Songs of 1972

A friend of mine sent me the link to a site that lists the top 100 pop songs for a lot of different years--according to the old music magazine Cash Box. The number one song the year I was born, 1958, was "Nel Blu Dipinto Di Blu (Volare)" by Domenico Modugno on Decca Records. Oddly enough, this was the favorite song on the bus the summer I toured Europe. Our Italian bus driver Pasquale taught it to us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-DVi0ugelc

After going through the lists for several years, my favorite year seems to be 1972, at least in part, I think, because this is when I met my wife in the 7th grade. But it was also a great year for music, despite the presence of Donna Fargo's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole U.S.A." See what I mean:

1. "American Pie" by Don McLean
2. "Alone Again (Naturally)" by Gilbert O'Sullivan
5. "Without You" by Nilsson
7. "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green
9. "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass
11. "Family Affair" by Sly & the Family Stone
12. "Heart of Gold" by Neil Young
14. "Lean on Me" by Bill Withers
18. "A Horse with no Name" by America
20. "Long Cool Woman (in a Black Dress)" by the Hollies
21. "Back Stabbers" by The O'Jays
22. "I'll Take You There" by The Staple Singers
51. "School's Out" by Alice Cooper
56. "You Don't Mess Around with Jim" by Jim Croce
58. "Bang a Gong (Get It On)" by T. Rex
60. "Hold Your Head Up" by Argent
68. "Everything I Own" by Bread
71. "Saturday in the Park" by Chicago
79. "Respect Yourself" by The Staple Singers
82. "Nights in White Satin" by The Moody Blues
83. "Rocket Man" by Elton John
86. "Anticipation" by Carly Simon
90. "Roundabout" by Yes
92. "Tumbling Dice" by The Rolling Stones
96. "Doctor My Eyes" by Jackson Browne
98. "Take It Easy" by The Eagles
100. "Use Me" by Bill Withers

Look for your favorite year at http://www.tropicalglen.com/index.html.

On Loss & Reunion

In these last couple of years as I approach turning 50, I've had to deal with some loss. These losses are different from that experienced with the death of my father or father-in-law or grandparents. There was, of course, the loss of my friend Steve, when he died in March. While both my father and father-in-law both died too young (65 and 60 respectively), something was different about Steve's death at 57. Maybe it was that I saw him as being like myself. I'm sure this kind of thing will happen more and more as the years progress, until it's finally my time.

But death isn't the kind of loss I'm thinking about at the moment. I've had on my heart the loss--or severe chronic absence--of men I recently considered close friends: David, Jack and Noel. I know they're out there, but I neither see them nor hear from them. I don't know why. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's them. Maybe it's us and our inept struggle to make real contact with real friends in this world. Maybe it's just life.

At the same time these losses have been occurring, happy reunions take place. My 4 O'Clock Club and I have a wonderful reunion on the second Tuesday of every month. And after many years and miles, the White Water Band--all of us from the time I remember it best--is back in touch and enjoying one another's company again.

Here's another reunion that took place yesterday as a result, initially, of this blog. Back in April, I think it was, I received an email from a woman named Julia C. She and I had been at Mars Hill College together back in the late 1970s. Both of us were music major studying flute, so we spent a good bit of time together in the college concert band and in flute choir. By the time I was a junior and she a sophomore, she was first chair flute in the band and I second. So we sat side by side and played the pieces on the music stands before us and laughed a lot in between the playing. I left in the middle of my junior year and we lost touch, making contact only once in the last 30 years, back in late 1988 or early 1989 when she was working at the mall in Knoxville and I and my betrothed happpened to run into her there.

Anyway, back to my blog and her email. Julia, perhaps in a nostalgic mood, was apparently googling Dr. Bryant, the flute professor who taught both of us at Mars Hill College. Among the results Google returned was one of my blog entries, in which I'd mentioned MHC and Dr. Bryant. Julia knew that I was the writer of the blog, and after just a little investigation, she learned that I was at East Tennessee State University. What was really neat was that she's here too! Since 2006 she's been in one of the graduate programs here on campus. Neither of us knew the other was here, even though she often walks by the Honors House on her way to and from her work on campus.

