Beatles, Birthdays, Record Players

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By Pete Frecchio, Groovy Reflections Team Member

It was July 1968 and I was counting down the days until my eighth birthday. Among the things I was hoping to get were accessories for my G.I. Joe and Johnny West action figure collections, a new baseball bat and glove and my very own record player. 

I was just starting to get into rock and roll music and was tired of sharing a record player with my big sister.  To her credit though she was kind enough to share her records with me. 

My record collection was pretty thin; it consisted mostly of kid’s songs and novelty records. I figured I would work on getting a record player first, and then focus on get my rock and roll music collection going.

When the big day came, July 23, I was not disappointed. My mom threw a party for me and several of my good friends came over to share cake, ice cream and games. I do remember we played a few games of pin the tail on the donkey!  

Sure enough, when it came time to open the presents, I found I had a new General Electric Walt Disney record player, turquoise with white stripes and a big picture of Mickey Mouse on the inside of the cover. After my friends left the party I plugged it in and went in search of some 45’s to play.  To my surprise, my sister handed me a stack of her 45’s and said I could keep them. The creation of what is now a rather large record collection had begun.

Two of the 45’s she gave me come to mind, both by the Beatles: Please Please Me and From Me to You. I think that one of the reasons I remember those 45’s was the groovy record label they were on. Although most Beatle records would be released on Capitol Records, these early recordings were released on the small Chicago based label known as V-J Records. The labels were black with silver lettering and had a rainbow around the edge of the label similar to what Capitol Records was using on their albums at the time.

While I thought the labels were cool, the music simply blew me away. I heard my sister play the Beatles many times before and also heard the Beatles played often on Phoenix, Arizona radio stations KRIZ and KRUZ but this was different; they were now playing on MY very own record player! I was hooked!  

I had to have more Beatles records; I had to have ALL kinds of rock and roll records! In years to come, allowance money, birthday money, paper route money and part-time job money went towards feeding my Beatles habit.  I had a “Ringo” on my back and I didn’t care.

Well, that small collection of records I received from my sister grew into well over a thousand albums and 45’s. In addition to that, my home is filled with all kinds of rock and roll memorabilia with the focus being on the Fab Four.

After all these years, I still look back on my eighth birthday and think YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! What a great day that was!!

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The Party.

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By Gerry Wendel, Groovy Reflections Founder and Team Member

I was just barely out of my teens and had a whole house to myself. Living alone in the early 1900’s home I grew up in - neato! 

When I was really young the house had a 1940’s kitchen with metal cabinets. In the late sixties, a new kitchen went in with a micro-ray oven, a Formica table top and a curious curved bench seat in the corner. I later learned that the formica covered seating with an "M" inscribed on it had previously belonged to a diner. 

The house also received a fresh treatment in the living room with a generous amount of wall paneling and orange carpeting. Wall paneling was already sprinkled liberally in the bedrooms, so why not have even more? 

Not THE house but one from that period.

This was the house my dad had pretty much abandoned because he had moved about eight hundred miles away. Twice a year he’d visit with a small trailer (that he built himself) for hauling away more furniture. The place was looking pretty sparse each time after my dad set up temporary camp. When he wasn’t around, I shipped off the utility bills to him every month.  

Sweet.

I had a paltry job for a publishing company, and by night, I enjoyed hanging with friends at restaurants and bars or going to the movies. Nothing terribly exciting.

Oh, and going to parties. That was a fun pastime. And heck, it was MY turn to have a party.  All I needed was a keg, right? And my boyfriend would take care of that. Food? Snacks? Eh, fuggedaboutit! But I did have plenty of good tunes to put on the record player. 

Now, I grew up on an acre of property, about half of which was driveway. Probably enough space for ten cars, but no easy way to get out or turn around a vehicle. Plus, my house was on a main street with no room on the sides for stashing a car. The last thing on my mind was where my friends were going to park. Who needs details?

Then the big night arrived. And friends started showing up. They were coming in packs. Friends were bringing their friends.  And the house was getting mighty crowded and loud with conversations swirling, and platters (uh, records) spinning. It was noisy but under control; just a bunch of people having a good time! I was in the kitchen when suddenly someone came in from the side door and bellowed very loudly, “there’s a cop directing traffic outside!”

The church parking lot.

What?

I ran outside to take a peek. There was the friend of one of my brothers, Don*. Don, a cop in town, was standing in the middle of the street with his arms waving around. He was directing the cars to the church parking lot across the street!

