Old Songs

Old songs, like kitchen fragrances, can deliver us back through time. The song that still can  transport me is Sleepwalk, played by Santo and Johnny. I was in the 8th grade, a skinny, gangly 12 year old. Girls’ gym classes in those days included dance lessons. After a year of dance classes that introduced us to folk dances, country reels, and more contemporary steps such as the cha cha cha, the school held a tea dance. That long ago afternoon, Wayne Smith crossed that huge gym floor, smiled apprehensively and asked me to dance. He was wearing a plaid shirt, cute in a comfortably burly way; what my girlfriends call fuzzy, and it was easy to tell that he would grow up to be a big, handsome and strong man, he already had broad shoulders. It was the first time I danced with a boy and I was dizzy with excitement, not to mention fear of failure. What if I stepped on his toes? What if everyone  was watching? I tentatively stepped into his arms, and he led me around the gym floor. He had learned his steps well and was light on his feet. Only after the song was over, and he had walked me back to my chair did I breathe again, blush and think to say thank you. We never danced again, and as is the want of young adolescents, I don’t think I ever talked with him again; I was too shy, but I never forgot him or the song from that sweet and memorable afternoon.  

And along with those old haunting songs, there are the other songs; the songs of summer. Summer songs are like Christmas carols, only more enduring, evoking memories of long sunny days that began sooner and ended later, of beach parties, backyard BBQs, boardwalk bicycling, amusement park rides, weekends at the cottage, big convertible cars, suntan lotion, beach sand, and of course pretty girls slyly watching boys watching girls watching boys walking by; all the while not appreciating the power of our own youth and beauty.   

I lived in a California beach town during the early ’70's, oftentimes rising early on Saturday mornings to ride my bicycle along the strand, hoping for a small smattering of solitude before the tourists sullied the sun bleached boards. The sky was blue, matching the equally calm and blue water, the salt air was fresh, sea gulls hung in the air. Inevitably, I wasn’t alone. The summer rental college kids already were out playing beach basketball; music blasted from their  strategically placed speakers, and the smell of cocoanut scented suntan lotion drifted on the breezes. I would hear snippets as I rode by, but I would slow down just a bit when I heard some of my favorite Rascal tunes: A Beautiful Morning, A Girl Like You, and Groovin’. During the day the songs of summer included bright and peppy melodies and silly lyrics, whether it was Nat King Cole’s Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer or the Beach Boys’ Little Old Lady from Pasadena. The tunes were melodic and hummable, the lyrics then were repeatable to parents. As the day passed, long haired leggy lovelies, with burnished skin, moseyed along the beach, licking ice cream cones while listening to more favorites: Heat Wave by Martha and the Vandellas; In the Summertime, by Mungo Jerry; Hot Fun in the Summertime, by Sly & The Family Stone, and mulled over the evening’s entertainment options. We had great music, big cars and still had a few drive-ins, although submarine races were taking over. Life was perfect.

As the sun’s rays diminished, when the sea and sky had morphed into the same pale grey, a vague wistful melancholy seemed to hang in the air; the blue hour arrived. We washed the sand and lotion from our bodies.  DJs would change the musical tempo, playing a paean to the day passed:  A Summer Song, by Chad & Jeremy; Summer Breeze, by Seals & Croft; Sealed With A Kiss, by Brian Hyland. And every once in a while, there it was: Sleepwalk. 

Late in the evening, long after the last rays of sunshine had left the sky, more romantic songs evoked cool island evenings, colored drinks with pretty umbrellas, soft breezes, full moons on the waters and fireflies dancing in the dark: Sentimental Lady, by Fleetwood Mac;  Memories, by Elvis Presley; Theme from A Summer Place; I’ll Remember You, by Don Ho; and my sentimental, most romantic favorite: True Love Ways, by Buddy Holly.

In old age, songs are the smiling ghosts that come after summer’s laughter. So glad to have heard them, so glad to have had them.