People – Page 9 – I Remember JFK: A Baby Boomer's Pleasant Reminiscing Spot

1960’s Predictions about Today

We grew up in the Jet Age. The Computer Age. The Space Age. Cars were getting longer, sleeker, and faster. The world, too, was moving more and more rapidly. What on earth would the future be like over thirty long years distant?

One prediction was made by Philco-Ford in 1967. Click on the video to see for yourself how close they came.

Naturally, we’ll all have flying cars in the future.

By the way, that guy who cringes when he pays his wife’s bill electronically is actually future game show host Wink Martindale.

All in all, this was a pretty impressive stab at how the computerized home of the future would be run. We probably would have been on Mars by now if we hadn’t decided that wasting money on space flight wasn’t less important than solving our problems on Earth.

BTW, how did that work out?

It has long been a human impulse to predict the future. George Orwell (who might have needed Lexapro 😉 predicted a cold, repressive society where your every move was watched by the governmental authorities. While some might argue that he wasn’t far off, the argument could also be made that he missed it by a mile.

Jules Verne penned Paris in the Twentieth Century in 1863, about life a hundred years hence. It too predicted a dominating government which subsidized the arts, demanding that they be simple enough for the most uneducated to understand. He also mentioned gasoline-powered automobiles, calculators, society’s strong dependence on electricity, high speed trains, and “a worldwide “telegraphic” communications network” that sounded very much like our beloved internet.

But back in the sixties, many of humankind saw themselves surviving into the next century. I was born in 1959, and I can remember looking at my father and realizing that when I was his age, it would be 2000. Profound stuff for a kid to ponder, to be sure.

What would the world be like then? Well, we would certainly be on our way to visit Jupiter with the aid of cold-storage hibernation and a sophisticated computer running the spaceship. 2001, a Space Odyssey was simply too realistic to be be inaccurate. So I took that for granted, along with future commercial travel to and from the moon. Actually, that plan is in the works, albeit in its infancy.

Another source of future speculation, at least for us youngsters, was the Jetsons. We looked forward to zipping around in our own rocket cars and having the robot maid cleaning up the various messes we would make. Indeed, many predictions about life in the 21st century revolved around, not whether we would fly to local destinations, but HOW. Would it be flying cars? Personal helicopters? Jet packs strapped to our backs?

Actually, the jet pack was around in the 1960’s. The Bell Rocket Pack was seen in James Bond movies, Lost in Space, and at live demonstrations at Disneyland. But I wouldn’t call it a common form of transportation today, even though a few private individuals own their own rocket packs.

So here we are. Some of the things we do would be viewed in amazement by our youthful selves 30-40 years ago. Yet, all in all, life in the 21st century really doesn’t look a whole lot different from life in 1967.

Tiny Tim

The date he was born was April 12, 1932. His parents were a Lebanese man and a Jewish woman. When he was five years old, his father brought home an old wind-up gramophone and a record of Henry Burr singing “Beautiful Ohio.” Later, more old records were obtained. Young Herbert Khaury fell in love with the old songs, stretching back to the early 20th century. He soon became an authority on early popular music that made it onto 78’s.

Herbert obtained a ukulele and learned to play it. He would spend hours singing the old refrains in his natural mid-baritone voice. By the mid 1950’s, he was playing in small clubs throughout New York. Sometimes the crowds would laugh at him. Sometimes they would laugh WITH him. And sometimes, he would simply bowl them over with his unconventional appearance and his ukulele.

In 1968, a rather strange film was released called You Are What You Eat. The movie was a celebration of the Flower Power generation and their music, and featured performances by the likes of David Crosby, Frank Zappa, Barry McGuire, and a narrator/performer who had, in 1962, begun calling himself Tiny Tim. One particularly memorable performance involved Tiny Tim and a female singer performing “I Got You Babe,” with Tim singing Cher’s lines in falsetto, Eleanor Barooshian singing Sonny’s lines in baritone.

The film was spotted by the producers of Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, who booked Tiny Tim for an appearance.

He was an absolute sensation. TV audiences had never seen anything like the gentle long-haired singer with the pasty white makeup and the voice that went places that a voice simply wasn’t supposed to go. I hesitate to post YouTube links, the way they get yanked for various silly copyright objections, but look for footage of Laugh-In appearances by Mr. Tim.