And that’s the only thing I remember about the party. I can’t tell you who was there, how much beer was consumed, or when the party finally broke up. 

Thank you Don.
* not his real name.

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Days of TV and Bod

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By Karen Rouse, Groovy Reflections Guest Blogger

The school day seems like an eternity when you’re seven years old. I remember once getting into trouble with my teacher as we had taken our seats in the classroom for the first lesson of the day. Even at that age, I knew that having just arrived, it would be a very long time before I could go home again. 

I sat, staring down at my Grease T-shirt, trying not to cry. Somehow, that image of Sandra Dee and Danny Zuko hitting the high school dance floor got me through the morning and I remember breathing a huge sigh of relief as I left the school gates and crossed the bridge that took me to the street where I lived.

In much the same way, the lunch hour then felt like a long weekend. My sister and I would climb onto the sofa and sit cross-legged to watch TV. We’d tuck into our favourite (favourite healthy, that is) treat – slices of cucumber (with the skin cut off) and a dollop of salad cream for dipping, accompanied by a cup of dandelion and burdock*, straight from the glass bottles that were delivered to our doorstep every week by the Alpine pop man.

And that’s when the opening credits of Bod would begin and we’d forget all about that long school day for a while as we became lost in his world.

In my mind, there were about a million episodes, all with exciting and intriguing in depth storylines. Bod throws an apple into the air and it doesn’t come down – what genius! All the other characters arrived to find out what was going on (as they always did) - how a child just like us could wow those adults speechless! And who could forget the majestic Alberto Frog and his Amazing Animal Band? A frog that drank a milkshake to reward himself whenever he saved the day - and not just any milkshake but a different flavour milkshake every single time! It was too good to be true!

Many years later, of course, it transpired that actually it wasn’t about a million - only thirteen episodes were ever made and the stories always started the same and ended the same and were all, well, sort of the same.

But back then it didn’t matter – that eon of crazy tale-telling revived us - we could return to school and brave the rest of the day! Off we’d go, back over the bridge, turning to see our mother waving a towel out of the upstairs bedroom window to wish us bon voyage. And the rest of the day wouldn’t seem quite so long and even sometimes when it did, you knew that there would be a whole marathon of just as thrilling television adventures to go home to at the end of it!

 * Soft drink available today, traditionally (in the 1200's) it was made from fermented dandelion and burdock roots.


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To the Farm and Back Again!

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

It was a hot August and I was in my off campus apartment awaiting start of college classes. I’d returned to school early because of being on a couple of athletic teams that started practices prior to the start of school. Okay, mostly to get out of the house where my parents didn't seem to understand that I wasn't a kid anymore; that I was a man with a whole year of college experience under my belt, that whole “while you’re living under my roof” thing, just didn't cut it!

Since my two roommates hadn’t arrived back to school in western Massachusetts yet I had the place to myself. I could play my guitar without them complaining after the 200th time I played “Sounds of Silence”! I was into the whole folk rock scene, a natural progression from my days as a folkie!

That’s exactly what I was doing, sitting on my bookshelf, strumming my guitar and sipping from an illegally obtained bottle of vodka, when a friend from the cross country team named Phil, suddenly burst into the apartment!  “Quick!” he said; “They’re having a big rock concert over in New York and they’re letting people in for free!”

Now one would assume that I jumped at that, but I didn’t know that history was being made! I wasn’t into the heavier rock from people like Hendrix and Iron Butterfly. I DO have a much greater appreciation now than I did then. So I said “No thanks”.

Phil looked at me like I had two heads! “Don’t you understand?” he pleaded. “It’s gonna be great! They have all these acts lined up, it’s a three day event; it’s gonna be awesome! “No thanks” I said, wishing he’d leave so I could play Sounds of Silence for the 300th time! “The drinking age in New York is 18”, Phil said in desperation. “Well now you’re talking! Let’s go”! And with that I was out the door and into a van with six other guys I barely knew!

When we crossed into NY we stopped and got beer, I remember thinking, this stuff’s gonna be heavy to carry, so I started trying to lighten the load. When we got there, we pretty much all just separated, and I started wandering around. A group of people included a blonde with long straight hair (okay that just described every blonde there), and she said “hey man, want to join us”? She didn’t have to ask me twice!

I sat down and shared my beer and they shared their food and a funny looking cigarette, which since I didn’t smoke, I politely declined, at least the first time, and to this day I’m not sure if I partook later or not, but shortly after that things are a blur, but I do have some specific memories.

