Shop Class with the Mazzutti Brothers and Mr. V.

Most of my memories of grade school in Oglesby, Illinois are a jumbled, muddled assortment of highs and lows and adolescent angst—par for the course for any elementary student—but of these memories there’s one that still sticks most clearly in my mind: shop class.

 

In seventh and eighth grade the powers that be, in this case the Board of Education, saw it fit for the boys to study industrial arts and for the girls to study home economics. Either we were already being groomed for our future roles in society or being sized up for what we could and couldn’t do, shop class, at least for the boys was a rite of passage.

 

In seventh grade boys studied mechanical drawing with Mr. V. (his name was Vasishak, but everyone knew him simply as Mr. V. who was also the seventh and eighth grade mathematics teacher) and in the eighth grade it was woodworking where in the course of a year you would make (depending on how skillful you were with a hammer and saw) a broom holder, bookrack, shoeshine box, and birdhouse.

 

Mr. V. was well liked at Washington Grade School by students and faculty. He was a tall thin man with white hair and was a World War II veteran having served in the Navy in the Pacific. He lived with his mom down the street from Pope’s Citgo Station in this Victorian-style white house hemmed in by towering pine trees and radio antennae. Some rumored he might have been tracking Apollo missions with that antennae array he had outside his home; others said he was a HAM radio operator.

 

I believed that it was a little of both.

 

Mr. V. was noted for his corny sense of humor, which back in 1970, the year I had him for math and shop class, had a lot of mileage and no doubt dated back to when he was an elementary school student. In math class he liked to teach us about his girlfriend Lois Terms and if a student, when called upon said, “well…” – Mr. V. was quick to respond with, “that’s a deep subject.”

 

And when it came to assigning homework exercises in our math book, he would tell us to do “all of one, all of two, all of three and “Olive Oyl.” Yeah, that’s pretty cornball. He was probably the only person I have ever known who could get away with such a cheesy sense of humor other than my Uncle Clyde who used to don a gorilla mask to scare his neighbors.

 

As for the mechanical drawing we would be doing in seventh grade shop class it was straightforward. Basically, we were just going to draw three-dimensional shapes starting with the basic of all shapes—the cube—and then draw our way up from there.

 

In order for us to help visualize some of the designs we would be drawing in class, he took some of this cheesy rhetoric and regaled us with stories of the Mazzutti brothers. Now as far as I knew, none of my classmates had ever seen these so-called Mazzutti brothers but we had heard all about them. Likewise, no one knew how many brothers there were; some said two, others said three or four.

 

We knew for a fact there was a Terry Mazzutti and a Billy Mazzutti—we had seen their names preserved in concrete on a section of sidewalk outside the school. If there were two more, we didn’t know their names and had never heard anyone talking about them around school.

 

One day at lunch in the cafeteria, which was not really the cafeteria, per se but the gymnasium—there was a kitchen where cooks prepared a hot lunch and the tables were lowered from the wall—some of us thought we had spotted one of the younger Mazzutti brothers. Turned out to be one of the Balzarini boys. There were other sightings in the playground and outside Balconie’s Tap, where a lot of kids hung out after buying licorice whips and Smarties from the candy section. These sightings also turned out to be a dead end.

 

The Mazzutti brothers might have been feature players in Mr. V.’s stories, but for the rest of us who they were was a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

 

From what we did know about the brothers, they were from Jonesville, this unincorporated area just north of Oglesby next to Piety Hill another unincorporated area. I could never figure out what incorporated or unincorporated meant, but I guess if you were from Jonesville, like the Mazzutti brothers, it might have meant all the difference in the world when going to grade school. It was kind of like growing up on the other side of the tracks—the wrong side of the tracks—“The Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” part of town.

 

Although Jonesville boasted a halfway decent supper club, Shines’ tavern (that was famous for its weekend smorgasbord), the Knotty Pine Lodge, a gas station and an Orkin Pest Control office, it also had the unfortunate reputation for attracting some shady characters who lived in the Knotty Pine Lodge. Unfortunately the Mazzutti brothers—who just so happened to have lived next to the Knotty Pine Lodge—were the benefactors of the rumors, gossip, and the kind of stuff that either makes you a legend or has you doing 1-3 in juvie or Vandalia.

 

They had not been troublemakers in the strongest sense of the word, but they had kept the teachers at Washington Grade School on their toes. What we did know was that the Mazzutti brothers for better or worse had given new meaning to the term “class clown” and that their mischief was not limited to the hallowed halls of Washington Grade School. Supposedly they were adept at tee-peeing (toilet-papering) trees, soaping car windows, and tipping over outhouses (believe it or not, there were still a lot of homes that had them back in the late 60s, especially in Jonesville and Piety Hill) come Halloween. It was believed that they held the record for most tipped-over outhouses on one Halloween night with 15 (a record that still stands to this day).

 

Obviously they had had shop class with Mr. V. and became somewhat of a legend around Washington Grade School for what they did or didn’t do and Mr. V. kept that legend alive—innocuously of course—by featuring them in his stories.

 

For this story, the Mazzutti brothers had somehow gotten hold of a German U-boat (none of us bothered to question the veracity of these stories nor did we find it anachronistic that in 1970 the Mazzutti brothers were in a World War II submarine; only later did we learn that Mr. V. himself had served in the U.S. Navy during WWII) and were sailing up the Vermillion River when the submarine had some engine problem and needed to have a part made at Cyclops’ Welding Shop. And this is where he would show us the design (the part the Mazzutti brothers needed) and what we had to draw. This one looked like an inverted “T” which Mr. V. explained was part of the submarine’s propeller drive. Sounded good to us and we started drawing.

 

Another story had the Mazzutti brothers looking for the ancient tombs of King Tut for a design—a cube with two smaller rectangular-shaped blocks on top—that kind of looked like a chair. And that’s the story Mr. V. told us—the Mazzutti brothers had discovered the ancient throne of King Tut.

 

I got pretty good at drawing a straight line; just didn’t have the mechanical drawing know-how to connect those lines as well as visualize objects in another dimension.

 

The real fun was in the eighth grade because then we got to make things. Some of us were pretty good with a hammer and a saw—having gotten carpentry tool sets as young boys. We got to make a lot of noise and operate some frightening-looking machinery—but only after numerous safety briefings. With all the cutting, drilling, and sanding going on, Mr. V. ran a tight, safe shop. No one got hurt, not even a splinter. Mr. V. made sure that no one got hurt on his watch.

