Naughty or Nice?

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member


Back in my college days I participated in an annual fall event called “The Freshman Rush”. This event happens on virtually every college campus every year. It may have a different name but the premise is the same, the upper class guys tried to hit on the incoming freshman girls!

In my case the setup was that we upperclassmen would volunteer to help the incoming freshmen and their parents with their luggage and belongings, as they got settled into the girl’s dorm. As you may have figured out, it was just an excuse to be the first to meet the new girls.

I met this one girl I’ll call Penny. She was from my old hometown (an In!). A pretty girl, with long blonde hair. Penny was the quiet shy type; I could tell she was impressed that a sophisticated upperclassman like me was interested; so I asked her to next month's homecoming dance and she accepted!

Penny was very busy getting settled into the college routine and we didn’t see each other much the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile I was seeing a girl named Julie, just the opposite of Penny. Where Penny was the “girl next door”, Julie was “smokin’ hot”! Penny was demure and dressed conservatively, Julie was outgoing and wore tight blouses and very short mini skirts!

One day Penny approached me on campus and said she’d seen me with Julie and if I’d prefer to go to homecoming with Julie I could. Now I don’t know where that came from. I fully intended to go with Penny; I liked her and told her so, but I must not have been sincere enough because she refused, said goodbye, and ran off.

It bothered me but I must admit, not for long. There was still “hot” Julie! We did go to homecoming and on a couple of other dates. We were getting ‘closer” and one night she agreed to come to my apartment and listen to records!

My two roommates gave me high fives and vacated before she arrived, I had albums stacked on the record changer, lights down low and a really good year of Budweiser on ice! She arrived looking gooood as usual. We sat on the sofa and had some beer and she put her head on my shoulder.

Then, just when I was ready to make my move she did it! She said, “Paul, do you know why I enjoy being here alone with you?” Oh Oh! This can’t be good and before I could reply she said it: 
“Because you’re such a nice guy.” Nice?! 
“I feel safe with you.” Safe?! 
“You’re not like the other guys.” I’m trying to be! Give me a chance! 
“I know I can hang out with you and you won’t have your hands all over me. Thanks.” and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was official: I was a “nice guy”!

Okay, I realize now that’s a good thing but not then, I wanted to be bad. The next day was Friday and I had agreed to drop her off at her house for the weekend. When we got there, she leaned over and gave me another kiss on the cheek and said “thanks, see ya”, and before I could get out and walk her to the door like a nice guy, she jumped out ran up the steps and inside and I never saw her again.

In one case, I wasn’t nice enough and in another, maybe I was too nice. I don’t know but I hope Julie and Penny were as lucky as I was and found who they were looking for.

I finally did and she was a nice girl and I was a nice guy, that was more than forty years ago and I have no regrets on the way things turned out, we make our mistakes and we learn from them, I did, and figure being a “nice” guy worked out pretty good.

Whether you think we are naughty or nice DO groove with us at our website, on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and Pinterest! 

The Turntable

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By Gerry Wendel, Groovy Reflections Founder and Team Member

Proudly, it sat on a shelf in a closet, in silence much of the time. But oh, when it was in use, magical musical noises that came out of that record player! First and forefront were the surfing sounds and tales of T-birds from the Beach Boys and Dick Dale. Sometimes, LPs, but more often than not, 7 inch platters. 45’s were stacked high in several piles directly to the right. Speakers standing on either side. While designed to be portable, the trio of parts were never snapped together and remained stationary.

My two brothers shared a bedroom. It had two closets; one added to the room later across the backside, while the deep, original closet was converted into a workroom / music room consisting of a long sturdy shelf running along the left side plus two stools. Plenty of room to build model cars and listening to groovy tunes while doing so.

Being the curious little sister I was not allowed to touch anything there. That stern rule applied from a little event that happened when I was in elementary school. I asked my oldest brother if I could borrow two records and for show and tell day at school. He gave me “Bristol Stomp” by the Dovells and Allan Sherman’s “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah.” Both were unprotected, and sleeveless. I promptly stuffed them in a brown lunch bag though they didn’t quite fit. Good enough.

The records were played at school, but that’s not relevant to our story. At lunch time, I had the 45’s back in the safety of the brown bag. While talking to my friends, getting excited over the conversation, I began slapping the bag against my knee.

Arriving home that afternoon I took the 45’s out of the bag. Both were cracked. That was the end of my touching the record collection until sometime later…

…red spots all over my body prompted my parents to have Dr. Ross make a house call. I remember staying in bed in my brother’s room because the curtains there would keep it dark. My brothers were booted out of their domain; one got the couch, the other got my room.

Both brothers felt sorry for me. I was granted special permission to play records to cheer me up and received a lesson on how to properly operate the sound machine. This was very exciting! The next day, I spent considerable time going through the stacks of 45’s; many of them were unfamiliar to me.

Finally, I selected one and played it. The sweet vocals swayed me and the thought of the places I could go was spurred on by the melody and vocals. For three minutes, I soared.

I only played one record that day and left it on the turntable. My brothers came home from school. Both noticed the 45 I had left there and laughed and laughed at me. My spirits were crushed from their ridicule and I never played another record on that turntable again.

Soon after, I got my first turntable and started my own collection; so hey, who needed theirs?

To this day I wonder; if that 45 was in their collection, what did they find so funny about it? Was it given to them and not something they would have chosen? I’ve never asked; doubt either of them would even remember this incident. So to this day, every time I hear “Up Up And Away” by the Fifth Dimension, I still ponder. And yes, I recovered from the rash. My parents feared I had the measles. I didn’t.