Again, many in the audience laughed at him, but many others were taken by his unconventional talent. And sadly, not many of them delved deeper to discover the encyclopedic knowledge of 20th century popular music that the man possessed.

Tiny Tim’s handshake brings John Wayne to his knees on Laugh-In

The Laugh-In appearances led to more on the likes of Sullivan’s, Jackie Gleason’s, and Carson’s shows. Comedians feasted on Tiny Tim and spread his fame even farther. By 1969, he was one of the most recognizable performers the world had ever heard of. Far from a one-shot wonder, his popularity grew as the 60’s progressed.

He released three albums during the decade, which sold modestly well. His single “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” sold 200,000 copies. In 1969, he announced that he was getting married to his girlfriend, Miss Vicki, on the Tonight Show.

On December 12th of that year, 40 million viewers tuned in to hear the couple recite their self-written vows to each other.

Tiny Tim and Miss Vickie get married on the Tonight Show

The couple had a daughter, Tulip, before their marriage collapsed eight years later. One Laugh-In gag I recall fondly was that “they are planning on having three children, one of each.”

The 1970’s saw the public fascination with Tiny Tim waning. However, he had one triumphant final appearance that had him on top of the world. It was at the Isle of Wight Music festival in August of 1970. Some 600,000 people went crazy when, at the climax of his set, he sang “There’ll Always Be an England” through a megaphone, Rudy Vallee-style.

As the decade wore on, he continued to grab whatever gigs he could find. He had good success in Vegas. Alas, he was as naive as his stage persona, and he didn’t end up making a whole lot of money from his shows. In 1994, he even joined a circus for a few months. In 1995, his profile once again began to be raised in the public perception, with appearances on Howard Stern’s radio show and Late Night with Conan O’Brien. He also landed a role in Stern’s movie Private Parts.

In November, 1996, while playing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” at an appearance at the Women’s Club of Minneapolis, he suffered a heart attack on stage and was later pronounced dead at the hospital.

Thus ended the tale of a sweet, naive individual who achieved far more than fifteen minutes of fame, who greatly enjoyed what he did, and who left a legacy of doing your own thing, no matter how unorthodox.

The King Is Dead

I had just walked into the house after playing a round of golf. Mom hollered “Elvis is dead!”

There was no need to ask Elvis who. There was only one Elvis back then, and many feel the name should be retired, like Jackie Robinson’s number.

Elvis Aron Presley was born in Tupelo, Mississippi on January 8, 1935. While no Boomer himself, there’s no estimating just how great an effect he had on our generation. More’s the pity he was robbed of the chance to completely own the music business, instead being coerced by his controlling manager into appearing in a long string of cheesy movies through the 60’s, wasting time that should have been spent in the recording studio.

Elvis exploded onto the scene with hit singles released by legendary Sun Records. His career was launched into overdrive by triumphant (and controversial for the time) appearances on Ed Sullivan. He truly was rock and roll to a generation of Boomers a bit older than me.

Then, Uncle Sam called. On December 20, 1957, Elvis opened his mail to find a draft notice. We didn’t know it then, but the King of Rock and Roll would never be the same.

Serving in Germany, Elvis discovered amphetamines. They would keep you going when you were short of sleep. Elvis was an instant fan, and they accompanied him right to the grave, along with a host of other prescription drugs obtained for him by Colonel Parker.

But it wasn’t the drugs that took Elvis’s brilliant edge off that was so cutting from 1955-1957. It was his greedy manager, who saw more cash flow from Elvis the actor instead of Elvis the rocker. So he convinced Presley it was in his best interests (it was certainly in Parker’s) to back off of cutting records and spend more time making movies. Songs like Heartbreak Hotel, Hound Dog, and Love Me Tender will endure for the ages. Movies like Charro!, Tickle Me, and Kid Galahad won’t.

Elvis towards the end of his life, his doctor behind him

But in 1968, Elvis, dissatisfied about his downhill career slide, signed a deal with NBC to produce a television show called simply Elvis. It later came to be known as the ’68 Comeback Special. The King, whose record sales and movie receipts were way down from previous highs, wowed TV audiences with a smash hit show that was also artistically praised by the critics. Elvis was back.

He went on the road, playing all over the country, but performed numerous times in Las Vegas. His later career was marked by his white outfit onstage at the big Vegas casinos. As Neil Young sang in He Was the King, the blue-haired ladies screamed.