 

Supposedly all that drawing we had done in seventh grade would help us when it came to making things out of wood. I never saw the connection. Woodworking should have been in my blood—my great-grandfather John Swanson, an immigrant from Sweden was a famous carpenter and contractor in the Illinois Valley. Many of the homes he designed and built were back then, and still now, standing. In fact, my friend Dave Walther’s (“go ahead and jump Dave”) house had been built by my great-grandfather.

 

Sadly, I just didn’t have what it took to excel in woodworking just like I had flopped with mechanical drawing. Well, at least I was one of a few kids who weren’t being groomed or sized up.

 

One day, while I was working on my broom holder, I happened to mention to Mr. V. that my landlady’s son, who was now serving in Vietnam, had also taken shop class with Mr. V seven years before. I asked Mr. V. if he remembered Vincent Zupancic.

 

“Mr. V., do you remember a boy named Vincent Zupancic?”

 

“Zupancic, Zupancic,” Mr. V. said tapping a pencil on his desk as he tried to remember the student. “Vincent, right?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good boy. Good student. Too bad he never got to know the Mazzutti brothers.”

 

Chuckle.

 

“He’s in Vietnam now.”

 

“Vietnam?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Got to get the Cong. Got to get the Cong.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Got to get the Cong.”

 

I don’t know if he was joking or not, but for the next couple of weeks he would often say in the class, “Got to get the Cong. Got to get the Cong.” Some students thought that was pretty funny. I guess it was for them because they didn’t know anyone fighting in that war. And I know Mr. V. was not making light of it either. I wondered if another one of his students had also been sent to Vietnam?

 

Later, Mr. V. took me aside and told me that the next time I saw Vincent’s mother to tell her that he wanted to pass on his best wishes to Vincent.

 

“Tell her to tell Vincent that Mr. V. said hi and to stay safe over there.”

 

Aside from his joking and stories of the Mazzutti brothers, Mr. V. was very caring and patient man, especially the day Larry “Chimpy” Davis came up to him with a very serious problem.

 

“Mr. V?” asked Larry.

 

“Yes, what is it Mr. Davis?”

 

“Mr. V., I cut this board two times and it is still too short.”

 

Mr. V. rolled his eyes and then took Larry aside and explained to him with every ounce of patience he could muster—without laughing—that the reason why the board was too short was because he had cut it that way. He chose another board for Larry and sent him back to the table saw and made sure that Larry cut it right this time.

 

I made my broom holder, bookrack, and had almost finished the shoeshine box when eighth grade was over. I had survived shop class; Mr. V.’s stories about the Mazzutti brothers and more importantly, grade school. I might not have been groomed for some industrial arts career, but with teachers like Mr. V. and my English teacher Mrs. Gandolfi, I was being groomed (I just didn’t know it at the time) for a different career field—one that would have me standing in front of a class and inspiring and encouraging others.

Where’s Papa?

How does one convince a four-year-old boy, who never knew his biological father that his new “papa” will soon arrive and not to worry?

 

That was sort of the dilemma my fiancée On faced this morning when she, along with Bia and her younger sister took a songthaew (pronounced song-taw – it’s a pick-up truck that has been converted into a kind of mini-bus and is a common mode of transportation in Southeast Asia) and traveled to Savannakhet (but 90-minutes away) where On had an appointment with a pediatrician.

 

Although On has been seeing a gynecologist/pediatrician in a clinic in her village the past few months when it comes time for her to have our baby she will have the baby in the hospital in Savannakhet. Today we found out that, yes we are definitely going to have a son, and that our son will be born in a few weeks.

 

Actually, it was only going to be On and her sister who were going to go the hospital this morning, but when she woke up and started to get ready, Bia had also gotten up and sensing that she was going to go somewhere changed the game plan. Bia, who is four years old, is On’s son from her first marriage (her husband died in a motorcycle accident a few days after Bia was born). Ever since last year when On and I started seeing more of each other and me calling her every day, Bia has started to call me Papa. 

 

And since last February, when I last saw him he’s been waiting for me to return.

 

“You wait here, Papa I am going to go and get you a Pepsi,” he told On and I that cold, windy morning.

 

We were waiting for the bus to take us to Savannakhet and then onto Vientiane. On knew that Bia would start crying a lot when he saw us get on the bus, so she asked her sister to take him to the store under the pretense that he would be getting a Pepsi for me.

 

“You wait here Mom and Papa,” Bia had said in Lao. “I will be right back.”

 

A long time for a child is between dinner and breakfast; just think what a “long time“ has been for little Bia who’s been waiting for my return since then.

 

For some reason, Bia thought that On was going to meet me this morning and bring me back home and he wanted to go. He must have known something was up; perhaps he had overheard On talking to her sister or mom. Of course as soon as On told him he couldn’t go, he started crying about how much he missed me and wanted to see me. In his little, innocent mind he was convinced that his mother was going to meet me and he wanted to make sure that I was going to be coming home with his mom.

 

Finally, On gave in and decided that Bia could come along and he stopped crying. She didn’t tell him that she wasn’t going to meet me; she only told him that she had to see the doctor. That must have been enough for Bia to understand—and perhaps still thinking that I was going to be coming to Savannakhet.

 

Later, when On told me what happened next it tugged very hard at my heartstrings and choked me up. Bia took out some clean clothes, making sure that he chose the best shirt and pants to wear and then, took a shower all by himself and got dressed.

 

After he finished dressing, he turned to On and asked, “Mom, do I look handsome?”

 

“Yes, Bia,” On said. “You look handsome. Why?”

 

“I want to be handsome for Papa.”

 

He’s been so worried what I will think about him when I do come back. Some kids in the neighborhood have been joking with him that when On has the baby, I will not love Bia as much. In fact, Bia is so scared these days about that happening, he doesn’t want to talk to any other kids in the village. On continually reassures him not to worry that I will still love him the same.

 

On went on to say that when they finally reached Savannakhet and the hospital, Bia turned to her and asked, “Where’s Papa? Is Papa in there?”

 

When On told him that I wasn’t and that she had to see the doctor, he started to cry again. It was right around this time when I called to see if they had gotten to the hospital okay. On had already gone in to see the doctor, but her sister answered the phone and I got to speak to Bia. He’s picked up enough English in the past couple of months to say a few things to me; at the same time I know he’s picked up a few more words just listening to On and I talk the six or seven times we do every day.

 

“Papa?”

 

Sniffle, sniffle.

 

“Hello, Bia. Are you okay?”

 

More sniffling. In the background I could hear On’s sister telling Bia what to say, but what he said next was all his own.

