Memories...
I was visiting Mick's blog today and was reminded of some of my experiences around the time that I was ordered to voluntarily join the United States Navy. I honestly had no choice in the matter. My options were few…join the military or go to a very serious penal institution for six years.
I know….you’ve heard that tale a hundred times so it must be a load of B.S. but….it’s true. Back then….and even nowadays…it happens quite often. Judges want to give a dumbassed kid a break so…..they offer the military option. I’m glad I took it. I was far too young and cute to go to prison!!
Not saying I enjoyed the Navy but I’m damned sure I wouldn’t have been pleased with prison!
Mick has a much better memory than I do. He reminded me of so many details of boot camp in Orlando that I had long since forgotten. He was there a couple of years before me but, it was basically the same when I went through.
His writings reminded me of a few escapades that were incredibly etched into my limited gray matter during those days.
What a strange ride it was.
The year was 1972 and I promise that you have never known a more lovable dumb ass than I was in those days of yore! I really was a nice kid. All I wanted to do was play music, make love to as many young ladies as possible, work little, play hard, smoke pot and basically……enjoy life. Yes, I worked few odd jobs but mainly, I was a hippy.
Thankfully, I was a reasonably good looking dude and could play guitar a bit and sing pretty well so…in the hippy hierarchy…I was a ‘happenin’ dude’! Kind of like a small time Charles Manson without all that mass murder messiness.
People had a way of looking up to guys like me as though the ability to make music and write songs which made no sense was something to be revered. It was a simpler time.
Think about it…..
I could sit on a sand dune in front of a crowd of dope smoking kids staring into fire and sing a heartfelt rendition of ‘Horse With No Name’ and at the end of the tune, they would look upon me as if I had delivered the gospel straight to their collective hearts!! It was as though, I had somehow imparted a great wisdom on them. Of course....the scary part is that I actually believed that I HAD!!
Does ANYONE know what the hell that song actually MEANS?
Dewey Bunnell wrote the damned song and even HE can’t explain it!!
However….I digress.
Back then, in the days of barely portable record players and eight track tape players who’s batteries barely made it through half of the latest Eagles album….a singer/guitar player was held in high esteem when the weed was burning out on the beach! Guys like me were kind of like a flesh and blood radio back then. I guess we were, in a sense, the last of the true traveling troubadours.
I realize that it sounds kind of romantic to remember it in those terms but really…(Mick knows what I’m talking about)…we really were pretty well esteemed back then.
Shortly after we ‘did our thing’, music got extremely portable. Until that time….only a real life, flesh and blood, dope smoking, beer swilling, cocaine snortin’ musician could play ALL NIGHT LONG and entertain people on a beat up six string guitar in the middle of nowhere!
Nowadays however…..an IPOD can play every song by every artist in the entire world for a week on a battery the size of that annoying little liver spot on my ancient looking right hand!
Where the HELL was I when I got old?
DAMN....I'm digressing again!
Anyway.....
Back then, I simply lived to party.
At the time, I was living in an old rooming house in Myrtle Beach. I vaguely remember the place being called ‘Mom’s House’ but, don’t quote me on that. I remember the place being drafty, moldy and hot as the gates of HELL! No AC and who the hell could afford a fan? Hell, if I had brought a fan into the place, the old woman who owned the place would’ve raised the rent to twenty bucks a week! No such extravagance for me.
I had been ‘drifting’ for quite sometime and had only recently stopped in Myrtle Beach although, as a Charleston boy, I was no stranger to the Grand Strand.
This summer, I was playing with a band whose name escapes my fragile memory but…we were pretty good and we were working pretty much all night…every night.
Myrtle Beach was wide open during those halcyon days of yore. It may have seemed to have been a lawless time to the casual observer at the time.
After all.....people were making love on the beach with reckless abandon. Dope was smoked, snorted and popped in public. Public drunkenness was a way of life to be celebrated and almost ANYTHING was condoned. However.... much to my chagrin….there WERE laws and unfortunately….the police occasionally enforced them.
DAMN IT!!
My brush with the law came on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in August.
To Be Continued......
I know….you’ve heard that tale a hundred times so it must be a load of B.S. but….it’s true. Back then….and even nowadays…it happens quite often. Judges want to give a dumbassed kid a break so…..they offer the military option. I’m glad I took it. I was far too young and cute to go to prison!!
Not saying I enjoyed the Navy but I’m damned sure I wouldn’t have been pleased with prison!