Our actual reunion after the initial reconnection was a couple of months in coming, but yesterday we finally got together at the Oasis Coffeehouse. For two hours we sat and remembered Mars Hill College, Dr. Bryant, our life experiences since those days. I enjoyed talking with her as much as I always did. Thanks, Julia.

I don't know what it is with these reunions reaching back to the 1970s, but I'm glad they're taking place. (Remember that I also had a Class of 1977 reunion less than a year ago.) Renewing connections from those days is, so far, a heartwarming and rewarding experience, reminding me that I haven't gotten too far from my raising, which I think is a good thing. Something else that these reunions offer is hope that the losses I suffer now--at least those losses not finalized by death--are not beyond redemption. Some day. I just hope that, if such redemption looms in the future, it doesn't take 30 years for it to happen.

WWB Saturday Jam

On Saturday morning, I left home early with my son and drove across the mountain to my mom's place in Walnut, where I took out the trash, did the grocery shopping and fixed up her meds for the week. (My wife was gone to Ahoskie, North Carolina, for a family reunion.) After that, my son and I headed for Spruce Pine and the reunion of the White Water Band. We stopped in Burnsville for a bite at Burger King, and Jim called as we were leaving. The rest of the guys—Harlan, Terry, Kirk and Jim—were set to arrive in just a few minutes. By the time I was 10 minutes away from Jim's place in the Snow Creek area, Jim called again to say they were ready to play, and he gave me directions to the practice den.

Jim's practice place is a building that his grandfather built part of and then Jim added to. A set of outside stairs take you to the second floor, where you entered a small kitchen area. Straight ahead is a doorway that goes into a larger space. As soon as you enter this area, a table and couches are around you, and in front of you is a wall of equipment—amplifiers, PA system, drums. It's a wonderful setup.

I think we were all anxious to play together again after more than 30 years. At the same time, however, I think we were anxious—in another sense of the word—about how it would sound. The White Water experience has loomed large in our lives for a long time. Did we just imagine that it was as special as we've all believed it to be?

So, within a few minutes after we were back together again, we took up our old positions—Kirk behind the drums, Terry and Jim and Harlon (bass) with guitars slung on in front of their amps, I behind the center microphone. A weird and wonderful moment!

But what to play? We began with something we'd never played together before—a blues classic called "Key to the Highway." Now, I don't sing the blues. Never have cared much for the genre. Jim sang the first verse to give me a jumpstart. I had the lyric from the Internet and just went for it.

From that first piece, it was an amazing experience. We ran through "Long Train Runnin'," "Locomotive Breath," some Lynyrd Skynyrd and ZZ Top. None of this was rehearsed—not for over 30 years, as I said—and while that fact was obvious here and there, especially with endings, we had lots of really good moments, in spite of the years. I remember thinking several times in the first set we did, 'Is this really sounding and feeling as good as I think it is?' When we took a break and talked later, I found out that the same thoughts were in the other guys' minds as well. What a thrill to learn that our memories of the White Water Band hadn't been deceptions or the decay of an ideal. It was good. And now we were individually better at what we do than we were back then, which, coupled with a kind of nostalgic enthusiasm and group instinct, is probably what made so many good moments. We had a tightness at times that was as if we'd been practicing all along for 30 years. We had dynamics and emotion in the music we made. Amazing!

The only disappointment (besides my wife's absence) was that Jobie wasn't able to make it on Saturday (although we saw him on Sunday). Ben manned the soundboard alone as we played, and Karen, Harlon's sister faithfully as always cheered us on from the wings, as, on this day, did most of Harlon's immediate family—wife Tammy, daughters Kya and Layla and two grandchildren (whose names I remember but hesitate to try to spell). Jim's wife Laura was there, as were Terry's wife Kay and Ben's wife Lisa. Of course, my son Raleigh was there, and after the first set, he played the rest of the night with us or whoever else might take the stage for a jam. And lots of Spruce Pine and Bakersville folk dropped in later to witness the event.

Jim and Laura and Terry and Kay put together a handful of pictures from the old days. I'll try to get those scanned and uploaded soon.

More on Sunday coming.

A Reunion Photo

A long and wonderful weekend! The story is upcoming, but the celebration has drained my brain. I'll write about it in the next day or so. In the meantime, here's a picture from Saturday's jam.