 

“I miss you Papa. Where are you?”

 

That’s enough to make any grown man get misty eyed and tug at the old heartstrings a bit. In my case, Bia has tugged at them a lot.

 

Sniffle, sniffle.

 

“I miss you Bia.”

 

Sniffle.

 

“I love you Papa.”

 

“I love you Bia.”

 

And then we got disconnected. On called back a few minutes later to tell me that everything was fine; that she had already seen the doctor and had to see him one more time before they left. That’s when On found out that everything is looking good with the pregnancy that both her and our Baby are fine. Our baby is due within the next month.

 

Bia was also okay after he had talked to me and once again, reassured by On that I would soon be there. She promised him some ice cream if he was a good boy and did not cry anymore. He promised he would and he was a good boy the rest of the day.

 

Don’t worry Bia. Your Papa will be there soon.

Children Should Be Heard, Not Seen

After I read an online story today about the Chinese Olympic organizer’s decision to have a young girl lip-sync a song because the other girl was not cute enough it reminded me of a dysfunctional phrase I used to hear a lot when I was growing up, “Children should be seen, not heard.” In this case though, it was the other way around – “a child should be heard, but not seen.”

 

In this story, it was confirmed that nine-year-old Lin Miaoke, who performed “Ode to the Motherland” as China’s flag was paraded into Beijing’s National Stadium last week during the opening ceremony, was not singing at all. Turns out, she was lip-syncing to the sound of another girl, seven-year-old Yang Peiyi, who was heard but not seen, apparently because she was deemed not cute enough.

 

 “The reason was for the national interest,” said Chen Qigang, the ceremony’s musical director, in a state radio interview. “The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feeling and expression. Lin Miaoke is excellent in those aspects.”

 

This is just sad. National interest based on one child being cute and another one not cute enough to appear on camera. The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feeling and expression. How they can say something like that? To Yang Peiyi’s parents she is the most beautiful child in the world and for organizers to come up publicly and say that she is not cute enough is simply cruel and outrageous.

 

Yes, let the outrage begin.

What’s in a Name? — Rock Band Name Origins, Part 1

 

Back in the early 80s I was roadying for a band from the Illinois Valley called The Jerks that had been originally called Hamburger and the Works. Now, Hamburger and the Works is a catchy name for a band, especially if you like your burgers with the works. On the other hand it might be a little hard trying to get that name on the kick drum.

 

Fate would step in one day or should I say one night when the band was playing some bar in Peru, Illinois and some patrons started yelling at the band that they were “a bunch of jerks” for playing the kind of music they did, which back then was a lot of New Wave covers like “Turning Japanese,” “Life Begins at the Hop,” “Bionic Man,” and “Starry Eyes.” The name stuck and shortly thereafter the band became The Jerks.

 

Whether it actually happened that way or if it is the stuff that makes an urban legend, have you ever thought about how your favorite band came up with their catchy, interesting, or esoteric name? Have you ever wondered about the origins of the names for bands like The B-52’s, Led Zeppelin, The Moody Blues, Ramones and Ultravox?

 

Perhaps some of you already know these-as some of these names are the stuff that urban legends are made of-while other names, at least the origins of these names just might surprise you. I’ve added some commentary and musical references (some a little esoteric, so you better pay attention because there will be a short quiz afterwards) to spice things up a bit.

 

10cc
A band named after sperm? Well, not exactly sperm itself, but the amount. Now I don’t know how someone got around to measuring this, but the average man ejaculates around 10cc of semen. Guess that gives new meaning to the lyrics in their song “In not in Love” when they sing, “big boys don’t cry, big boys don’t cry.”

10,000 MANIACS
I’ve always wondered how the band came up with this name. That’s a lot of maniacs. Turns out that they have some help: The band was inspired by an old horror movie called 2000 Maniacs. That’s still a lot of maniacs. There was nothing maniacal about this band though; Natalie Merchant was an excellent songstress and singer. I was fortunate to have seen them in concert back in 1990 in of all places, Normal, Illinois. Is that an oxymoron-Maniacs in Normal?

AC/DC
According to one story, a band member saw AC/DC on a sewing machine and figured it has something to do with power. He was right, it means ‘alternating current / direct current’ -which means that an electrical device can use either kind of power-and the rest of the band thought the name would symbolize their raw energy and love for music so the name stuck.

However, the band did not know that it was also slang for bisexual, which no doubt caused a few awkward moments in their early days. Some might have thought the band was on a highway to hell with at least one urban legend associated with the band’s acronymic name: “Anti-Christ Devil’s Children.”

No worry, for those of you who were or are about to rock, this was one band that knew how to rock.

 
AEROSMITH
A favorite of my generation growing up in the 70s, the origins of the band’s name was a word that drummer Joey Kramer had written all over his notebooks in when he was in high school. Remember when you did that-writing the names of your favorite bands on notebooks or schoolbooks? The word “Aerosmith” according to Kramer had “popped into his head one day” after listening to a Harry Nilsson album. His bandmates, on the other hand, all thought he was referring to the 1925 book Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis that had inspired the name and a book they all had to read when they were in high school. Either way, or better yet walk this way because Aerosmith it was and Aerosmith it has been all these years. Talk about your sweet emotion.

B-52’s
One of New Wave’s more popular and fun bands who serenaded us all with “Rock Lobster”, “Planet Claire”, and “Quiche Lorraine” were either inspired by the beehive hairdo popular in the 1950’s that was called a B-52 or a U.S. Air Force bomber. Judging from Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson’s beehive hairstyles on the band’s first album cover, it had to have been that hairdo. So, unless you’ve been living in your private Idaho, that’s probably where they came up with the name.

BACHMAN-TURNER OVERDRIVE
BTO or Bachman-Turner Overdrive was another popular band when I was in high school in the early 70s. The origins of this band’s names were a combination of band members’ last names and the trucker’s magazine ‘Overdrive’. They were originally called Brave Belt, then Bachman-Turner, and then the final name. I guess the boys in the band were “taking care of business” by then.

BAD COMPANY
Although I have never seen the 1972 movie Bad Company starring Jeff Bridges (now I want to) I have enjoyed listening to this band’s music over the years. After all these years, I can’t get enough of this band.

BADFINGER
The band touted as heir apparent to the Beatles got a little help from their friends, in this case Neil Aspinall in reference to “Bad Finger Boogie” the working title of “A Little Help From My Friends” for the origins of their name Badfinger. Lennon, who had composed the melody for this song used his middle finger because he has hurt his forefinger or so the story goes.