Of the groups I heard, the one I remember most was Sha Na Na! Not sure why they stand out. I remember doing the Fish Cheer when they did that, of course there was a half a million people doing it at the same time; so not even sure if they were on stage or not. I remember bits and pieces of other performers like Grace Slick and Jefferson Airplane, Sly and his Family, CCR and of course I tried to get closer when someone said Arlo and Tim Hardin were on stage, (folkie, remember?).

There was something in the air, besides the blue haze: All around me was basic chaos yet it was somehow peaceful. I don’t remember sleeping, I do remember the rain and the mud, but most of all I remember the sharing, and the feeling of belonging like I’d never felt before. The music was like back ground music. It’s why we were there. We listened and we cared.  It was something I had never experienced before and probably never will again.


I don’t recall the trip back to school or how I even found my friends again. There have been many attempts to recreate that weekend, but it’ll never happen, there was something magical and in the words of Joni Mitchell, I am grateful, that for a little while, I made it “Back to the Garden”.


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A Model Lunchtime

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By Guy Sharwood, Groovy Reflections Team Member

I always looked forward to lunch when I was in grade school. Mainly because we had the good fortune of living around the corner from the school, about a five-minute walk. So although on occasion I ate cold lunches at school, more often than not I'd go home.

My folks were both working by the time I'd gotten into the fifth grade. But since life was so much safer in the mid '60s, we couldn't properly be called "latchkey kids." Keys weren't even necessary. We could keep our doors unlocked even when nobody was around. Usually neighbors were out and about anyway, but there was never any worry about people breaking in. 

We lived right on the corner and our rented house had no backyard fence. So people were always using our backyard as a short cut. It just came with the territory. It was just like another sidewalk to most of our neighbors. It was also great for baseball games because with no fence we could have the games in our yard and position our outfielders right across the street. Traffic was comparatively light back then, too.

But what I liked about lunch time, as I say, was that I could go home and had the better part of an hour to do whatever I liked. Typically Mom would have a can of Dennison's Chili Con Carne sitting out on the drain board, and I could open it and heat it up in a saucepan. While I was doing that I'd work on one of my homemade comic books or read the latest issue of Boy's Life magazine and work on one of my models.

In those days, models and accessories were available at pretty much any drug store of pharmacy, although Fresno did also have several hobby shops. My passion was monsters, like the kind Ed "Big Daddy" Roth was so famous for. Although Rat Fink was his most popular, that was the only one I didn't buy mainly because he didn't have a cool car like Mr. Gasser and his other contemporaries (but a tiny replica of RF came with the Drag Nut set).

They didn't cost a lot, either. Most of the time I'd invest my lawn mowing money, a buck a week, in one. Paints were reasonable and there was a wide choice of colors, both sprays and the type in the little bottles that required those little thin brushes. For just 15 cents we could buy a tube of Testor's Glue. The clerks at the stores knew we got those tubes for our models, not for anything else. And notes from our parents weren't required.

Spring weather was perfect for this. I'd get home from school during lunch, eat my chili and spread newspapers over the picnic table we used so regularly this time of year for many purposes. I'd have whatever model I was working on, my paints and glue, plus the instructions that always came with the kits and spend the balance of my lunch hour working away while listening to rock and roll on my little transistor radio. And I'd allow myself enough time to get back to school for the afternoon. By the age of 11, I had a lot of autonomy, as long as I did whatever my folks asked.

There’s lots of rationale as far as why I'm grateful I was still a kid at this particular time. As safe and quiet as things were in those days, this was one of the reasons.

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All Aboard!

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

When I was growing up my Grandfather owned a rustic camp on a small pond not far from Plymouth Mass. Besides the obvious joy of having a camp to go to every summer was the fact that this one was just a short distance from a narrow gauge steam train park.

Edaville Railroad, named for founder Ellis D Atwood, ran through his extensive cranberry plantation, past the bogs and a couple of small ponds. There were little “storybook” type villages along the way and at Christmas time there were lights everywhere.

We lived a short ten minute walk through the woods from the park and a neighbor at the camp was the conductor, so we were “allowed” one free ride per day! There was so much to do there, like climbing on the “retired” steam engines that seemed as big as houses. Pretending that I was the engineer, rolling down the rails, just like Casey Jones.

They had a very extensive playground with all sorts of the typical playground activities and there was never a wait to use the swings or slides or pretty much anything else. There was also a Railroad Museum that I didn’t appreciate as much until I got older. It had very realistic train sets that you could make go through the villages and tunnels, just by pushing a button!

