Back to the Swinging Sixties: talkin’ ‘bout my generation

Paula Shablo: If you could time travel without consequence (no timeline continuum issues, no changing the future by sneezing) where would you like to visit and why?

Even today, knowing what I’ve become, my childhood of the 1960s remains my happiest decade. No pressures on grades or looks. No discussions of promotions, marriages, or children. It was a blissful period filled with endless days listening to The Sound of Music soundtrack on my child’s record player. Listening to my mother read a Dr. Seuss book to me when it arrived in the mail. (Anticipation of my numerous book orders from Amazon and Alibris in later years?) Flipping through Mom’s art books in the tiny room adjoining the kitchen as she cooked. Going to the park a block away, or paying a visit to the nearby Bronx Zoo and Botanical Garden–sometimes on the same day! Picnics by the Hudson and bumper car rides at Palisades Park in the summer. It was my very own age of Aquarius.

Now, as a cultural historian who has focused most of her research on the 1790s, I guess I’d love to return to the 1960s for which Wordsworth’s words on the French Revolution could be easily applied: “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,/ But to be young was very heaven!”

What a great period as far as the fashion, music, and politics were concerned — even if I was not old enough to grasp their meanings then. I suppose I wrote the essay, “I can’t wait to be 18” when I was eight simply because I couldn’t wait to wear the beehives, flips, keyhole dresses, and go-go boots which were hot — or rather, “cool.” Later on, I would envy those old enough to watch Disney’s Fantasia high on acid and ‘shrooms. Far out, man!

Today, I like the fact that the Ronettes’ “Be my Baby” was released not too long after I was born. As for Lesley Gore’s “You don’t own me” released in December 1963, well, that’s become my anthem. Hearing the Spiral Starecase’s “More Today than Yesterday” brings back memories of Mom and I having a snack at Chock Full o’ Nuts not far from our apartment while the opening bars of Petula Clark’s “Downtown” stir up memories of the many subway rides we took to Manhattan on sunny days. And as recently as April, I would sing “Georgy Girl” to sing to my cat, the late Duchess Georgiana aka Georgie, and “Love grows where my Rosemary Grows.” Then there’s the Cowsills’ dreamy “The Rain, the Park, and Other Things” which brings back visions of Central Park, filled with flower children and hippies. These were all songs I was already familiar with by the age of ten. No wonder I gravitated to Fleetwood Mac and Heart in my teens with their 60s vibe! (Hmmm…did the Archies’ “Sugar, sugar” mutate to Abba’s “Honey, honey?”)

But I was hardly aware of the turmoil that was roiling around me–and in a few cases, not too far from where I lived. Riveting and tragic events seemed to take place at a fast clip. I think of Martin Luther King, Jr. giving his famous “I have a Dream” speech only a month or so after I was born. John F. Kennedy shot when I was four months old. The Civil Rights Act passed in 1964, guaranteeing people of color — like me — my rights. The Immigration Act of 1965 allowing Asians — like my parents — to become citizens. Malcolm X shot in Harlem when I was not yet two. Noam Chomsky criticizing the Vietnam War in the pages of the New York Review of Books, not to mention Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, and Allen Ginsberg attempting to exorcise and levitate the Pentagon the year I turned four. MLK and Robert F. Kennedy assassinated before my fifth birthday. The women’s march in downtown Manhattan not long after where bras were said to be burned. (At the age of 5, I probably didn’t know what a bra was.)

Let’s not forget those important publications of the decade too. Malcolm X’s autobiography (1965). Betty Friedan’s Feminine Mystique (1963) and Valerie Solanas’ SCUM Manifesto (1967), which paved the way for “women’s liberation.” Or “Women’s lib” as it was commonly referred to. I was only barely old enough to understand the meaning of Helen Reddy’s “I am Woman” by the time it became a hit in 1972 as all the girls and their mothers around me–including mine–sang along to it. Yes, hear me roar!

And now I think back to those days. Did my parents ever discuss these events? What did they think of the Vietnam war which was still widely approved by Americans, despite the anti-war movement among college students–especially since Vietnam was taking place not too distant from Taiwan? Was their marriage strained by the inflation of the early 70s especially when the engineering department at NYU went kaput and my father had to search for a tenure-track position all over again? And what did they make of Roe v. Wade?

But those of my generation, the tail-end Baby Boomers–or what is now being called “Generation Jones” — missed out on much of this except for whatever we gleaned from the news, our parents, or classrooms. We are said to be more cynical, having seen how so much went sour not long afterwards: Watergate, the energy crisis, the Iran hostage, yuppies, and then…the “internets.” Our world then was simply Scooby Doo, Wonderama, Nancy Drews, Hardy Boys, Dawn dolls, Barbies, and G.I Joes.

I suppose there is a silver lining somewhere. The “internets” now allow me to revisit and fantasize about the 60s in a way I never thought imaginable. I can read and listen to the most memorable speeches of the period. I can listen to the music and discover even more from that decade. And I can sit at home like the Rolling Stones, imagining the world has stopped and telling anyone who disturbs my musings, hey, you, get off my cloud!

(P.S. I was two when that was released!)

https://readmedium.com/the-challenged-august-daily-prompts-10474da3bdbd