BAUHAUS
Peter Murphy and other members of this band must have been paying attention in art class because they named their band after the style of graphic design and famous school of architecture. Little did they know they would be the first “goth” band with their hit single “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” And that’s no kick in the eye either.

BAY CITY ROLLERS
These rocking “Saturday Night” guys came up with the name for their band by blindly sticking a pin on a map. It landed on Bay City, Michigan. Good thing it landed there and not Goose Neck Grove or Beaverville.

BEASTIE BOYS
Leave it to those rock and roll hipsters to come up with ‘Beastie’ that is an acronym for ‘Boys Entering Anarchistic States Toward Internal Excellence’. That explains everything. And here I thought these guys were just being nasty.

BEATLES
Anyone who is vaguely familiar with the Beatles might know a little how this name came into existence-if not, let me offer a little “help” in explaining.

Stuart Sutcliffe, an art school friend of John Lennon came up with the Beetles in 1960, which was evidently a play on Buddy Holly’s Crickets. Later, they went by the Quarrymen and the Silver Beetles a while later, then shortened and mutated that to the Beatles. Lennon and Sutcliffe may have also been influenced by the film ‘The Wild One’, which featured a motorcycle gang called the Beetles.

John Lennon is generally credited with combining Beetles and Beat to come up with the Beatles spelling. Lennon was also fond of saying he had a vision as a child of a flaming pie in the sky that said, “You are Beatles with an A.”

There is another one, a pun of sorts that the band’s origin was a play on “beat-less.”

We all know there was nothing beat-less about the Beatles.

BEE GEES
Okay, so how many of you thought their name was derived from the Brothers Gibb? Please raise your hand. Turns out that was another rock and roll urban legend because two friends that helped them out early on were Bill Goode and a disc jockey named Bill Gates. And that my friends is no jive talking.

BLACK SABBATH
Named after a 1963 horror movie starring Boris Karloff. They released an album as Earth before changing their name to Black Sabbath. Maybe they were feeling a little paranoid.

BLUE OYSTER CULT
According to rock and roll lore, the origins for this band was a combination of a recipe the band’s manager read in a book and the band’s fascination with the occult. The name is also an anagram of ‘Cully’s Stout Beer’. Don’t fear the brewery.

BLUES MAGOOS
Originally called The Trenchcoats, these Bronx rockers were at the forefront of the psychedelic music trend in the mid 60s. To seize upon the psychedelic vibe, the band changed their name to the Bloos Magoos and then, perhaps thinking, “we ain’t got nothing yet” finally settled on Blues Magoos. Here’s a bit of rock and roll trivia for you: their first album Psychedelic Lollipop was one of the first albums to use the word “psychedelic” on the sleeve.

 

BOOKER T. & THE M.G.’S
Booker T. led the band and M.G. stands for Memphis Group. Enough said, now how about passing me some of those green onions?

BOOMTOWN RATS
These lads might not have liked Mondays, but they must have liked reading because the name for this band was a gang in Woody Guthrie’s Bound for Glory novel.

DAVID BOWIE
This Starman took his last name from the Bowie knife (which he adored as a young lad). He didn’t go by his given name ‘David Jones’ because he didn’t want to be confused with Davy Jones of the Monkees. Fame must have been on David’s mind.

BUZZCOCKS
Apparently, the origins for this and came from the term “bus cock”. Men sometimes get an erection because of the vibrations in a heavy diesel engine in a bus or truck. Talk about a “different kind of tension.”

CHEAP TRICK
These Rockford, Illinois rockers asked a Ouiji board what they should call their band. And I guess, everything works if you let it because they are still around, rocking and rolling with or without their Kiss records out.

CHICAGO
The band was originally called the Chicago Transit Authority; however, the city of Chicago threatened to sue the band because the Chicago Transit Authority is the name of Chicago’s public transportation department. Well, far be it for anyone to ruin someone’s Saturday in the park, the band, which had been originally comprised of DePaul University students shortened the name to Chicago.
 
CLASH
The name of the band was taken from a newspaper headline describing “A Clash With Police.” Interesting though, many of their early songs dealt with the law, police or a combination thereof: “I Fought the Law”, “White Riot”, “Police and Thieves”, “Clash City Rockers”, and “London’s Burning.”

One thing is for certain; these lads never had a problem clashing with their fans. Excuse me, London’s calling.
 
ALICE COOPER
Looks like Cheap Trick were not the only ones consulting their Ouiji Board according to an early urban legend that Vincent Furnier (the front man of the band) was the reincarnation of a 17th century witch named Alice Cooper. Although it was later revealed that this was just a publicity stunt-Cooper said the name had come to him out of thin air. Now maybe you’ve been thinking that there are no more Mr. Nice guys, but that was awfully nice of Mr. Furnier/Cooper to set the record straight.

Trivia Time: He is one of a number of famous rockers that have hailed from Michigan including that Motor City Madman, Ted Nugent, Iggy Pop, Bob Seger, and Grand Funk Railroad.

ELVIS COSTELLO
He combined Elvis Presley and Lou Costello. That is some combination, not to mention some kind of humor. Yeah, what’s so funny about peace, love and misunderstanding?
 
CREEDANCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL
Imagine this, you are cruising down the road in your GTO and suddenly this cool song by the Golliwogs comes on the radio. The Golliwogs?

This might have been the case because Creedence Clearwater Revival had originally been called the Golliwogs, but the producer of their first album thought it would be a good idea to change their name. The name Creedence Clearwater Revival was a combination of three elements: Creedence Nuball, a friend of Tom Fogerty, “clear water” which was used in a TV commercial for Olympia Beer (probably before artesian water made the beer taste better) and “revival” which was the four members in the band commitment (because two of the members John Fogerty and Doug Clifford had just finished up their military service).

Obviously, they put a spell on their fans with this name change because even though they had been playing for a number of years they became an overnight success-down on the corner and everywhere else.

Walking Tall — Prepubescent Angst

Something magical and special happened between the summer of sixth grade and seventh grade at Washington Grade School.

 

I kind of sensed something was happening in sixth grade and I think a lot of the other guys had a feeling something was happening too.

 

The girls were, well different. I swear some of them grew two-three inches over the summer and they looked older, more mature. Many of them were not the giggling, pigtailed girls we had last seen in the sixth grade. Some were even wearing a little makeup and lipstick. Many of these girls were not the same ones we had played “kick the can” and “tag” the previous school year.

 

These were young ladies.

 

Well, there was something going on hormonally and it was usually right around this time when parents sat their kids down and told them about the birds and the bees (whatever that was supposed to be). Yes, we all got a crash course on the facts of life.