Left to right--Ben (light & sound); Terry (guitar); Michael (vocals, guitar & flute); Kirk (drums, vocals); Harlon (bass); Jim (guitar)

White Water Band Reunion

No matter what time the time stamp says this was posted, it's 12:10 a.m. on Saturday the 21st. In a few hours--probably a little after noon--I'll be in Spruce Pine with the band I played with throughout most of high school. I'm not sure, but it's possible that the whole group of us haven't been together in one place in at least 30 years. We're going to remember the old days, break some bread together and play a little music.

A story with pictures will follow in the next day or so.

Wrapping Up Maine

This is the house that inspired the central setting of Nathaniel Hawthorne's second novel The House of the Seven Gables (1851).

So, the conference focused on Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of my favorite writers. If you went to high school in the United States of America, especially since the middle of the 20th century, you're likely to have read his novel The Scarlet Letter. For those concerned, I put the finishing touches on my presentation on Saturday morning, walked downtown to the UPS Store to print it, had some lunch and then presented at the 1:30-2:50 session that afternoon.

On Saturday evening after the lobster bake, a new friend I made, a teacher at a college out in Kansas City, asked if I'd like to ride with him to Boston instead of taking the bus Amtrak had scheduled for me. He'd rented a Hyundai Tucson at Logan International, the Boston airport. I took him up on his offer. We left Brunswick a little before noon. His flight didn't leave until after 6:00 and my train didn't leave until 9:45, so we had plenty of time. Along the way, we decided that we'd stop in Salem, home of the 1692 witch trials and birthplace of Nathaniel Hawthorne. It was a good stop.

We arrived in Boston at around 4:00, and I took a bus to the city's South Station, getting there a little after 5:00. Having several hours before my train left, I walked to Boston's North End, which is seeminly wall-to-wall Italian restaurants, where I had a tremendous meal.

Then--the overnight train to DC; a visit to my friend Chuck's, where I slept about three hours; the drive home to Jonesborough, where I arrived around 10:00.

Good trip.

Father's Day

I know that Sunday was Father's Day, but I was in Maine while my boys (and granddaughters) were at home. I talked to them all--except for Eden, who can't talk yet. Yesterday, however, was the celebration. I received a wonderful Father's Day card from South Carolina.

My younger son and I spent the day at the movie theater. Literally. Okay, I paid for everything, but it was his idea. First stop: Barberitos, a favorite of ours. Then we drove up to Bristol, Virginia, to Tinseltown, a group of theaters with great sound systems, wide screens and stadium seating. We went to the 2:55 showing of The Happening, the 4:30 showing of The Incredible Hulk and the 6:50 showing of Iron Man. Afterwards, we stopped at Pal's for supper and drove home. What did we do when we got here? Watched a movie, of course: Semi-Pro.

It was a good day.

More on Maine soon.

More on Maine

I had a weird problem with the wi-fi in the Bowdoin College dorm where I stayed in Brunswick, Maine, and wasn't able to post. I'll do something more on the trip soon, but for now here's a little stream-of-consciousness writing that I did on Thursday the 12th while riding on the train from Boston up to Portland.