Mick has a much better memory than I do. He reminded me of so many details of boot camp in Orlando that I had long since forgotten. He was there a couple of years before me but, it was basically the same when I went through.
His writings reminded me of a few escapades that were incredibly etched into my limited gray matter during those days.
What a strange ride it was.
The year was 1972 and I promise that you have never known a more lovable dumb ass than I was in those days of yore! I really was a nice kid. All I wanted to do was play music, make love to as many young ladies as possible, work little, play hard, smoke pot and basically……enjoy life. Yes, I worked few odd jobs but mainly, I was a hippy.
Thankfully, I was a reasonably good looking dude and could play guitar a bit and sing pretty well so…in the hippy hierarchy…I was a ‘happenin’ dude’! Kind of like a small time Charles Manson without all that mass murder messiness.
People had a way of looking up to guys like me as though the ability to make music and write songs which made no sense was something to be revered. It was a simpler time.
Think about it…..
I could sit on a sand dune in front of a crowd of dope smoking kids staring into fire and sing a heartfelt rendition of ‘Horse With No Name’ and at the end of the tune, they would look upon me as if I had delivered the gospel straight to their collective hearts!! It was as though, I had somehow imparted a great wisdom on them. Of course....the scary part is that I actually believed that I HAD!!
Does ANYONE know what the hell that song actually MEANS?
Dewey Bunnell wrote the damned song and even HE can’t explain it!!
However….I digress.
Back then, in the days of barely portable record players and eight track tape players who’s batteries barely made it through half of the latest Eagles album….a singer/guitar player was held in high esteem when the weed was burning out on the beach! Guys like me were kind of like a flesh and blood radio back then. I guess we were, in a sense, the last of the true traveling troubadours.
I realize that it sounds kind of romantic to remember it in those terms but really…(Mick knows what I’m talking about)…we really were pretty well esteemed back then.
Shortly after we ‘did our thing’, music got extremely portable. Until that time….only a real life, flesh and blood, dope smoking, beer swilling, cocaine snortin’ musician could play ALL NIGHT LONG and entertain people on a beat up six string guitar in the middle of nowhere!
Nowadays however…..an IPOD can play every song by every artist in the entire world for a week on a battery the size of that annoying little liver spot on my ancient looking right hand!
Where the HELL was I when I got old?
DAMN....I'm digressing again!
Anyway.....
Back then, I simply lived to party.
At the time, I was living in an old rooming house in Myrtle Beach. I vaguely remember the place being called ‘Mom’s House’ but, don’t quote me on that. I remember the place being drafty, moldy and hot as the gates of HELL! No AC and who the hell could afford a fan? Hell, if I had brought a fan into the place, the old woman who owned the place would’ve raised the rent to twenty bucks a week! No such extravagance for me.
I had been ‘drifting’ for quite sometime and had only recently stopped in Myrtle Beach although, as a Charleston boy, I was no stranger to the Grand Strand.
This summer, I was playing with a band whose name escapes my fragile memory but…we were pretty good and we were working pretty much all night…every night.
Myrtle Beach was wide open during those halcyon days of yore. It may have seemed to have been a lawless time to the casual observer at the time.
After all.....people were making love on the beach with reckless abandon. Dope was smoked, snorted and popped in public. Public drunkenness was a way of life to be celebrated and almost ANYTHING was condoned. However.... much to my chagrin….there WERE laws and unfortunately….the police occasionally enforced them.
DAMN IT!!
My brush with the law came on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in August.
To Be Continued......
posted by Rantin' Ron | 12:47 AM
4 Comments:
Oh, goody! A new yarn! I love traveling with you to your halcyon days while I remember mine. Kind of like traveling in a parallel universe. Did you know the word halcyon is pronounced exactly like the sleeping pill halcion? (Just emptying my head of some useless trivia to make room for this story.) Hope all is well and that Michele is having some good days. You two are never far from my thoughts and prayers.
He's back! Woo-Hoo!!!
hehehe... you and Mick sharing muses?? :)
Ron, I cannot believe my eyes!! I really admire your writing, but to have you mention me and my blog in your story, well, all I can say is I'm honored... and... and... I'm at a total loss for words... crap... that very seldom EVER happens... you know... that I'm at a loss for words... ok... write on my friend... write on... you've got me hooked again!!!
Ahhh the memories that brings back. I was 35 years younger for a moment there with "Horse with No Name" softly playing in my head. Those were the good old days. The musicians nowadays (if you can even call them that) play such shit. I haven't heard a decent piece of music written and performed in the last decade. Sure wish we could all go back to those simpler times.
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