 

Now keep in mind, with all this hormonal stuff going on inside our bodies as well as on the outside, it made for some awkward prepubescent moments—especially when the boys and girls got together for a social function, in this case Washington Grade School’s Halloween Dance.

 

By the time kids are in the seventh grade Trick or Treating has lost its allure but a Halloween Dance is something entirely different. If you were a seventh grader, it was a kind of coming-of-age party, a rite of passage. And I had every intention of making a lasting impression on my classmates.

 

The TV show Dark Shadows was quite popular with the vampire Barnabas Collins and I had also seen Dracula Has Risen From the Grave that previous summer, so I decided that I wanted to go as Dracula for the Halloween Dance. My Grandmother Miller made me this real cool black and orange cape, I used the vampire teeth that came with the Dark Shadows board game, and the landlady’s son Jody who was studying art helped with the ghoulish make up. I was definitely going to be the best vampire that ever set foot into Washington Grade School.

 

The gymnasium was decorated with lots of orange and black crepe paper streamers and pumpkins and other assorted Halloween decorations. Outside, in the lobby a table had been set up with refreshments and cookies. The music was courtesy of a vintage mono phonograph set up underneath one of the baskets.

 

We had to take off our shoes (I could just hear Coach Walters screaming at the chaperones if his gym floor was scuffed in the least bit way come Monday morning if we hadn’t removed our street shoes) and then we took our positions: boys on the visitor side and girls on the home side. The sweet fragrance of dime store perfume and Bazooka Joe bubble gum filled the air.

 

When you are in seventh and eighth grades you don’t want to dance at first and then you kind of want to hang back so the rest of the guys won’t think less of you. No one wants to be the first one to dance and despite numerous pleas from the chaperones, none of the guys wanted to dance.

 

“Go ahead and dance,” said Danny Chambers.

 

“I’m not going to be the first,” scoffed Mitch Durango.

 

“Don’t be a chicken,” laughed Brent Porter.

 

Someone would have to be sacrificed and that somebody was going to be me. I wasn’t the scrawniest kid in class but I was scrawny enough to be on the receiving end a good push from Fred Brown.

 

“Get out there and dance Miller!” said Brown giving me a good push.

 

And there I was, standing in the middle of no-man’s land which was actually center court underneath this orange crepe paper pumpkin and all the orange and black crepe paper streamers criss-crossing the gym. For a moment—which if I am not mistaken seemed to go on and on—I just stood there dumbfounded. People were shouting and laughing and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

 

Then I heard an Angel speak.

 

“Do you wanna dance?”

 

The Angel turned out to be Debbie Hansen. Well, not an Angel per se because Debbie Hansen was dressed up as Little Bo Peep and I must have seemed like some poor little lost sheep. Somehow, in all the confusion, shouting, and laughing I had wandered near a group of girls and Debbie, sensing the predicament I was in, came to my assistance or maybe she just felt sorry for me.

 

“Okay,” I said sheepishly.

 

And no sooner had Debbie and I started to dance, other students joined in to the delight of our chaperones who would be telling everyone on Monday how the dance was a great success.

 

Debbie and I had moved to center court and started dancing. It really wasn’t what you would call dancing for me. Debbie had some nice dance steps and moves that for a 12-year-old were quite awesome. She must have picked these moves up watching American Bandstand. I on the other hand, must have learned my moves from watching Herman Munster or the Frankenstein Monster because it felt like I was wearing heavy boots as I rocked back and forth.

 

I had never really noticed Debbie before, at least not up close and personal. We had become good friends in the sixth grade because our desks were next to each other. She always laughed at my jokes and was always really sweet and nice to me.

 

Maybe this was payback time because when it came time for a slow dance we held hands and she helped me to stop my rocking. We sort of swayed back and forth but it was definitely dancing. It was then that I got a whiff of her sweet dime store perfume and shampoo that made me dizzy and gaa-gaa at the same time.

 

But there was one small problem: Debbie was taller than me by a couple of inches and when we held hands and swayed back and forth my line of vision was right around her neckline. She had the most beautiful neckline and her shoulder-length hair made me think of Mary Tyler Moore for some reason.

 

Once I got that first dance out of the way, it got easier to dance with the other girls. In fact, after a few dances those Herman Munster dance steps disappeared and, after having watched some other kids dancing, I picked up some pretty good moves.

“You dance very well,” said Debbie Jones.

 

“Thank you,” I replied.

 

“Let’s dance again,” she said.

 

I really wanted to dance with Debbie again and I tried to look for her in the crowd of kids dancing around mid court.

 

“Okay,” I said. Debbie would have to wait.

 

At some point the dance turned into a competition between me and Jimmy Zens—a kid who fancied himself as something of a ladies man which when you are all of 12 years old is no small feat. Someone must have been keeping score because Jimmy and I were now competing with one another to see who could dance with the most girls.

 

In the end Jimmy beat me out but that was okay because by the end of the night I ended up dancing with Debbie not once, twice, or even three times but five times. We even danced two slow dances including the last one of the evening.

 

I don’t want to say that I had a thing for Debbie, but in bed that night I thought about Debbie and wished that I were taller. Yeah, I guess I did have a little crush on her. Damn that puberty after all. I didn’t care about my voice changing. I just wanted to be taller. I might have been too young to understand terms like “feeling a little self-conscious” and “low self-esteem” meant, but I kind of figured that they had something to do with puberty.

 

Then I remembered this advertisement I saw in the back of one of my comic books. I got out of bed and started searching through my comic book collection. I flipped through one comic book after another and then I found it.

 

Grow taller instantly.

 

That’s right. Grow tall instantly. For only $4.95 this company would send me the secrets and tips for how to increase my height.

 

It could be a month, maybe two, three—who knew how many months before I would be the same height as Debbie. However, this advertisement guaranteed a height increase instantly.

 

I asked my mom for an advance on my allowance. I had been in the doghouse as it were since the end of summer when my brother and I had gotten in trouble when we slept over Jim Black’s house. By Halloween my mom had softened up a little and advanced me a couple extra dollars.

 

Next I went to Arkins Drugstore (yes, the same Arkins as in Janie Arkins) to get a money order and then the post office.

 

Two weeks passed and then another and I still hadn’t received anything in the mail. Then it was Thanksgiving and still nothing from the company. Christmas vacation came and then Christmas and there was still nothing in the mail for me. I probably should have learned my lesson about responding to or ordering something from the back of a comic book or magazine after I was told my song A Groovy Chick in a Bikini would be a hit and “could you please send a couple hundred dollars?”