But the whole time, he was on a veritable cocktail of uppers, downers, and everything in between that was available at the local pharmacy. Colonel Parker might have slowed down the flow of drugs if he had envisioned the early death of his cash cow, but he kept Elvis richly supplied with everything the King asked for.

On August 16, 1977, it all caught up with him. He was found dead in the toilet.

I wish I had known Elvis the rocker. Jailhouse Rock, one of his few cinematic jewels, gives me an idea of how this man turned the world of music upside down. So does footage of the Sullivan appearances. But, sadly, the Elvis I remember was the one who sang those bad songs in those bad movies, and who died at the age of 42 looking like he was twice that old.

I blame a sponging, dominating, self-centered agent, and Elvis’s poor judgment in sticking with him.

The Day the Music Died

You want to hear something weird? While pondering column ideas this morning, the thought of Buddy Holly popped into my head. Being a Don McLean fan, I thought “why not write about the the day the music died?” So I set out to go to work.

It was after I had invested a half hour of my time that I finally realized that the infamous plane crash occurred 49 years this very day (Feb. 3, presstime).

Strange, wouldn’t you say?

Anyhow, rock and roll music, still in its infancy, received a shot in the arm of pure immortality that unfortunate day so long ago when three talented musicians, as well as a pilot, gave up their lives in a frozen Iowa cornfield. Many of us were too young to remember it, but the genre, which might have passed the way of other musical crazes, was cemented in place as the voice of not only the current generation, but that of future ones as well.

Buddy Holly, inspired by seeing Elvis perform live in 1955, began playing clubs in hometown Lubbock, Texas shortly afterward. Within a few months, he appeared on Presley’s bill during a tour stop in Lubbock. Soon, he was cutting records at Norman Petty’s studio at Clovis, New Mexico with his newly formed backup group, The Crickets.

Artists have long been exploited by music industry fatcats, and Holly was no exception. Petty tried to muscle in on Holly’s royalties by claiming to be a cowriter of his lyrics. This was a fairly common practice among producers at the time. Well, Buddy got tired of it and moved to New York.

Litigation took place between Holy and Petty, and the artist felt a cash crunch. So the wildly successful musician agreed to take part in the Winter Dance Party Tour just so he could pay the bills.

In the meantime, Ricardo Valenzuela, born in California, had found an ear for his Latino-tinged brand of rock and roll. La Bamba, a traditional song, was a massive 1958 hit when the artist, now known as Ritchie Valens, belted it out. When he got invited to join the Winter Dance Party Tour, he jumped aboard.

Jiles Perry (J.P.) Richardson, Jr. was a successful disc jockey who was imbued with musical talent himself. He wrote a song called White Lightnin‘ which turned out to be a #1 hit for George Jones. He also wrote a novelty hit called Running Bear which was one of my favorite songs when I was a kid.

In 1958, he recorded a song he had written called Chantilly Lace. He had previously invented a DJ-singer persona called The Big Bopper, and that’s who was credited as the song’s performer. The song peaked at #6, and The Big Bopper also said yes to the 1959 winter tour.

Dion and the Belmonts also joined up, and the tour was on its way.

It was the dead of winter, and the buses used to transport the artists had no heat. Drummer Carl Bunch ended up in the hospital with frostbitten feet. Disgusted, Holly chartered a plane to fly from Clear Lake, Iowa to Fargo, ND. The single-engine Beechcraft Bonanza had room for three passengers, and after begging, cajoling, and coin-flipping had taken place, the seats were occupied by Holly, Valens, and The Big Bopper.

The plane crashed shortly after takeoff, and, for better or worse, legends were born.

Holly was amazingly prolific during his short time. He wrote and performed nearly a hundred songs in two years, and many have been re-recorded by artists hundreds of times. One wonders what he, as well as Valens and The Big Bopper, might have accomplished with just a little more time.

By the way, if you find yourself in Vegas, stop in at the Hard Rock cafe to see some amazing candid color photos of Buddy.

Sing Along with Mitch

On Independence Day, 1911, Mitchell William Miller was born in Rochester, New York. Naturally gifted at music, Miller went to the Eastman School of Music, where he excelled in the oboe and English horn. By the 1930’s and 40’s, he was working as a session musician, backing up many of the most famous artists of the day. In 1938, he was playing in the studio orchestra as Orson Welles was scaring the daylights out of our parents with his War of the Worlds broadcast.

