1964
the past is part of the future
You say, "Yes", I say, "No"
You say, "Stop" and I say, "Go, go, go"
Oh, no!
It was sentimental and uplifting. Paul McCartney singing his song with Colbert and the show’s Joy Machine band was a true parting gift for the fans and viewers of Late Night with Stephen Colbert. Many of us, now elders, have grown up with McCartney as a cultural icon we have known since we were kids and he was a teen.
McCartney gifted Colbert a framed photo of the Beatles on stage with Ed Sullivan in that legendary theater sixty-two years ago and a flood of 1964 comes to visit.
I am not a huge fan of excessive nostalgic looks at the past but today is Memorial Day. A day to remember those who died in service to country, the occasion has become more of an all-purpose day of remembrance to include all who ever served and a general patriotic moment of flag waving—kickoff to summer festive gatherings.
When I was a kid, we stood on my grandmother’s front porch to watch the Memorial Day Parade. There were firemen, marching bands and baton twirlers, something I was especially fascinated with in 1964. The Majorettes wore white tasseled boots, cropped attire and tall hats as they demonstrated their twirling skills. Such events appear corny these days—so many traditions of that era feel that way now.
As a sixth grader in a suburban public school just outside Buffalo, we had recently experienced the news of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination in November of 1963, a confusing moment for someone not quite ready to understand the complications of politics.
Then something wonderful happened to grab our attention as 1964 came around...
Peggy was in my class at school and lived in the house behind us. Dad had removed a couple slats from the picket fence separating our back yards so that we could easily lift them on and off to go back and forth. Mom was driving us somewhere in the car when a song came on the radio and she excitedly explained that this band from England was becoming very popular.
We heard I Want to Hold Your Hand for the first time.
Within days, Peggy and I visited the mall and headed up to the Record Department at Sattler’s Department Store where we each bought a copy of the new 45 rpm Capital record. It did not cost more that seventy-five cents.
My first record album had been Chubby Checkers—Do the Twist. My parents were still young enough to play my record and give the dance a try at one of their parties. There was laughter the next morning about the tiny spots of blood on the carpet left by the women dancing in their stocking feet.
The Beatles music was a big step in a new direction. Soon after I bought that first single, my father returned from a work meeting someplace near New York City with a gift—a record album titled Introducing the Beatles. It had come out just days before the more well-known Meet the Beatles with their teenage faces, freshly mop-cropped hair and black turtlenecks. I received that one later on as a birthday gift.
It did not take long for my little group of friends (Peggy, Holly, Shaun) to spend much of our free time playing the new records and dancing in the living room, practicing the latest dance moves. I had been learning to dance for a few years already from my babysitters and American Bandstand.
By February 9th of 1964, we were thrilled to gather in front of the television with most other Americans to watch The Beatles play on the stage of the Ed Sullivan Show. Not long after that, I began buying teen magazines with my allowance. The framed bedtime prayer and ballerina that hung on my wall were soon taped over with photos of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.
Curiously, Stephen Colbert was born that Spring (May 13, 1964) and must have heard the music playing as a baby with ten older siblings.
That summer after sixth grade, Peggy and I began scheming about taking a bus down to Washington DC to stay a few days with my Aunt Penny, who appeared to be living an exciting life as a single gal with a job and apartment. Our parents implied that if we could save up the money for bus tickets, the idea might be revisited.
That July was a historic time as President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the long-awaited Civil Rights Act into law. Aunt Penny was a strong advocate for this and promoted the idea clearly to her nieces and nephews. As the Vietnam War heated up, Johnson’s popularity would plummet, but that summer, he was known for something good. Now, sixty-two years later, human rights are under attack in new ways.
At age twelve, I was only vaguely aware of these things. The approaching new status as a junior high school girl and the world of rock and roll took over my focus. Peggy and I each managed to do enough chores to save up for the purchase our $10 roundtrip bus tickets and our parents approved the plan for an August adventure before the start of school.
I recall the extreme heat during a time when air conditioning was rare and eating Mexican food for the first time, along with a couple memorable events.
On our first day, my aunt went off to her job at the Department of Statistics and gave us instructions to walk a few blocks to The Smithsonian Museum. That plan was quickly disbanded when we walked past a movie Theater showing A Hard Day’s Night. We had heard about it, but the film was not yet available in our area. We bought our $1 tickets and join the audience of excited youth—screaming and crying just like on The Ed Sullivan Show.
Aunt Penny’s friend, Beverly, happened to work at the White House and arranged for us to receive a private tour the next day. After seeing the photos posted of Jackie Kennedy’s renovations and decorating in Life magazine, I had an idea of how it might look. However, it felt way bigger, just like seeing The Beatles on a movie screen gave them instant celebrity status.
During the tour, we received a surprise when Beverly opened the door to The Rose Garden to discover President Johnson standing in the corner speaking with another man. He turned to us and waved. I have been talking about that small moment for years—six degrees from ordinary.
The Beatles broke up in 1970. McCartney and the others went on to perform in their own ways. Still, the special time of The Beatles endures. I enjoy Stephen Colbert’s brand of smart entertainment. I see the highlighted show clips on You Tube. Like a lot of people, I have paid more attention to him since hearing of his show cancellation. His talents have become larger than life in the shadow of the looming end. That chapter is over now but my memory snapshots from 1964 sparked by his final show bounce within me on this perfect sunny Memorial Day when I am seventy-four, not twelve.
~~~~~~