 

Maybe this would be different.

 

I was just about to write off that $4.95 as another comic book swindle when one day in January I finally received a small parcel. Even though I had pretty much forgotten about growing taller by then—Debbie in the meantime had started dating a much taller eighth grader—I was still curious to see what I was going to get for the money I paid.

 

I opened the parcel and inside was a letter thanking me for ordering their product—two wooden shoe lifts—that according to the letter would add 2 inches to my height.

 

Fortunately, as fate and puberty would have it, I wouldn’t have to worry about growing tall. By the end of that school year I had shot up a few inches and was one of the taller kids in my class. I was still scrawny, but at least I was standing taller.

 

© Jeffrey Miller 2008

 

The Accidental Journalist, Part 17 — The “Chosin Few” Remembered

These days I have been reading The Coldest Winter – America and the Korean War by the late David Halberstam that looks not only at America’s involvement in the Korean War during the first six months of the war, but also what took place in and around the Chosin or Changjin Reservoir in North Korea. It was back in October-November 1950 when U.S., South Korean, and UN forces had the North Koreans on the run. It looked as though the war would soon be over; in fact some were so optimistic that winter clothing and gear was not ordered. Then the Chinese entered the conflict and the tide of the war changed within days.

 

I was interested in this book for a number of reasons not the least of which are that Halberstam was one of my favorite authors and that back in 2000 I had the chance to meet some Korean War veterans who fought in that campaign and who are collectively known as the Chosin Few. I also had the chance to meet Medal of Honor recipient Gen. Raymond Davis who led his men across the frozen mountains at night with the Chinese attacking them from all sides.

 

Back then when I was covering these Korean War Commemorative Events for the Korea Times, I was fortunate that the Public Affairs Office (PAO) that dealt with the media appreciated what I was doing and always tried to help me whenever possible. For that I will always be most grateful.

 

This commemorative event was held on November 11, Veteran’s Day, which made it all the more solemn and evocative, especially when I had the chance to talk to some of veterans who proudly call themselves the Chosin Few. And then later, one of the PAO staff members helped me arrange for a very quick interview with Gen. Raymond Davis. He was most gracious to sit down with me for a few minutes and share some of his most harrowing reminiscences of the fighting around the Chosin Reservoir.

 

You can’t help but look upon someone like Davis with awe knowing that this man personally saved the lives of hundreds of men in the heat of battle and temperatures so cold that men had to warm up morphine syrettes underneath their armpits before administering the painkiller to the wounded.

 

Once again it was no accident that I had the chance to meet Davis and other veterans and then write my articles for the newspaper. I was just doing my own small part to remember this “forgotten war.”

 

This article originally appeared in the Korea Times on November 12, 2000.

 

 

 “Chosin Few” Remembered

—The Fiercest Battle in the Forgotten War—

 

Recently, Korean War veterans gathered in the Yongsan Garrison to commemorate the Northern Campaigns in the early phase of the 1950-53 Korea War. In a solemn ceremony, the battles fought north of the 38th Parallel were remembered.

 

It was 50 years ago when Gen. Douglas MacArthur, following his brilliant Inchon masterstroke and liberation of Seoul, pursued a “demoralized enemy” across the 38th Parallel and North to the Yalu. However, the pursuit of the enemy beyond the 38th Parallel was a sensitive, precarious undertaking because it carried the threat of Chinese retaliation.

 

In less than a month, U.S. - ROK and U.N. Forces had turned the tide of the Korean War. In October, Pyongyang fell to U.N. Forces. Many thought, “the boys would be home by Christmas.”

 

It seemed that there was no stopping of U.N. forces as they crossed the 38th Parallel and pushed north toward the Yalu River. That is, until the Chinese entered the war. This Chinese intervention would change the complexity of the war and prompt MacArthur’s statement of an “entirely different war.”

 

MacArthur’s push north has always been the subject of much debate and scrutiny. Invariably, scrutiny lays with his decision to cross the 38th Parallel and the threat of Chinese entry into the war.

 

“MacArthur was a brilliant tactician,” explained retired USMC Colonel Warren H. Wiedhahn, now Executive Director of U.S.-Korea 2000 Foundation, Inc. “However, he extended his forces too far.”

 

It was ironic, Wiedhahn suggested, MacArthur had turned the tide of the war in part due to the North Koreans having extended themselves down the peninsula. Now, the complexity of the war was about to change again because MacArthur had extended his troops up the peninsula. Wiedhahn believed that MacArthur “whipped the 8th Army into moving too fast.”

 

On the other hand, the X Corps advance seemed more methodical and by the book.

Wiedhahn was critical of those historians and pundits who have savaged the Army’s performance. “The leadership made mistakes,” he said, “but those soldiers [in the 8th Army] fought just as hard as the Marines did.”

 

Nonetheless, there was little resistance in the beginning. “It was like a cakewalk up the peninsula,” Wiedhahn said. “We expected to be home by Christmas. Then the Chinese hit.”

 

After an initial offensive by Chinese forces in early November, the Chinese disappeared back into the mountains. Before U.S. - ROK and U.N. forces could launch their own offensive, the Chinese struck again. In the West, the 8th Army would suffer staggering losses around Kunu-ri, especially in an area known as the “Gauntlet,” where the 2nd Infantry Division lost over 4,000 men.

 

In the East, X Corps would find themselves in a fight for survival around the Changjin Reservoir, better known as, the “Chosin” Reservoir. Against great odds and hardships, the men of X Corps waged a fierce battle against the Chinese and the elements, especially the cold.

 

“More men were evacuated because of frostbite than the enemy,” explained LCDR William Mitchell, a doctor during the war. Mitchell, who had landed with the Marines at Wolmi-do, Inchon, and later set up a civilian hospital in Yongdung-po, before ending up at the reservoir, pointed out that “most Marines would fight you over a pair of dry socks.”

 

Don Geddes who saw action in and around Yudam-ni was one of those Marines who suffered from frostbite. “Frostbite and other wounds put me back to the States.”

Soon, places like Yudam-ni, Hagaru-ri, Koto-ri, and Toktong Pass would pass into Marine vernacular and history.

              

Wiedhahn recalled being out on one of the listening posts in the freezing cold. “I heard these bugles and whistles,” Wiedhahn said. “What the hell is that, I asked one of my buddies? Suddenly this whole ridge erupted. The Chinese came in hordes. They overwhelmed our firepower. Machine barrels burned up. The Chinese were all around us.”