Mitch got into the record production business. He proved to be a prolific producer of hits that, once again, our parents listened to. His first smash was Frankie Laine’s Mule Train.

In 1961, he became the host of Sing Along with Mitch. It was a very mainstream effort at keeping families singing together just like they had done in the previous decades. And, in fact, it was quite successful, lasting three seasons.

Once upon a time, families gathered around the radio to hear music. Woody Allen’s wonderful, overlooked classic film Radio Days summarizes the era perfectly. It seems strange today, when I listen to Neil Young and Bruce Springsteen, and my son listens to Green day and Radiohead, and neither of us has a clue what the other’s favorites are all about. But, then again, we both listen to Counting Crows, so there’s hope.

Mitch was judged by many to be an anti-rock and roll zealot. But the accusation simply doesn’t hold water.

Mitch stuck with his favorite music. While he didn’t go out of his way to promote the new sounds, that certainly didn’t make him an enemy. In fact, while heading Columbia Records, he tried to sign Elvis, but chose not to take up manager Colonel Parker’s offer. Nobody can fault him for not wanting to deal with a manipulative dictator.

Mitch lost his job at Columbia for not signing enough teen-popular acts, though. But his last hurrah was Sing Along with Mitch, where audiences at home were encouraged to follow the bouncing ball and join in with Mitch and His Gang.

The show was ridiculed by youngsters, one of the earliest manifestations of the Generation Gap. But I can only remember one song distinctly that I heard on the show, so many years ago. It was written by none other than Woodie Guthrie, held in such high esteem by Bob Dylan himself, who immortalized him in his own Song for Woody. The song was This Land Is Your Land.

Bruce Springsteen called this one of the first protest songs. And the fact that Mitch Miller encouraged all in the family, from Grandma to little Johnny, to sing it, tells me that this apparent middle-of-the-road music exec might have been just a bit more on the ball than the youngsters of the early 60’s might have thought.

BTW, Mitch is still around, 96 years young. Here’s to you, Mitch Miller. May you lead us with the bouncing ball for years to come. (update: Mitch died at the age of 99)

Rock Star Deaths

It’s a bit sad that death is so much a part of our Boomer memories. We learned at a very early age that famous people die. We also learned, through the Vietnam war, that loved ones die. And as we kids grew up listening to and loving rock and roll music, we likewise learned that the makers of that music die.

Airplane crashes have taken many musical stars from us. The first one to shake up the world of the newly-invented genre of rock and roll was the one that took Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper in 1959. Nine years later, Otis Redding took off in his own plane (his manager was the pilot) and ended up losing his life in an icy lake near Madison, Wisconsin. Thus was the world robbed of a rising star who had redefined soul music, and had in fact taken on the title of the King of Soul.

Otis was a clean-living family man who was raised in Georgia, and who never left his roots. However, the deaths that would soon follow would show the world that rock and roll music had transformed from innocence to worldliness as its participants found themselves at risk from deaths from decidedly hedonistic causes.

The victims were young people who found themselves thrust into the bright spotlight and simply had problems handling all of the success. While they struggled, they produced some of the most beautiful and prized art that the world has ever seen, art in the form of music.

Jimi Hendrix was born in Seattle, Washington in 1942. His father, a WWII veteran, instilled strong family values in him. Jimi got into some trouble later on, riding in a couple of stolen cars, and chose enlisting in the army over going to jail. He served for a year with the 101st Airborne Division, then left after (his own account) breaking his ankle and sustaining back injuries. Others claim that he was discharged for being an ineffective soldier. Hendrix bounced around for a while until Animals bassist Chas Chandler suggested he give England a try. Hendrix was practically an overnight success in Europe, and came back to the US triumphantly as leader of The Jimi Hendrix Experience.

The pressures of success, touring, and being in the public eye caused him to seek relief through alcohol and drugs. He kept things finely balanced for a time, generally appearing onstage sober enough to dazzle audiences with his talent, but eventually he overdosed in London on September 17, 1970, and the world lost the greatest guitarist in history.