Of course like any park there was food and some days if we were lucky Mom would give us kids each a nickel for a Popsicle! There were other vehicles scattered around the grounds as well, like old time fire engines and farm vehicles that were great for pretend games.

Some years later when I got married, we only had a weekend for a honeymoon and one of the places we went was back to my old boyhood haunt for a ride on an authentic steam engine. I didn’t make my bride walk through the woods; this time we paid and went through the front gate. Much to my surprise, the conductor, who was ancient when I was a child was still there and remembered me!

The park closed for a while and has undergone a lot of ownership changes but I’m happy to report it has re-opened, seasonally. While there have been a lot of changes, for example, Thomas the Tank Engine is there twice a year and there are now amusement type rides, including a Ferris wheel and merry-go-round, other things are still the same.

The retired engines are still there to climb on, although they don’t look as big as I remembered, until I see my grandsons clambering over them and realize how big they are in their eyes! It seems like there’s more food places, but that’s okay ‘cause there’s more of me to feed. Sadly the museum is gone. The gift shop is now gift shops. However, more people seem to know about this place now. Edaville Railroad lives on!

Taking my grandchildren there is like having my own personal “way back machine”.  The huff of steam as the trains pull in and out of the station, the long low whistle as they approach an intersection take me back to my childhood and best of all, it can still make a young child’s eyes grow wide with the wonder of it all and that’s what’s important in the long run, All Aboooooaaaaard!

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Sunday Mornings with Leon

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By Gerry Wendel, Groovy Reflections Founder and Team Member

I have a brother that’s several years older than me; eleven years to be exact. He served in Vietnam, he heard Rock ‘n Roll right when the term was coined, and he was out of the house before my age hit double digits.

My brother savored Sunday mornings; no, not for church, but for going on little excursions. And he liked taking me along for the ride. I was in my early teens and was at a point where home was boring and parents were uncool.  

My brother lived in an apartment at the rear of a house a block away and I’d wait on my front steps where I could see him pulling out of his driveway and coming down the road. I could hear him too; he was driving a muscular Dodge Coronet at the time. It was a noisy car!

So we’d make the trek to Valley Fair, about 8 or 9 miles away. Valley Fair was a regional store and sold items similar to Kmart; it had a full supermarket too. The store even had a second floor where the toy department was; I loved looking at all the games since I enjoyed playing including Sorry, Clue, Headache, Trouble, Bash, and Operation. 

My brother liked the automotive department. That was tucked under the part of the building that had a second floor, and the ceiling was quite low there. The smell of brake fluid and other assorted items contributed to an unpleasant scent in the air. I patiently strolled through the aisles with Leon; sometimes he’d select some items for purchase. Turtle Wax was a favorite, since he was always polishing his car. Did that keep the rust away? 

Now, where I grew up, there were Blue Laws that still exist today. Basically, certain things weren’t for purchase on a Sunday. The big item was clothing, which meant that half of Valley Fair was roped off. Yes, they were actually areas of the store roped off. Of course, you could skirt right under but what was the point? The cashier would catch you if you tried to buy a restricted item anyway.

Darn.

The diner has had a major redo but it's still there.

After an hour of looking around, we’d gather up our purchases and head to our next stop, the Red Coach Diner which we lovingly referred to as the Dead Roach. Time for some nourishment after all that shopping. 

The food there was excellent and the portions were generous; in just a few short years I’d be coming here at 4 or 5AM after a Saturday night out to pig out on cheese blintzes. I could eat those and not gain an ounce on my skinny frame. Sigh.

We got to know all the waitresses. Our favorite one we nicknamed “The Wicked Witch”. She was very nice but somewhat resembled a certain character from the Wizard of Oz. It was her nose that greatly influenced the nickname we bestowed upon her. She was probably in her 30’s then; twenty plus years later, she was still there.

Those Sunday mornings were special. I really didn’t know my brother very well until we started taking these little trips together. We got to talk and explore things and find some common ground. Today, I really appreciate the fact that he took the time to be with his “little sister”.


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Why Me?

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

When I was but a wee lad the world was such a wonderful place! I had it made, being the youngest child and as such was Mom’s spoiled brat. Not that I was ever a brat mind you.

I had an older brother and sister that went to something called school but since I was only four I didn’t have to go; so the days were all mine and Mom’s. Sometimes I’d help with baking. Most of my “help” consisted of licking the icing off the mixer blades. Tried my hardest to get them clean enough so Mom wouldn’t have to wash them but I must have missed spots ‘cause she always did.

