I walk through these rooms but none of them are mine

My mom's old high school yearbook has got me to thinking of how much things have changed since then.

I couldn't find an equivalent for 1939 prices, so the chart at right will have to do. And I don't think I need to post 2015 prices as a comparison; we all know what they are.

Of course, this is all ancient history, just as the yearbook is. Those days are gone, those prices are gone, and I've posted it only to give an indication of the world she (and my dad) lived in.

I don't know how much my grandparents made, but it wasn't a lot. Relatively speaking though, the cost of living vs. salaries then and today was most likely fairly equivalent; my point being that today the prices we pay are not really more onerous in comparison to salaries than they were in 1938.

Although I can dream of that price for gasoline.

The Hughesville of 1939 was probably not a whole lot different that I remember it in the 70s, although there was more commerce back then, including three furniture factories and an operating railroad. But there was no Lycoming Mall five miles away, and shopping was mostly self-contained within the borough. There were four churches, almost that many bars, and the county fair was the biggest event of the year. A proverbial small town, more than a bit gossipy, no diversity, and neighbors who cared about each other. People then were still talking about the time when Amelia Earhart mistook Hughesville for Bellefonte and stopped at the landing strip next to the fair grounds to refuel, eventually walking up town for lunch.

I assume the effects of the depression were still being felt in late '30s Hughesville. And, of course, Hitler and The Big One were on the horizon. But I still imagine that the 1939 graduates felt a fairly bright future was ahead of them

I have no way of knowing my mom's dreams at graduation -- I do know she went to work at the local 5&10, where she met my dad. And she seemed happy being a mom and housewife, but I can never be sure.

I wish I knew more.

So this is not a love note to the "The Good Old Days." At least not in the traditional notion of that phrase -- you know, less crime, easier pace, fewer worldly problems, you could let your kids out of the house by themselves, etc

However, in another sense, maybe it is sort of my peripheral love note and wispy remembrance: imagining a time when my parents were still alive, with an infinite future, and the promise of possibilities.

A runaway American dream

On the way to pick up burritos several weeks ago, Jack and I heard the entirety of "American Pie." It had been awhile and for some reason I had forgotten just how monumental this tune is.

I tried to explain its meaning, and Jack became more interested when told about the lyrical references to the Beatles. He likes a lot of different music (even hip-hop; I will start that deprogramming soon), and thought it was pretty great that there was a song about pies, a marching band, a plane crash, Chevys and the Beatles.

"American Pie" is one of the few songs that you knew was significant the first time you heard it, like "Johnny B. Goode,""Layla," "Hey Jude, "Born to Run" and "Jumping Jack Flash," just for starters.

The members of my high school prom committee also knew it was important, even if they didn't really know why. The prom theme was "American Pie" and memories are sketchy except for this big one: The shop guys used an acetylene torch to take apart an old Chevy and then reassembled it in the middle of the gym floor. A quite literal interpretation of at least one part of the song -- Jack would have thought it was really cool.

The only other things I remember is that the band consisted of a combo led by our sax-playing Spanish teacher, who was a little too much Boots Randolph and not enough Jr. Walker or Clarence Clemons.

Oh, and my robin-egg blue tux and yellow frilly shirt. Jack would have thought that was cool too.
Looking back, maybe it was.

Same old story, same old act

He had a mile-high pompadour. He wore too tight Memphis truck-driver cuffed jeans. He was quiet and unfailingly polite, with plenty of “yes sirs” and “no ma’ams.” Whenever you saw him, there were strains of “Love Me Tender” and “Don’t be Cruel” in the air.

The King?

No, our sometimes bus driver in high school – the man we called, somewhat derisively, “Teen Angel.”

"Teen Angel" drove us to many basketball and football games, along with other school outings, always accompanied by his ‘50s 8 tracks. Lots of Elvis, of course. But plenty of doo-wop, rockabilly, and Buddy Holly too.

We thought this was thoroughly unhip. His nonsense was taking the place of our Chicago, Jethro Tull and Yes.

Now, I realize he was making a statement. "Teen Angel" knew his music and era were better, and he didn’t care what any pimply-faced high school kids thought of him or his tunes.

I bring this up because we were all out for a drive trying to get Ruby to sleep the other night and I had the local oldies AM station on the radio. Now, this station is little too much Patti Page and not enough Little Richard, but it is still light years ahead of most everything else on the dial.

And my wife immediately referred to it, somewhat derisively, as “old-man’s music.”

Well, of course I am old, and I guess nothing (other than my ever-increasing aches and pains) exemplifies that more than my music.

But I’m proud to be stuck in the past. Like "Teen Angel," I guess I’m an anachronism.

Now I need to go work on my pompadour.

"Teen Angel," wherever you are, this is for you:

Tex Rubinowitz – Hot Rod Man/Bad Boy

I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

As if attending a high school reunion and seeing old friends that I hadn't seen in 30-plus years wasn't enough to remind me of the creeping hands of time, Bruce Springsteen is on the cover of AARP Magazine.

AARP??? Isn't that for old people?

Anyway, here's one for all my old classmates at Hughesville High School.