 

Marines would be up against innumerable odds. Many would die on those far-off forsaken hills in the freezing cold. Others, when thrust into harms’ way against such great odds, would become heroes.

 

One such hero was Lt. Colonel Raymond Davis who would end up receiving the Medal of Honor for his actions around Yudam-ni and the Toktong Pass. Against overwhelming odds, Davis rescued a rifle company that had nearly been annihilated at the Toktong Pass.

 

“Colonel Homer Litzenberg came up to me and said that I had to get to Fox Company,” explained Davis. “I had 20 minutes to come up with a plan.”

 

Before they set out, Davis noticed a star in the sky that seemed to be brighter than usual.

 

“Seeing that star…doubled in brightness,” Davis recalled, “I knew the Good Lord was with us.”

 

Davis would lead his men nearly eight miles along slippery paths in a daring attempt to relieve the beleaguered rifle company and hold the pass so other Marine units would not be cut off.

 

“We were freezing to death,” Davis said. “We walked single file through the deep snow. After awhile the path turned to ice and the men started slipping.”

 

He led his men over a series of ridges in continuous attacks against the enemy.

Despite being opposed by numerically superior forces, Davis brought his men within 1500 yards away from Fox Company before daybreak.

 

“We used a hand crank radio to alert Fox Company,” Davis said. “I didn’t want to end up in a firefight with them. We still had to fight our way in, though.”

 

Davis also recalled being shocked when he noticed that many of the Marines had used the dead, frozen bodies of the Chinese as barricades. “That was a pretty shocking sight.”

 

Pfc. Henry Danilowski was one of those survivors of the beleaguered Fox Company at Toktong Pass, one of those brave Marines who now belongs to that proud fraternal association, “The Chosin Few.” He turned 22 while fighting around the Chosin Reservoir. Like many Marines, Danilowski felt he’d be home by Christmas. “Didn’t expect this to happen.”

 

Danilowski had great respect for the Marine General O.P. Smith. “Smith made sure to stockpile supplies,” recalled Danilowski. Later in the campaign, he remembered overhearing some Marine report to Colonel Lewis Puller and inform the colonel that they were surrounded by the Chinese. “Good,” Puller was reported to have said, “then they can’t get away.”

 

Later, Davis would organize two task forces to open the pass. Despite repeated attacks by the enemy, Davis and his men would hold the pass until two regiments had been deployed through the area and then moved onto Hagaru-ri with his battalion intact.

 

At Hagaru-ri, the Marines could consolidate and continue their orderly withdrawal to the coast, first to Koto-ri and then to Hungnam. When asked about this “withdrawal under pressure,” General Smith is reported to have replied that they were not withdrawing, but “attacking in a different direction.”

 

Back in Korea for the commemoration of the Northern Campaigns, Davis has a deep feeling of appreciation to be back here and to take part in these commemorative events. Wiedhahn has been back here four times this year.

 

Still, there is some unfinished business.

 

Davis and Wiedhahn have been fortunate to visit North Korea on two occasions, as part of a group helping North Korean children, once in 1991 and again in 1998. On one such visit, they flew over the reservoir, but, according to Davis, were unable to go there due to “security reasons.” Nonetheless, Davis is confident that he will get back there some day and make it to the reservoir. “I still have men up there,” Davis said sadly.

 

Likewise, Wiedhahn is also optimistic. Both he and Davis have been lobbying hard and keeping the pressure on. “We’re hoping to get back there next year,” he said.

 

Perhaps one day, all those men will finally come home.

Who’s the President of Chicago?

Kids say the darndest things—even when learning a foreign language

 

 

It’s another sweltering and sticky summer in Korea and I am doing my best to stay dry and cool. Fortunately my teaching schedule has been a light one so I don’t have to be out in the heat and humidity too much.

 

Unlike all the years I taught at another language institute and university in Seoul—where I taught university students and adults—here in Daejeon I also have to teach children during the summer when the kids are on vacation.

 

They’re called Summer English Camps, but there’s not much “camp” about them; not if sitting in a stuffy, hot classroom for 3-5 hours a day is a child’s idea of having a good time. When I was a kid summer camp was being outdoors, trying to make something out of Popsicle sticks, swimming, running, screaming, and telling ghost stories.

 

In Korea summer camp usually means studying English.

 

Summer English camps are big business in Korea and moneymakers for the schools and institutes that run them. The penchant for learning English in Korea spikes during vacation time when everyone—from elementary and middle school students to high school and university students—gets in the language mode or groove.

 

And that is what I have been stuck doing for the past two weeks. I say stuck not because I dread or despise teaching kids; it’s just because teaching kids is not my forte. I just don’t have the patience or the creativity that some more qualified teachers have to teach children. I have much respect for the teachers who do this day in and day out because it definitely takes a special person, not just to teach but also to inspire young learners.

 

Inasmuch as I have been struggling to come up with creative lessons for the 12-year-olds that I have to teach every day for an hour, it has been a lot of fun teaching them. These kids are from low-income families and this English camp, which runs for three weeks, is paid for by the government to help the kids upgrade their language skills.

 

I was quite surprised though on the first day of classes the other day to find out that these kids have some pretty good language skills already. Obviously somewhere along the line some teacher or teachers had been doing their job and making the learning of English, at least for some of the students fun and enjoyable. And some of kids even surprised me with the language skills they had already learned.

 

By day two, the kids had settled down (they study four hours a day) and had even come up with some English nicknames. They also had lots of questions for me including the most talkative and outgoing of the 15 students in the class a boy named Sonny.

 

Sonny? Where the heck did he come up with that one? Did he watch The Godfather the other night or what?

 

“Where are you from?” asked Sonny.

 

“I’m from Chicago,” I answered knowing that it’s easier to say Chicago than “I am from LaSalle, a small town near Chicago.”

 

“What’s Chicago like?” asked Sonny.

 

Good question.

 

“It has many tall buildings,” I replied, “and is next to a big lake.”

 

I figured they could handle most of the vocabulary I was using and they seemed quite satisfied with my answer. Sonny though, was saving the best question for last.

 

“Who’s the president of Chicago?” he asked.

 

It really caught me off guard and made me chuckle a little. I am sure when Mayor Richard Daley was alive, some people might have thought he was president.

 

I didn’t have the heart to want to correct Sonny; after all he had come up with some good questions, but I had to let him know that Chicago was not a country, but a city.

