By: Martin Merritt, esq.
Past President, Texas Health Lawyers Association
Past Chair, DBA Health Law Section
martin@martinmerritt.com
“Please Tell Me you Didn’t. . . How to Keep Clients Out of the Jailhouse, Poorhouse and Lawyers Out of the Nuthouse” -Blog
As you can tell, I love talking about health law & litigation issues, and general wellbeing, if you have any health law questions or better yet, need to refer a case, just call or drop me an email and I will happily talk.
Today, I am preparing to time-travel home with my son and daughter from Dallas to Columbus, Mississippi, where I am going to perform an acoustic set of 1970s hits for my 45th high school reunion (James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot, etc.).
But the 1970s holds emotional scars for me, as it also brings back the memory of my parent’s hallway, which was a Wayne’s World “wall of shame”— photographs of us kids frozen in time in our most embarrassing fashion mistakes— in a decade that was nothing but a fashion mistake.
What made things worse, is that Columbus, Mississippi is a river town frozen in time, with ancient magnolia trees, antebellum homes and a postcard-perfect Main Street that looks exactly the same as it did 100 years ago. Frankly, lots of building in the south are “old” only because no one can afford to replace them.
But after a fashion born in 1970’s San Francisco, most little towns and their old main street stores had given way to “hippie” shops with black light posters, incense, lava lamps and bean bags for sale, which only made the abomination that was the 1970s stand out more against the backdrop of the Old South. This wasn’t a gradual change either. It happened overnight.
Before that, in the early 70s, we were still kids who wore clothes you would find on television’s Leave it to Beaver. Summer days were long, hot and lazy. Southern children didn’t think anything of going without shoes or shirts from June to September. We made our fun where we found it, out of whatever we had to hand. We climbed trees, we built forts and made Evil Knievel ramps out of plywood and dirt.
But the best part was swimming in the rivers. A dozen of us 10-12 year old’s would take off on our bikes down dirt roads to swim. Mostly in the rivers, but gravel pits would do in a pinch. We also did this without money, food, cell phones or adult supervision— about 14 hours every day.
Then, we kids grew up and went to high school where something wonderful happened— we discovered girls just about same the time Peter Frampton and Kiss “came alive.” More to the point, we discovered that we liked girls, and girls liked bands. So, we wanted to imitate them. We bought Sears Silvertone guitars and little tiny Fender Amps and tried to imitate what we saw to impress the girls.
The closest place to watch bands like Aerosmith or Boston for us in Mississippi was Rickwood Field in Birmingham, Alabama. Built in 1910, it is is now the oldest operating baseball park in America. The field’s longevity and the title “America’s Oldest” is really just a happy consequence of the fact that there was never a need to build anything larger to replace it.
But the best part for us, was that we got to stand in the outfield where they put the stage, 10 feet away from every band you could name from the 1970’s. Concert tickets cost $5.00 and were “general admission.” I don’t think in the 1970’s “expensive seats” were a thing anyone had thought of yet.
We just had to get there early and we could just walk right up to the stage and stake out a spot. And in our youth we could stand in one spot for hours without having to go pee. (I am talking to you, prostate).
And we were a sight, all “knees and elbows” in our ridiculous haircuts, crepe shoes with thick wavy soles, concert T shirts — clueless and awkward adolescent boys, standing right in front of the guy in Kansas singing “Dust in the Wind” or Bob Seger singing “Night Moves”— without having any idea who these guys were. (Leftoverture and Night Moves hadn’t made the charts yet.) We were hearing these songs for the first time, as they sang them live.
We saw Boston, when “More than a Feeling” was topping the charts, Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart, when they still had the guitarist who ran around on stage barefoot playing “Barracuda.” We saw Van Halen, when they still had David Lee Roth and AC/DC before Bon Scott died.
AC/DC was one of many “gimmick” bands in the 70s, they had this little guy running all over the stage in a schoolboy uniform. Alice Cooper had a guillotine. Cheap Trick was comprised of two handsome rock stars and two nerds, who looked as uncool as . . . well, “us.”
Most of the bands were just really talented —Rush, Aerosmith, Ted Nugent, Journey, Boston, Styx, Bad Company, The Isley Brothers— we couldn’t be them, but stood so close we felt we were “almost famous.” (Another 10 feet, and we would have made it.)
But then, we didn’t need to be “world famous,” we just needed to be good enough for Columbus, Mississippi. So, we practiced guitar every day and I did my best to sing at parties, but realized I probably needed to get a day job, so I went law school, and things worked out okay.
Then 45 years later — the phone rang and it was “Columbus, Mississippi” calling. I was the only one they could afford, seeing as I would do it for free. And that is how I came to be performing this Saturday for the Columbus High Class of 1980.
Sure, the high school girls I fancied 45 years ago are now grandmothers and great grandmothers. Its “circle of life” thing that you learn not to fight. And best of all, my kids will be there, whom we taught to have a better fashion sense than we did in the 70s.
And maybe that is the best a parent can do for a child— to tell them they will come to regret being photographed in some ridiculous fashion (they’ll thank you later.)