In the meantime, a soulful blues singer by the name of Janis Joplin had been climbing the ladder of success. Born in 1943 in Port Arthur, Texas, she grew up listening to records of blues singers like Bessie Smith and Leadbelly, and soon found herself a social outcast for her liberal views on race relations, as well as her fascination with art, poetry, and reading, things that went against the grain of Texas teens in the 1950’s.

Janis was a rebel, and she began living her life in a self-destructive manner, similar to many of the blues artists she held in high regard. She was soon washing down speed with Southern Comfort, and by 1965, had a full-fledged addiction problem.

But she was also pouring out some of the most soulful music ever heard, and her popularity rose. She moved to San Francisco and joined a group called Big Brother and the Holding Company. While in the group, she developed a taste for heroin.

She would succeed in weaning herself off of the hardest drugs for a time, then once again succumb to temptation. Finally, just a couple of weeks after Jimi’s death, she overdosed on heroin and died.

According to the book No One Here Gets Out Alive, when Jim Morrison heard that Janis had passed, he told friends “You’re drinking with #3.”

Morrison was born in 1943 in Melbourne, Florida. Similar to Janis, he was tortured by personal demons at an early age. His father was in the military, and as a result Jim lived all over the country. He ended up graduating college from UCLA, and in 1965 formed The Doors. The group was successful from the start, playing Sunset Boulevard clubs like the Whisky a Go Go, and were soon selling hundreds of thousands of records.

As the group’s success rose, Morrison’s excesses followed along. Unlike Jimi Hendrix, Morrison would frequently be stoned or drunk during onstage performances, forcing the band to improvise around his inability to perform. On one particularly out-of-control evening in Miami, Florida, Morrison was arrested for indecent exposure onstage. The evidence was sketchy, and the case was never tried, but for a sinister reason.

On July 3, 1971, Jim’s alleged prophecy came true, and he died in a bathtub in Paris. Jimi, Janis, and Jim had all died at the age of 27.

They were the Big Three, but others also passed about this time. Brian Jones’ excesses had gotten him booted from the Rolling Stones, and he died soon afterwards (at the age of 27) in July, 1969. On October 29, 1971, Duane Allman, the undisputed top guitar player in the world after Jimi’s passing, died when a truck stopped abruptly in front of his Harley Sportster. Besides being a younger 24 years old, Duane was also not known for the same excesses in drugs and alcohol that had decimated the ranks of talent during this time. His death was simply a tragic accident.

Thus ended a very bad streak. Other musicians would die during the decade, including Keith Moon, John Bonham, and Bon Scott (actually he died in February 1980), but the stretch of years from 1967 to 1971 would be sadly remembered as a great thinning of the ranks of some of the greatest musical talent the world has ever known.

Rock and Roll Heaven must have a hell of a band.

Paul Is Dead

John Lennon made an infamous remark that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus. They weren’t that big, but this rumor which spread across the world like wildfire in the late 60’s showed that they were pretty darned big anyway.

The originator of the Paul Is Dead rumor (big enough that it deserves capitalization) is unknown. It really caught fire in 1969 when a caller identifying himself as Tom spoke to a deejay in Detroit outlining the evidence.

The mysterious caller said that Paul had died of a car crash in 1966, replaced by a similarly talented left-handed bassist who just happened to be a dead ringer (sorry about that) for the original Paul.

Now, we should have taken a massive reality check right there. But hey, urban legends were in their infancy. We still believed that Jerry Mathers was killed in Vietnam, for Pete’s sake.

Anyhow, the evidence that the caller presented was on albums that had been released after that fateful date. This included Paul sitting in a trunk (like a coffin) on Yesterday and Today, which was released BEFORE the accident allegedly took place. Oh well, a little foretelling of the future wouldn’t hurt this rolling snowball at all.

Sergeant Pepper is where the evidence began flowing like a waterfall. The band surrounding a grave on the cover, the mournful looking Madame Tussaud’s wax figures, Paul facing the wrong way on the back cover, O.P.D. on his sleeve (Officially Pronounced Dead), the opening words to “Good Morning, Good Morning” (Nothing to do to save his life, call his wife in), etc.etc.

The madness continued with Magical Mystery Tour (I buried Paul at the end of “Strawberry Fields Forever”) and Abbey Road (barefooted Paul marching across the road, English corpses are supposedly buried barefooted). There were literally hundreds of signs of Paul’s demise dug out by hysterical fans.