Thoughts and Sights from the Downeaster 9. A friendly crew on the train—not necessarily the norm so far. Bradford's open-air platform. Graffiti. Haverhill: "Jewel of the Merrimac Valley." Mr. Bob passes out stickers to the busy kids in the seats in front of me. Geese on a pond. Chuck, the ticket-taker. Green trees and underbrush in sandy soil. Jethro Tull's "Songs from the Wood" in my earphones, followed by U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name." The girl in the seat across the aisle asleep, hair covering her face so that she looks a bit like Cousin It. Train tracks from the air must look like stitches across the backside and underbelly of the Main Street world. We're in the forest now. Thinking about my song "There Was Always a Train." Jewett's General Store and the East Kingston Library. Whistle of the train as it approaches crossroads. I want to be out of these clothes I've worn since yesterday morning. I want to take a shower! Trains look into people's back yards, where they keep their junk, where their children play. Exeter platform in Exeter, New Hampshire, heading toward Durham, NH. Listening to Speaking of Faith on Heschel, in which he says in a speech something like this: "In the first conference on religion and race, the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses." I'm reminded by the group in front of me that, while I like my own children, I don't often feel the same about other people's children, especially when confined to a train for two hours—of course, like me, they're going to the end of the line. Chuck announces Durham, NH, as next on the line. A couple of hours ago, I stood on the Orange Line train in Boston and looked over the shoulder of a young man reading the Qur'an, Hadith 35, on brotherhood. I have now (at 10:35 a.m.) been traveling for 24 hours straight! Chuck says that the next stop is Dover, NH. Heschel: the primary purpose of prayer is not petition, it isn't petition or requesting but worship and singing; it might not save us, but it can make us worthy of being saved. Weeksie's Pizza: 742-5055. I see a big brick church here in Dover; it is Saint Mary's, and a funeral is going on there. I couldn't read if it was a Catholic or Lutheran church or something else. "Some are guilty, but all are responsible." I'm going to get a snack. After learning that the Portland train station had little to offer in the way of food, I went ahead and had lunch here—a personal pizza and a Diet Coke. Chuck announced Wells and Saco, Maine. The nerves of the parents in front of us are wearing thin and the kids are spinning out of control with 20 minutes left to go in the trip. Good luck to them! Saco, Maine, is beautiful and seems—from the train—a quaint and peaceful town. Hey, I just saw the ocean! I looked out one side of the train and saw a putt-putt course and wondered why that was here. Then I looked out the other and there was the big blue water. And the train stopped at "Old Orchard Beach." Okay, so the parents have taken away all hopes of dessert from Carson, their oldest. As if he now has nothing to lose, he's going wild. We have a little mini Coney Island or Myrtle Beach between the train tracks and the ocean—rides, the "Pier," hotels," beach supplies. Wait a second—Wasn't JAWS set in Maine? This train ride is coming to an end, so I'll pack up and post this sometime later today or tomorrow, depending on Internet access.

The Traveler

At this moment (9:40 a.m. on Thursday the 12th), I'm on a train, Downeaster 681, traveling through the back yards of Boston neighborhoods and headed for Portland, Maine—which isn't my final destination, but more on that later.

Well, how did I get here?

I'm on my way to a literary conference, the Nathaniel Hawthorne Society's annual or biannual event, taking place this year at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. Hawthorne—author of The Scarlet Letter (1850)—attended Bowdoin in the 1820s. His classmates from those days included Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, still one of America's most well known poets, and Franklin Pierce, who would eventually go on to become 14th president of the United States. Anyway, I had a paper proposal accepted for the conference, so I'm on my way.

The ETSU Motor Pool (actually the Physical Plant, I think) lost my vehicle request, so yesterday morning (Wednesday the 11th) my son dropped me off at Enterprise, where I rented a car for my drive to Washington, DC. I was late leaving Johnson City and didn't get to my friend Chuck's in DC until 7:00 p.m. Rather than go out to eat, Chuck whipped up some chicken on the grill and a salad to go with it. After that, I drove to Union Station and boarded an overnight train to Boston.

Of course, because the train left at 10:00 p.m., not much sightseeing took place. I read a little bit but not much. At midnight I went to the café car and got a cheeseburger and a Corona--$9.45. And after that I mostly dozed in and out till about 5:00 a.m. I noticed early, probably 4ish, that the eastern sky was already lighting up along the horizon. Sunrise was a good while coming, but it was finished by 6:00. I guess that's what happens this far north when no mountains are around to hold back the dawn.

We arrived in Boston around 7:30, and I took a subway ride on the orange line, from Back Bay Station Boston North. Once there, I had a relatively short wait for the Downeaster 681. I'll arrive in Portland a little before noon. The final leg of this journey is a 2:30 bus to Brunswick, which should have me settling in at Bowdoin around 3:30 or so. Serious naptime then? You bet!

But I can't tarry too long. Being the last-minute-man that I am, I haven't written the paper that I'm to present early Saturday afternoon.

"Some are guilty, but all are responsible."

On Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.