 

It made me think a little about a scene in the movie Dog Day Afternoon, when a failed bank robbery attempt turns into a police standoff and hostage crisis. After Sonny (played by Al Pacino) has made a deal with the police to be flown somewhere after they have released the hostages, he asks Sal (played by John Cazale) which country he would like to go.

 

“Wyoming,” answers Sal.

 

“Wyoming is not a country,” says Sonny.

 

I was faced with a similar dilemma because I had to inform my Sonny that Chicago was not a country but a city.

 

“Sonny, Chicago is not a country,” I said slowly and carefully as not to bruise his pride. “Chicago is a city in the US.”

 

Fortunately, Sonny and I were spared an awkward moment when another kid shouted, “Bush is the President of the US.”

 

That satisfied Sonny and I took some more questions from the class before we started our lesson.

 

However, I wonder if Sonny was onto something. Maybe the next president will be from Chicago.

The Soundtrack of my Life — Tracks 1-5

One song that is in heavy rotation on my iPod Nano these days is “Echo Beach” by Martha and the Muffins. Every time I hear this song-a classic from 1980-I am reminded of the time that I almost saw them. They were playing at Tuts in Chicago just right after New Year’s Day in 1981.

I had gone to Chicago with my best friend Chris Vasquez and two other friends Colleen and Dawn to see them. Colleen, a mutual friend of ours said that she could get us in free. Sadly, we spent too much time at another friend’s apartment before the concert-by the time we got to Tuts, we couldn’t get in. Colleen pleaded with the bouncer (whom she knew), but to no avail.

To this day, I swear that when we were standing out there on the sidewalk I could hear Martha and the Muffins playing inside. There was another band playing later-David and the Happenings, a band from SIU-so we decided to wait in this small blues bar just down the street until they came on.

Now, whenever I hear “Echo Beach” I think about the time that I was so close to seeing the band at Tuts that cold, January night.

And this got me thinking about a lot of the music I have grown fond of over the years. What is the story behind some of my favorite music? What was going on in my life when I first heard or listened to a particular song over and over? We all have our favorite songs that remind us of something in our lives, whether it was someone we once dated, hanging out with friends, or some other significant event.

I like making lists, especially ones about music and how it has impacted me most over the years. It’s kind of what like the character played by John Cusack did in one of my favorite movies High Fidelity. More than just a “top 10″ list, this list is my own personal soundtrack for my life.

There is no particular order for these songs. This is just a list of some of my favorite music and the memories associated with them.
(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction - Devo

If I had to come up with just one Devo song that had some connection to my life I might be hard pressed because there have been so many of their songs which have a lot of memories attached.

Devo was the kind of band that you either really liked or really hated. I have been a big fan of theirs ever since I first heard about them in October 1978 when I was stationed at George Air Force Base in the High Desert outside of Victorville, California. When I saw them performing their song “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” on Saturday Night Live and wearing those yellow radioactive suits, this was one band that I was definitely going to listen to more.

The following weekend, I was at a Tower Records’ store in West Covina picking up a copy of Devo’s first album Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo. Once I slapped it on my turntable, I couldn’t get enough of it. This was some zany, cool stuff. It was like nothing else I was listening to at the time. Little did I know at the time but my musi-cal tastes were beginning to change. I was really into music at the time listening to practically everything and in many ways, that album was the beginning of a musical transformation of sorts in terms of what I would be listening to for the next couple of years.

I Wanna Be Sedated - The Ramones

One memorable weekend in October 1980 I was home from Southern Illinois Univer-sity (SIU) when I saw The Jerks at Fridays for the first time and also ran into Chris who I hadn’t seen in over four years.

That same weekend I bought The Ramones’ Road to Ruin and Split Enz’s True Colors. Now, whenever I hear this song (or any song from the album) I think about that weekend and how my life would change when I got back to SIU.

You know what it’s like when you slap a new record on a turntable and as soon as you hear that first song you want to run out and tell all your friends about it? That’s kind of how I felt when I heard “I Wanna Be Sedated.” This was just a rocking song. And I am thinking, “damn, why haven’t I been listening to the Ramones already?”

I suppose that a lot of the songs that I heard that weekend would be worth noting, but it’s this song by The Ramones that has really stayed with me the most.

Vienna - Ultravox

If I were to come up with my Top Ten list of my all-time favorite New Wave songs not to mention one of my favorite all-time videos, one of them would be Ultravox’s Vienna.

It was October 31, 1980-Halloween in Carbondale-and I was sitting in the balcony of Shyrock Auditorium on the SIU campus waiting for Ultravox to take the stage. John Candy was in town, the host of a short-lived NBC show about college life and was sort of the emcee for the concert, keeping the audience entertained while every-one waited to find out if the opening act Steel Pulse would make it to the concert (they never did).

I had only heard about Ultravox just a few weeks before and had not bought my ticket until a few days before the concert. It has remained one of the best concerts I have ever been to-right up there with Devo in 1982, Ultravox again in 1983, and The Stray Cats in 1981.

In that last week of the month before that night, I had gone back home and seen The Jerks, ran into my old friend Chris, cut off my hair, got an earring, and seen Kansas in concert.

Whenever I hear Vienna now I always think back to when I was going to SIU and how music was redefining and shaping my life.

At the same time, the song also reminds me of cold, autumn or winter days-

“We walked in the cold air
Freezing breath on a windowpane lying and waiting
The warmth of your hand and a cold gray sky
It fades to the distance.”

The Wait - Pretenders

It’s the spring of 1980 and I am stationed at George Air Force Base just outside of Victorville, California in the Mojave Desert. For the past couple of months I had been getting into all kinds of new music-Tom Petty, Madness, The B-52’s, Talking Heads, Pat Benatar, and Gary Numan. One day I’ve got the radio tuned into some FM station out of LA and I hear the Pretenders for the first time. As soon as I hear their song “The Wait” I go out and buy their debut album the first chance I get.

Five months later, on September 10 I am sitting in Shyrock Auditorium at SIU wait-ing for the Pretenders to take the stage.

Whenever I hear the song I think about that spring of 1980 when I was preparing to get out of the Air Force and how my life would change forever a few months later when I started going to school at SIU. The die had been cast, a defining moment of my life was underway.

Their debut album still rocks. It’s raw, visceral, and powerful.

Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding - Elton John

When I was a high school student in the mid seventies, you couldn’t listen to the ra-dio without hearing at least one or two Elton John songs like “Bennie and the Jets” “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” or his version of the Who classic “Pinball Wizard” being played heavy in rotation.

In a decade that started with Kent State and ended with the hostage crisis in Iran, the music of the decade might have lacked some of