It was so bad that Life Magazine actually wrote an interview with Paul intended to debunk his death rumors. In the interview, Paul states “It’s all bloody stupid!”

However, the rumors continued to be whispered throughout my grade school as gospel truth. And adults fell for it as well.

The worst fallout from it all was the practice of playing records backwards to listen for hidden messages. This eventually resulted in accusations of Satan worship lyrics cleverly concealed in songs by many rock and roll artists. Oh brother.

I have to admit, though, it is pretty cool to hear what sounds exactly like “Turn me on, dead man” when number nine is played backwards, even on the Woodstock sound check!

Herb Alpert

Well, after the commentary on the previous installment of I Remember JFK, the subject of this week’s column was pretty obvious. The public wants Herb Alpert! And what the public wants, it gets, at least this time. 🙂

Herb Alpert was born on March 31, 1935. That makes him a bit too senior to be a Boomer, but he was a strong source of memories for the Boomer generation.

His father was a tailor who emigrated from Russia. His family loved music, and he grew up listening to his father play mandolin, his California-born mother play violin, his sister the piano, and his brother the drums. When Herb was eight, he decided that he wanted to learn the trumpet.

A prodigy he was not. It took Herb years to make the trumpet sound the way he wanted. But he patiently stuck with it, and by the time he was sixteen, he had formed a small band that played weddings, bar mitzvahs, and the like in his L.A. neighborhood.

Not yet convinced that music was his future, he enrolled at USC after high school and joined the gymnastics team. However, he also played with the Trojans’ marching band. In 1955, he was drafted into the army. He was able to grab local musical gigs during evenings to help support his new wife and family.

In 1957, Herb garnered a job as a songwriter for Keen records. He struck up a partnership with Lou Adler, who was also just starting out. Together, they penned some familiar refrains, including What a Wonderful World (with Sam Cooke), Alley Oop for the Hollywood Argyles, and Baby Talk for Jan and Dean.

Here’s fodder for you trivia fans: Herb tried his hand at acting, and landed a bit role blowing a shofar in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments. However, he decided that music was a better career move than the silver screen, much to the delight of us Boomers.

It was 1962 that saw him take a quantum leap in the field of music. In his garage/studio, he recorded a tune that featured crowd noise and his own layered horn playing. It was released as The Lonely Bull by The Tijuana Brass featuring Herb Alpert. Not only was the song a Top Twenty hit, but it was actually released by an independent record company that Herb and his pal Jerry Moss had founded. The company was known as Carnival Records, but would soon change its name to A&M.

Alpert saw his future producing Latin-tinged brass recordings. He cut several more songs and released the album The Lonely Bull. The Tijuana Brass was still just Herb, magically overdubbed in the studio.

The public clamored for live appearances, so Alpert hired a team of session musicians. Though the sound was distinctly south of the border, the TJB consisted of Italians, Jews, and one plain old American. Non-Latino comedian Bill Dana also frequently appeared in concerts.

With the luxury of controlling his own releases, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass cranked out hit single after hit single. The group also gained a bit of notoriety with the album cover for Whipped Cream and Other Delights, featuring a beautiful young lady clad in nothing but, yes, whipped cream.

The TJB’s mellow brass tunes punctuated Top Forty lists dominated by the British Invasion, protest music, and Woodstock generation hard rock. Their sound appealed to Boomers, their parents, and their grandparents. This was an amazing accomplishment in an era dominated by a generation gap.

A recent photo of Herb and his bride of 50 years, Lani

In 1969, Herb felt the need to change a few things in his life. That meant the end of the Tijuana Brass. It also meant a divorce, and marrying the new love in his life, musician Lani Hall. He began concentrating on running A&M Records and finding new talent. And find new talent he did.

During the 70’s, A&M signed and recorded Carpenters, Carole King, Billy Preston, Peter Frampton, Styx, and Supertramp, among many others.

However, the economic upheavals of the 70’s beat up on A&M like it did so many other corporate entities. In 1979, facing serious financial difficulties, its co-founder went back to his trumpet and the recording studio and came up with Rise. Not only did it top the charts, it was adopted as the theme for the 1980 Olympics. A&M would officially survive the 70’s.