Krista Tippett interviews Arnold Eisen

Mr. Eisen: You know, I remember, if I can confess one of my own insufficiencies, I encountered Heschel several weeks after my interview with him in Washington, D.C., and I remember I didn't go up to him to say hello. And I'm embarrassed by this, to take a Heschelian word, I'm embarrassed by it. When I met him in Washington, D.C., and saw a tired, bedraggled Abraham Joshua Heschel, who had spent his day lobbying against the war in Vietnam, I felt that somehow it wasn't worth his dignity to knock on the doors of those congressmen. He should be in his study thinking great thoughts, writing great books. It was a total contradiction of what I had felt a few months earlier, but it was a sign of Heschel's greatness that he knew he should be in the study and he should be on the streets and life was too short to do all of them all the time, but he would do the best he could. And that taught me something I'll never forget.

Ms. Tippett: And on Vietnam, it was interesting for me to read, you know, he was also writing about it, and some of the things he was saying about why he was there knocking on doors are very provocative and challenging in our current context, I feel. I mean, he said, "It became clear to me that in regard to cruelties committed in the name of a free society some are guilty while all are responsible."

Mr. Eisen: One of Heschel's favorite lines: "Some are guilty but all are responsible." You know, we're not off the hook and if we live life with ultimate religious seriousness, we're aware every moment of the time just how many people's suffering and poverty goes into our ability to act, to enjoy, even to gather together and worship. And this could, if we let it, ruin life, on the other hand. As someone I know put it, "How can I enjoy a cup of coffee at Starbucks …

Ms. Tippett: Right.

Mr. Eisen: … when I know that people in much of the world can't earn in a month what that cup of coffee is costing me?" And is that supposed to mean that we never have the cup of coffee or is it supposed to mean that we exercise responsibly? The guilt can be paralyzing. The guilt can be paralyzing. And some are guilty and they have to be reminded of their guilt and they have to be stopped, but all are responsible. And so it's our job if we're going to sit down, for example, at a Passover Seder, to do what the rabbis instruct the Jews to do at the beginning of that Passover Seder, which is to open the doors to those who are hungry so that those people too can enjoy a meal. And this was quintessential Heschel.

I wonder how we apportion guilt sometimes. You know, I think, as it were, the civil rights movement was an easy call for him, that the analogy of Pharaoh to Jim Crow and racism was an easy one, but it couldn't have been so simple to draw the conclusion about Vietnam, particularly when some of his closest colleagues and some of his closest friends were supporting the war as necessary to stop the spread of communism.

Ms. Tippett: Mm-hmm.

Mr. Eisen: And I understand Heschel to have made a difficult calculation about suffering versus the possible good that might emerge from all that suffering. He made a calculation about justice and injustice, about the proper uses of power, and then he acted on the basis of that calculation and spoke in the name of God and Scripture from the point of view that he had adopted. As did King, who reached the same conclusion.

Program Web Site: http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/heschel/

Image: http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/heschel/images/selmamarch.jpg

Message to America

The following is said to be written by Monty Python member John Cleese. I don't know if it's true or not. The "voice" in it doesn't read much like Cleese; in fact, most of the time it doesn't even read much like a British writer.

To: To the Citizens of the United States of America

From: John Cleese

Date: April 1, 2008

Re: Britain's Repossession of the U.S.A.

In light of the past performance of that guy from Texas, and your failureto nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence,effective immediately.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy). Your new prime minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Colony, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary.

2. Then look up aluminium, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.

3. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and "neighbour." Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix -ize will be replaced by the suffix -ise.

4. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (Look up "vocabulary".)

5. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.

6. There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize. You will relearn your original national anthem, "God Save the Queen".

7. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

8. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and this is for your own good. When we show you European cars, you will understand what we mean. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

10. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline)--roughly $10 per US gallon. Get used to it.

11. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of British Commonwealth - see what it did for them.

13. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie McDowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.

14. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full Kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies). Don't try Rugby--the South Africans and Kiwis will thrash you, like they regularly thrash us.

15. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.

16. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

17. An official from Her Majesty's Inland Revenue (i.e. tax collector) will be with you shortly to ensure the collection of all monies due (backdated to 1776). Until these are paid, there will be no representative government in the USA, in line with the policy: "No representation without taxation".

18. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 pm with proper cups and saucers (never mugs), and with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; strawberries in season.

19. Some tea has gone missing, and we expect it back. We'll be searching Boston first.


God Save the Queen.