Do You Believe in Rock 'n Roll?

I was there during the dawn of rock 'n roll and remember when radios played all kinds of music on the same stations. Music was just music and not divided into categories for certain demographic groups. As we boomers became marketing targets, however, things changed. And have they ever!

The first time I saw Elvis on television was not on the Ed Sullivan Show, but before. Back then, we had one black and white tv and all watched it together. This time I was alone and doing something while the tv was on and heard someone singing. I looked up and was mesmerized by this amazing man wearing a black shirt and slacks with a lighter colored jacket. He was swiveling and gyrating to the music while he sang while I gasped to myself, "Wow! Who is this?" I was hooked! When Elvis sang, feelings I was too young to identify were triggered. Well, 12 or 13 was a lot more innocent then than it is now, unfortunately.

Fans were divided into two camps: Pat Boone or Elvis. Pat Boone was clean-cut with a wholesome smile that showed perfect teeth, wore white bucks, and had gone to Lipscomb to college. His were smooth, upbeat songs and white-bread versions of Little Richard's recordings. Since everybody from Frank Sinatra and Perry Como to Fats Domino and Chuck Berry to Martha Carson and George Jones were on the radio, we could hear them all. Elvis's politeness and self-effacing sense of humor made his bad boy image less threatening even though that was part of the attraction. I wore my Elvis pin for my school picture in the 8th grade and was thrilled that Mother took a friend and me to downtown Nashville to a movie theater to see Love Me Tender. This was during the time when people first started thinking those of us who listened to rock music were going straight to hell without passing Go or collecting $200.

It wasn't long before American Bandstand helped us learn the latest dances and songs. High school brought Motown, Paul Anka, Fabian, Frankie Avalon, Dion and the Belmonts, Jerry Lee Lewis, Sonny and Cher, and the day the music died with Buddy Holley, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper. Certain songs bring back memories such as bopping to "Rockin' Robin" and slow dancing to "Sixteen Candles" with my first boyfriend's shirt pocket since he was about 6' 5" and I'm 5' 2." He learned some of Duane Eddy's songs and would play them on his electric guitar when he called me sometime. Probably the most annoying thing of all was when Brenda and I sang "Tears on My Pillow" every chance we got to anyone we could stop in the halls long enough to listen. In addition to singing that way, we also spoke in falsetto voices that were harsher than Frankie Valley's. We'd greet each other in that voice with, "Hello Dear!" and did the witches' speech from Macbeth that way, too. You know, "bubble, bubble toil and trouble."

During the British Invasion, I defected to the Beatles. The Rolling Stones didn't do for me what the Beatles did. Their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show was exciting, and I thought their movie was a hoot. Others I enjoyed were Rod Stewart, Eric Clapton in his various band incarnations, The Animals, and some others I can't remember right now. I was in college by then and not listening to music as much except at dances when we did the twist and the dance of the month. "What'd I Say" was played at every dance we had there for quite a while. I did listen to Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, and some other kinds of music then, too.

We lost our innocence in 1963 when President Kennedy was assassinated, and that began what people consider the 60's as a philosophy and life-style and lasted until the mid-70's. (We won't discuss disco even though I did learn how but never bought any BeeGees albums.) I embraced folk music and enjoyed learning the background of the Childe Ballads and the bluegrass connection to old British songs. Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Bob Dylan, Donovan, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Hoyt Axton, Doc Watson, Peter, Paul & Mary, The Pozo Seco Singers, Gordon Lightfoot, Joni Mitchell, Arlo Guthrie, Pete Seeger, The Kingston Trio, Richard and Mimi Farina, John Hartford, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, the Clancy Brothers, and others are still there in my record collection. This was a time when we were becoming politicized. President Kennedy told us we could make a difference. We believed it.

My early life was shaped by the safety of the 50's which provided an emotional safety net when all hell broke loose in the 60's. Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse became Country Joe and the Fish and Jimi Hendrix for some of us. Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, Tom Lehrer, Johnny Cash, Jim Morrison, The Mamas and the Papas, Fleetwood Mac, the Allman Brothers, John Prine, and Dr. Hook played on my turntable with the folk music. During the first year I was married, I got to see Peter, Paul, and Mary and Bob Dylan in concerts in Norfolk. Dylan appeared on the heels of being booed at the Newport Folk Festival for using electric instruments for half his set. That's what he did at the concert. The first half was acoustic and the last half electric. Coffee houses were favorite places to go. Those were interesting times, and the music was great. I have CD's now but can't get rid of my LP's. Too many memories!

Better Than Nothing

I used to be intimidated by vegetarians, but I got over it. Part of it is the healthier-than-thou attitude most militant in the ones who buy special grinders for wheat grass and pay so much attention to live food and ingredients that it becomes an eating disorder. My short attention span has not only kept me from becoming addicted to anything but makes it impossible for me to keep up with all it takes to prepare and follow a strict dietary regime. I'm bipolar when it comes to food as evidenced by my having a juicer and a microwave, not eating white bread or rice but knowing the fast food places, having a water filter but also drinking carbonated battery acid with caffeine and aspertame which is about what Diet Coke is, shopping at Wild Oats and Kroger, taking vitamins and supplements but not eating as many fresh fruits and vegetables as I need to, and the list goes on. My theory is that any effort is better than nothing. Moderation in all things, including moderation. I should do so well as to be moderate when it comes to exercise!