The company continued to fly high through the 80’s. In 1987, they sold out to Polygram, with the understanding that Moss and Alpert would still call the shots. They did so until 1993, when they grew tired of dealing with corporate stupidity that has led directly to the RIAA-influenced/infected record business of today. Herb and Jerry bailed in time to watch the whole monstrous mess stagger towards its present day near-extinction.

The duo started another independent label, Almo Sounds, and they continue to find and sign new talent. Their biggest success is Garbage, a band that’s just a bit too new for an old goat like me to dig.

So here’s a hearty tip of the fedora to Herb Alpert: musician extraordinaire and record exec with a conscience. BTW, he and Lani are still together, happily married and touring. Perhaps one day the dying record industry will look at the success of this visionary and change. Nah, I don’t think so.

Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda

The incredible animation/musical extravaganza Fantasia was released in 1940. Among the classical songs performed was Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours. The dancing ostriches, hippos, and other cartoon fauna to the catchy tune made many a youngster a fan of the song.

One grownup noticed the potential of the timeless tune for possibly the greatest gag song ever written.

Allan Sherman was a familiar figure behind the scenes in Hollywood. He created and produced I’ve Got a Secret, a familiar show to us Boomers. At least he did until 1958, when he was unceremoniously dumped from the series.

Sherman didn’t let it get him down, though. Instead, he started freelancing in a completely different direction.

He loved producing silly song parodies just for kicks. And soon, friends in high places noticed. Well-connected in Hollywood, Sherman was encouraged by pals like Harpo Marx and George Burns to get a recording contract.

Friends with clout like his soon arranged it, and he recorded a well-received album called My Son, the Folk Singer in 1962. More than anything else, he lampooned his own Jewishness, and it was hilarious.

The next year, he wrote a ditty to be sung to the tune of Ponchielli’s masterpiece. It reached number two on the charts. And the definitive novelty song became a part of history.

Afterwards, anyone who would dare record a funny song, from Ray Stevens to Weird Al, would face having their work being compared to the greatest of all, Camp Granada. Needless to say, Dr. Demento noticed it, and gave it new life. In fact, the song overshadows many other great novelties that were hits for Sherman. This guy was no one-hit-wonder, make no mistake.

It’s just another great little thing about being a Baby Boomer, remembering when Camp Granada was originally hot on the charts.

The Day We Heard About a Bunch They Called the Harper Valley PTA

September 1968 was a time of unequalled tension in the US. Our fathers, brothers, sons, and friends were dying in Vietnam. We had endured the spring and summer assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy. LBJ had thrown in the towel. The Democratic national convention was marred by a massive, heavily televised riot.

It seemed like everyone was either killing, dying, or otherwise wreaking havoc, regardless of where they stood on any issues. Just who were the bad guys, anyway?

Songwriter extraordinaire Tom T. Hall, and beautiful, no-nonsense-voiced Jeannie C. Reilly let us know in no uncertain terms who the enemy truly was: self-righteous hypocrites.

It was just what we needed. The combined efforts of the two talents provided us with Harper Valley PTA, one of the most recognizable songs in history, and a crossover hit that made it to #1 on both the pop and country charts.

Tom T. Hall Was born in 1936. Despite his musical and songwriting talent, he was working as a deejay in 1963. His break came when Jimmy C. Newman recorded one of his songs, DJ for a Day. Soon, all of the big names lined up wanting Hall to pen tunes for them, including Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, Waylon Jennings, and others.

By 1968, Hall was a success in recording as well. He sought out a female to sing his song about a single mom’s struggles with a certain PTA. Margie Singleton was the first to record the song, which had middling sales. Jeannie C. Reilly took another shot at it, and the beautiful singer, complete with Nancy Sinatra-esque go-go boots and miniskirt, became a national sensation.

While Reilly may have been considered a one-hit-wonder on the pop charts (her next highest hit was her next one, The Girl Most Likely, which reached #55), she had a very nice lucrative career in country music.

In 1972, she switched to gospel as part of a personal religious awakening. She cut gospel albums until 1995. Now she is still around, but kicking back at home. (update: she died in 2006)

Harper Valley PTA also inspired a movie and a television series starring Barbara Eden, showing the beautiful actress could still do her thing in her 40’s.

So throughout the utter turmoil that was 1968, it’s nice to know that the true enemy to society was revealed: the members of the Harper Valley PTA who were known to live their own sleazy lives whilst looking down their noses at others.