I also got to watch television with no big brother or sister to change the channel on me. I watched Howdy Doody and wished I could be in the Peanut Gallery. Tried my hardest to be a Good Do Bee so Miss Nancy would look through her magic mirror and see me, but she never did!

Mom and I used to go picking evergreens for making wreaths. She’d sell the wreaths for extra Christmas money. This I never understood. Why did she need extra money for Christmas; wasn’t that Santa’s problem?

We’d fill paper grocery sacks with fresh evergreens that would shoot up in the woods under the larger trees. Well, Mom did; I’d get maybe half a sack. After an entire morning out in the woods there was usually a treat, like an ice cream.


Life was good. Then one day Mom said these horrible words: “You’re going to have a new brother or sister.” Nooooooooo! We don’t need one! In fact we got a couple too many now! She assured me that she would still love me just as much and we’d still do things together. I asked if we had to get one, could I pick it out? Apparently it’s different than kittens.

As luck would have it Mom picked out a girl! Whyyyyyyyyy! They’re no fun. I won’t even be able to steal her toys! Well, I could but why would I? She’d have dolls and girl junk!

Sure enough the baby came and Mom still loved me, but the doing stuff together thing? Sure, if she wasn’t too tired after feeding the baby and burping the baby and changing the baby….woah! Changing? You could change them! Wow, gotta see what Mom’s gonna change her into. “Mom, what are you changing…oh Gross! Mom! Phew!” So THAT’S what change means; did not need to know that.

Anyway things, while still not ideal, were pretty good. I still did things with Mom, just not as much.

Then came that fateful day when the other shoe dropped. Mom woke me early and said “Get up and get dressed for school.” Whaaaaaaat? Me? School? What happened to me and you Mom?

“I don’t want to go!” I think those were my last words as the doors to that big yellow bus closed on me and tore me from the only life I’d ever known.

I was going to get educated whether I liked it or not. Who knows, I might even amount to something someday! My bus drove down the street, and with tears in my eyes I looked back and saw little sis waving bye bye to me. The smile on her face said it ALL; there’s a new youngest child in town!

As I look back I realize one thing. Mom loved all us kids and she put me on that bus so I would get an education and eventually make her proud. I hope I have, but there’s one thing Mom couldn’t do and that is …..make me grow up!

Gotta go now. Popeye is on!


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Endless Summer (Part Two)

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By Tim Armstrong, Groovy Reflections Team Member


This is part 2. For part 1, click here.


I groggily awoke the next morning to the wonderful smell of the sea and to the even more wonderful smell of coffee brewing on our camp stove.


Then it was time to grab the boards. We trekked down to the beach and checked out the waves. Not much of a swell going on but we decided to paddle out anyway and just enjoy the drifting. We tried a couple of swells, but nothing gave us a good ride so we just stayed out there, eventually falling asleep.


Something in the water bumped my friend Steve’s leg, then my friend Greg’s.  We thought… SHARK!!!  It turned out to be a seal, but we paddled to catch any swell we could to get back to shore. We hadn’t realized how long we had been out there, and, during that time, the tide was receding. As we reached the shore break, we discovered something else – we had to carry our boards across about 75 feet of slippery, rocky beach to get to the sand! Finally, with foot pain from cuts and bruising, we reached the sand and just collapsed on the beach.


The next day the surf was too rough. As we were waxing down our boards, one dude walked past us carrying the two pieces left of his board after his venture out!  The following day, however, proved to be perfect. I was excited! This was my big chance to finally surf on a board! After some final pointers from my friend Steve, I paddled out feeling a huge adrenaline rush. 

On my fourth try to catch a wave, I DID! I didn’t realize how hard it would be to stand up on a board, but my friend Steve had given me good pointers and I jumped right up. I was in a big wave that was moving fast, and as I raced down the face of it just at the curl the peaceful sound of the wave, the air rushing past and the intoxicating smell of the ocean mesmerized me. Then I realized that if I didn’t cut back soon I was going to plow into another group of surfers! 


I tried to remember how to cut back and eventually made a hard left into the developing face of the wave. Before I knew it, I was flying back up over the top of the wave; only a “leash” now tethered the board and me. With big splashes, we both hit the water. I retrieved the board, got back on and headed to shore. 

I had done it! I had caught a wave!  Just like the Beach Boys song, I was sitting on top of the world!

Source: Eil.com

I caught three more decent waves that day and many more in the years to follow; but that trip, that day and that wave will forever define for me my perfect Endless Summer!  Cowabunga!


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