Slick, a year ago in Falls Church. Some things are better left strictly in the memory banks.
You come up with your favorite half dozen albums, excepting the Beatles and Stones. It's hard to do.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Her Face at First Just Ghostly
The British band Procol Harum put out an LP in 1967 that featured the song A Whiter Shade of Pale. As a young man I was listening to an FM radio station one night when this song came on and the DJ explained that this was the song that made rock gentle. Oh yeah.
And the fact that the album also contained the song Conquistador made it one of the great albums, in my top ten, of all time.
Conquistador, there is no time, I must pay my respects
And though I came to jeer at you, I leave now with regrets
And as the gloom begins to fall
I see there is no, only all
And though you came with sword held high
You did not conquer, only die
The truth is plain to see. Procol Harum, A Whiter Shade of Pale.
And the fact that the album also contained the song Conquistador made it one of the great albums, in my top ten, of all time.
Conquistador, there is no time, I must pay my respects
And though I came to jeer at you, I leave now with regrets
And as the gloom begins to fall
I see there is no, only all
And though you came with sword held high
You did not conquer, only die
The truth is plain to see. Procol Harum, A Whiter Shade of Pale.
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