"The roller-coaster ride we took is nearly at an end. . .
And I think it's gonna be all right . . .
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball."
Bruce Woodley and Paul Simon, sung by The Cyrkle, 1966
My generation came of age with a sountrack of the greatest music of all time, the music of the 1950s,' 60s, and 70s.
In today's Guest Post, Ben Beach describes a chapter in his "downsizing" project as he and his wife moved from the home where they had raised a family to something smaller and easier to manage.
He gave up his collection of LPs.
Ben Beach is a college classmate. He is a mostly-retired writer and editor, now living in Alexandria, Virginia. He set a record for the most consecutive finishes in the Boston Marathon: 54. That record was broken in April.
Guest Post by Ben Beach
Like many 75-year-old Americans, I have fond memories of flipping through racks of record albums at the store: the Byrds, the Beatles, Lesley Gore, Chad & Jeremy, Simon & Garfunkel, the Shangri-Las, and untold others. By my 25th birthday, I must have had about 60 or 70 LPs.
Today, I have none. My wife and I recently moved from a four-bedroom home to a one-floor condo, and that meant all kinds of prized possessions had to go.
As I pulled the albums off the shelves and said goodbye, a flood of memories washed over me. The Beach Boys’ “Little Deuce Coupe” had the song “409.” My older brother drove a 409, generally considered the fastest car in “My Little Town.” He used to take part in midnight drag races down on the parkway against Sonny LeJeutis (Corvette) and Craig Mottola (Ford Galaxie 406). I wondered if my parents ever found out.
By the way, when the Beach Boys first reached me on the radio, I thought they might be long-lost cousins. Then it became clear that they were really the Wilson boys and were just calling themselves the Beach Boys.
I looked longingly at a couple of Everly Brothers albums. I recalled the night at an amusement park named Playland. A music-loving 16-year-old taking guitar lessons, I wondered if I might possibly be the next Phil or Don Everly. I stepped into a booth and recorded “All I Have to Do Is Dream.” Once I got home and listened, it was clear that I was not going to be either Phil or Don. To put it generously, my voice was sub-par.
I was a Box Tops fan and had their album with “The Letter.” You remember: “I don’t care how much money I gotta spend. Gotta get back to my baby again.” I was a college freshman 200 miles from my first serious girlfriend.
How about tunes that bring back driving memories? The first time I drove at night, I heard the Supremes singing “Reflections,” and that song still takes me back to Route 22 in Armonk, N.Y. Other tunes that transport me to specific places include “I Think We’re Alone Now;” “Donna,” “California Girls;” “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter;” and “I Fought the Law.”
Coming across my Buddy Holly album was doubly sad, due to his early death in that Iowa cornfield. Every February 3, I check in with college classmate John Goldrosen, author of Buddy Holly: His Life and Music. Maybe you saw “The Buddy Holly Story,” the movie based on John’s biography.
My wife made me a lifetime Fleetwood Mac fan, starting in the late 1970s. And the good old Four Tops were with us on March 11, 1978, when we had our first slow dance. It was what the Drifters would call a “Magic Moment.”
Thanks to Carol, letting go of my albums was somewhat less traumatic than it could have been. In 1989, she had organized a surprise 40th birthday party and gave me a jukebox. Way over the top crazy! What was she thinking?
It turned out to be a stroke of genius. I had a large collection of 45s but rarely went to the trouble of playing them. The jukebox enabled me to put any 80 of them in the slots and just push buttons. I rotate them from time to time. Twenty-five years after the jukebox entered my life, our first grandchild arrived. There are now six, and all have loved punching the buttons and dancing to the music of my youth.
Back to the albums. A neighbor’s son carted them away and sold them to people who will actually play them. It made no sense for me to have them sitting on those shelves when they had the power to make others happy.
And we found room in the condo for our Rock-Ola 448, still going strong. It’s five feet away, and I think I’ll walk over there and have the Crystals sing “He’s A Rebel.”
We hear urban legend stories that our LP collections are worth thousands of dollars but I think the truth is the LPs only are worth whatever someone will pay for them, which isn’t much. Better to give them to a lucky soul who will give them a good home.
Thanks for a refreshing story that provides a break from cable news’ incessant pessimism.
This was lovely. Thank you.
Listening to the music of our youth improves cognition, mood, mobility, and even hearing. And it feels so good. Makes me wanna Shout!