Nosmo King
Gold Member
There has been agism round these here parts. I was born on January 29, 1957. I was a slobbering, toddling cutie oblivious to anything outside my line of sight.
I started to pay attention during the Mercury space shots. Lots of fire and adventure and science for a curious five year old. Alan Shepherd had donned that cool space suit and rode the rocket into space. Then, later in October, the missle crisis had the grownups talking about the emd of the world. Ya kinda pay attention, especially if you just saw how a rocket works.
Then the staggering day in November of 1963. I was home from school that day. Down with hives and slurping up tomato soup by the mug. Mom told me what happened in Dallas. It turned out they dismissed school an hour early and I watched my friends climb May St. hill on their way home.
Now, to a seven year old, the philosophy of life is elegantly simple. Every cloud has a silver lining. Early in February we went down to Grandpa's, Pop's dad, to watch his brand new color TV. A Zenith with a picture tube that was actually oval. Not elliptical, but had straight horizontal lines top and bottom framing the tube. But the sides were curved, like parenthesis or a goldfish bowl.
But the TV was just a tool so we could see Ed Sullivan show us what these "Beatles" were all about. And it seemed like buckets of dyes and inks and paints were thrown out on the street from fast moving vehicles. The Sixties were in town and the Sixties were primarily about color and light. Color through the psychedelic imagery of Peter Max. The guitar of Jimi Hendrix was colorful, soulful and innovative. We all lived in a yellow submarine.
By the end of 1968 we had had about enough. That year held more history than a year should bear. From the Tet Offensive in January to The Apollo Eight crew reading Genesis on Christmas Eve from a lunar orbit, 1968 must be bookmarked in our hearts as a year to remember.
As the man said, may you live in interesting times.
I started to pay attention during the Mercury space shots. Lots of fire and adventure and science for a curious five year old. Alan Shepherd had donned that cool space suit and rode the rocket into space. Then, later in October, the missle crisis had the grownups talking about the emd of the world. Ya kinda pay attention, especially if you just saw how a rocket works.
Then the staggering day in November of 1963. I was home from school that day. Down with hives and slurping up tomato soup by the mug. Mom told me what happened in Dallas. It turned out they dismissed school an hour early and I watched my friends climb May St. hill on their way home.
Now, to a seven year old, the philosophy of life is elegantly simple. Every cloud has a silver lining. Early in February we went down to Grandpa's, Pop's dad, to watch his brand new color TV. A Zenith with a picture tube that was actually oval. Not elliptical, but had straight horizontal lines top and bottom framing the tube. But the sides were curved, like parenthesis or a goldfish bowl.
But the TV was just a tool so we could see Ed Sullivan show us what these "Beatles" were all about. And it seemed like buckets of dyes and inks and paints were thrown out on the street from fast moving vehicles. The Sixties were in town and the Sixties were primarily about color and light. Color through the psychedelic imagery of Peter Max. The guitar of Jimi Hendrix was colorful, soulful and innovative. We all lived in a yellow submarine.
By the end of 1968 we had had about enough. That year held more history than a year should bear. From the Tet Offensive in January to The Apollo Eight crew reading Genesis on Christmas Eve from a lunar orbit, 1968 must be bookmarked in our hearts as a year to remember.
As the man said, may you live in interesting times.
