There are journaling exercises I perform where memories are activated by songs played on iTunes. Recently, I’ve been playing pre-selected pop hits from the 60s, 70s and even some 80s. Sometimes, I’ll seek out a certain week or month to activate memories of specific events. I’ve written about this before but lately I’ve really been fascinated by just how many memories are recalled with these exercises. I guess the memories have been there—lodged in my subconscious all these years—but it’s the songs that bring them to the surface.
I’ve written about 1976 previously on this blog but it keeps coming back because it was such a special year—personally and nationally. As far as the world stage is considered, I’m not very knowledgeable about events from that year but nationally, the country’s Bicentennial celebration was well underway. The year began with the second half of my 6th grade year at Holy Rosary Grade School and ended with the first half of my 7th grade year—same school. In between, the summer of 1976 was the pinnacle of national fervor over the Bicentennial, culminating on July 4th with spectacular televised fireworks from every U.S. city broadcast on TV. I was particularly impressed with images of The Statue of Liberty in New York harbor with the glistening towers of The World Trade Center dominating lower Manhattan. I was beginning to have a keen interest in architecture at this time. I probably would have followed that path later in life if I’d not been hampered by an arithmetic aptitude disorder (undiagnosed until I was in my 30s) and a general aversion to anything that involved…well..work. The President of the U.S. at that time was Gerald Ford. The economy was in shambles and, from my distanced perspective as an astute couch historian, the country was on its way down. Handed to Jimmy Carter with the election later that year, his inability to improve things would ensure he lasted one term.
My homeroom teacher at the beginning of the year was Sister Jude Marie (see “Sister Jude Marie,” “Eating Words” July, 2018) and she was the best possible teacher to have been assigned for fragility wrought by the tragedy of the previous year (see “Peace, Denny” from “Eating Words” May, 2018). My mother had written to my oldest brother (then in college) stating, “Tommy is enjoying his teacher this year. Sister told him that his artwork for the Bicentennial contest was good and he was happy.” I think Sister Jude Marie recognized what was best in each student and encouraged it. I remember the fact that she wasn’t easygoing and could be hard on me but it was a strategy I needed. I was generally very lazy when it came to academics and I benefitted from a dose of discipline though I didn’t recognize it at the time.
In June of that year, my parents took me and my sister Amy to the commencement ceremony of my oldest sister’s then fiancé, who was graduating from the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. Doug was a good-looking, farm-bred small town boy who had the added benefit of smarts. He was always nice to me and would frequently send letters while he was attending the academy. I was happy to get them and he encouraged my then interest in all things dinosaur. At the time, he would stimulate my interest in archaeology—sending newspaper clippings about new discoveries. Once, he also sent a computer-generated banner with each letter of my name made up of hundreds of each letter in smaller font to spell it out. I kept it on my bulletin board for years even after he broke the wedding engagement with my sister, Mary. The break-up devastated her and I remember very clearly feeling empathy (a childhood rarity for me) in regards to the separation.
I often think of my parents’ struggles during this time period. Dad was 51 and still working as a railway clerk at what was by that time changing names from Penn Central to Conrail. When he began working for the railroad, it was simply The Pennsylvania Railroad. In the early 1970s, bankruptcy forced a re-structuring but things didn’t improve. A reorganization court ordered the railroad to develop a plan to save Penn Central. The result was Conrail—owned by the U. S. government—nationalized on April 1st of 1976. Dad would eventually retire from Conrail in 1985. The intervening years—including this critical year of 1976—didn’t do anything to assuage what I now know to be my father’s real fears regarding job security. Mom, 53, had a few years left as a homemaker before she would get a part-time job as a dietician at a hospital in a neighboring town. She would often complain about money—or lack thereof—and impatiently waited for multiple household improvement projects which would be put on hold repeatedly. The money just wasn’t there. She wanted simple things like wall-to-wall carpet (a mid-70s staple, as ubiquitous as faux wood paneling) and a modernized kitchen. I can remember the proverbial shit hitting the fan when my father purchased a boat that year. It sat propped up in our backyard nine months out of the year. My mother would stare out of her 50s-era outfitted kitchen window muttering “there’s my new kitchen” as she glared at that boat.
I spent the year oblivious to such things as money. I wished
I could skip turning 12 in November and just move right into my teenage years.
I couldn’t wait to grow up. Now I wish I could go back to those carefree days just
to afford appropriate cherishment. As for the actual Bicentennial celebration…for
all the buildup, it was sort of “blah"--kind of like the song that's playing as I wrap this up: "Afternoon Delight" by one-hit wonder Starland Vocal Band. Infectious but not memorable.
(click for link to video)