Testosterone Causes Brain Damage

Despite all the controversy about hormone replacement therapy, I'm not ready to quit taking it. It was such an ordeal to find the right one that worked for me that I became conversant on side-effects of them all. I was allergic to the adhesive on the patch. I tried that two different times and had welts all over me. Unattractive and itchy. Several different estrogen pills were like eating M&M's without the great chocolate taste. Waste of time and money. My body rejected the hormone implants both times they were attempted although the brief time they spent in my body helped. It takes a couple of months to know if something is going to work or not. During this time emotions are all over the place and make PMS look like being well-adjusted. Tears or rage - highly sensitive or in a tower with a hit list! Over two years of not feeling like my usual easy-going self wore me out and alienated others. At least they could get away from me! I was stuck with being around me all the time. It was really bad!

Eventually I went to see my trusty family physician Clyde Collins for some other matter and was in hysterical mode that day. With glazed eyes and spinning head, I asked him why there weren't tests to see what kind of hormones we needed. I raved on and on for a while ranting about the litany of problems this was for me. He listened to me and told me because no one had any idea I'd react to them that way until I took them. Dr. Collins then mentioned that since the implants helped that perhaps I needed to take Estratest since it has some testosterone in it and the others were only estrogen. Could it be that I might have some help here? He asked me if my gynecologist had gone through menopause. I told him no and asked if he had. I think he did a few years later since he was driving a red sporty convertible.

My gynecologist was in Nashville and primarily interested in surgery, I think. She was really good at that part of it and especially liked doing the implants (more like surgery). I'm not really blaming her but have found out later that it's become standard practice to prescribe something with testosterone when estrogen alone doesn't help.

Anyway, I tried yet another prescription with hope and trepidation for what it might do. A month later I went back to see Dr. Collins to let him know how I felt. He asked a few questions, and then I told him I really liked these and that I felt great. I was more like myself, happier, sense of humor had returned, no crying or hysterical jags, and more energy. Things were getting back to abnormal for me again. He was glad to hear it and happy with the success of it all until I mentioned that he forgot to tell me about the side-effects. With a look of concern, he had his pen poised to write and was getting prepared to handle this new emergency.

I told him that I'd decided that just a little testosterone was all anyone really needed and that I'd find myself driving around for hours lost but wouldn't ask for directions. (the pen went back in his pocket) I also switched channels with the remote control during the middle of programs even when I liked them and then kept flipping. I'd leave socks on the floor wherever I took them off, put wet towels on wood furniture and the bed, and tell people I'd call and not do it. But worst of all, I'd started thinking The Three Stooges were funny.

By then Clyde was leaned back grinning and said, "That's not funny!" I told him all women and secure men thought it was when I told it. Then he threatened not to tell me which way to shave when my beard grew in.

Like A Complete Unknown

This is my favorite story about my mother. In 1986 the summer before my son was a senior in high school, Brian attended the Governor's School for International Studies at Memphis State University, which is now the University of Memphis. He'd already spent a week as a delegate to Boy's State where he took his saxophone since he said if he were going to have to march, he wanted to do it with the band. This was his last time to do that because he was chosen Field Commander of the high school marching band which meant he marched backwards in front of the band part of the time. When I was in school, we called them drum majors. Field commander sounds military, much the way Boy's State operates.

After settling Brian into his room and hugging good-bye, Mother and I decided to stay in Memphis and do some sight-seeing. We drove around awhile and decided to visit Graceland which is the height of tacky! It's worth the trip just to see that, but in Elvis's defense, it was sort of frozen in a time warp. It was interesting seeing all the rooms, cars, awards, costumes, and decorating. We enjoyed it and then went out to eat and took a carriage ride around the area. I felt sorry for the horse though. I wonder if they are treated well or not.

As a treat, we decided to splurge and stay at the Peabody Hotel. The Peabody ducks are an institution there. They live in their own penthouse and ride the elevator down to the fountain in the lobby. The ducks are escorted on their trip and waddle to the fountain where they swim and are a source of entertaiment for guests who line up and wait for their arrival in the morning and exit at the end of the day.

The next morning we had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop. While I waited at the door while Mother paid the cashier (another story), I saw this man dressed in a mauve suit vest, faded black trousers, black suede boots, and no shirt. His hair was touseled and he wore sunglasses and an earring. I was transfixed! He was Bob Dylan! I couldn't believe it! As he passed by me, I moronically spoke to him. "Hi" was what I came up with. It was probably enough that early in the mid-morning for him, and to my surprise he looked at me and muttered something as intelligible as his acceptance speech at the Grammy's around that time. I was thrilled!

Mother walked up then, and I told her I couldn't believe I just saw Bob Dylan. "Who is Bob Dylan?" she asked.

"Who is Bob Dylan!! Who is Bob Dylan!! He's only one of the best songwriters ever! He's also a folk singer and a legend!" I couldn't believe she hadn't heard of him at least. Where were some people during the 60's?

Then Mother looked at me in relief and sighed, "Thank goodness! I was afraid that was somebody you knew."