(36th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Fame vs Anonymity"

Song: Fingerprint File

Album: It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll

Released: October, 1974

In the 1973 Sam Peckinpah movie ‘Pat Garret and Billy the Kid’, the wild-west atmosphere is paced by Bob Dylan’s excellent score, including one of the all-time classic Rock songs, Knockin on Heaven’s Door, which is unveiled during a dramatic moment in the film:  The sheriff, played by Slim Pickens, dying in his wife’s arms from a gunshot wound.  Dylan had done it again; interpreted a mood in song.  And his already vast catalog would now be supplemented to include a soundtrack. 

Of lesser known fact, even to those who watched, was Dylan’s acting in the movie; he playing a bit part as the character ‘Alias’.  It’s been some time since I watched ‘Pat Garret and Billy the Kid’, but from what I remember, Dylan’s character was aptly named:  There, but not really there; unaccountable for the most part, appearing to simply want to survive in a world of near lawlessness. 

‘Alias’ was very likely Bob Dylan’s dream role at that point in his career, because back in the early 70s the master songwriter of his time was trying to find a way out from under the weight of fame; a near impossible task as it turned out.  Dylan’s anxieties were caused not so much by self-destruction, superficiality, or Paparazzi - factors which have unraveled others who were thrust on a pedestal - as by hangers-on types.  I came to understand this after reading his autobiography ‘Chronicles: Volume One’.  Dylan was being hounded by over-zealot fans.  His privacy was being invaded.  He was becoming a prisoner of his own success.

Bob Dylan has not been the only rocker to struggle with the perils of fame.  John Lennon retreated to his Dakota apartment in New York City for 5 years in the mid to late 70s to be a ‘house husband’ and get away from it all.  Fellow Beatle George would turn to religion (as would Dylan a few years after ‘Pat Garret and Billy the Kid’). In fact, the effects of stardom on Harrison would end up being even more pronounced than that on his longtime band mate, as he would develop an intense stage fright in his post-Beatle years.  Stage fright would also overcome Linda Thompson.  For others, including Brian Wilson and Syd Barret, the retreat from fame would play out in their mental stability.  For still others, including Hendrix, Joplin, and Cobain the results would be death at a young age. 

Stardom is not for the faint of heart.  In all likelihood, it’s probably not for the heart at all.  David Bowie may have said it best in his song Fame with the line:  “Fame (fame) puts you there where things are hollow”.  Not that the rest of us have not been there at one time or another, but with fame, I am sure you have to ward off the hollowness far more often….or be immersed in it. 

For the Rolling Stones, that immersion came perilously close to happening in the mid-70s, and it would take several unrelated outside forces, namely the Punk movement and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, to reverse that course before it got too deep.

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I suppose most of us aspire to be famous when we are young.  Though I can’t recall any specific ambitions in this regard, I do recall that I pondered the thought some.  If anything, it was ‘Rock Star’ that sounded most enticing to me.  I liked the idea of connecting with the masses, but only in a rebellious sort of way; my terms and no one else’s.  Songwriting; yeah, I could do that, but only in the way that someone like Pete Townshend did it:  Brutally honest, open, and truthful.  And if it were sometimes agonizing to do so, then so be it.  Thankfully, I found a better, more under-the-radar type of career to challenge myself in.  Rock fandom would end up being close enough to that ever-precarious rock-world flame for me.

And so, Rock fan it was.  And from this perspective, I can vouch for the fact that the Rock world of the era was extremely interesting to a teenager growing up in the 70s.  First off, big money was just entering the picture, as entrepreneurs were discovering the monetary value of the modern music world, be it in record sales, concert promotion, or related marketing.  This would lead to more creative advertising, in depth writing, multi-faceted record releases, and immense concert tours. Money would also challenge the musicians, revealing a deeper sincerity and integrity, or lack thereof, in those who made it to the big time.  It was all fascinating to this then-young mind.

Secondly, being a highly successful venture by this time, Rock was now developing new spinoff genres from glam to punk to new wave.  This variety expanded the fan base, no longer allowing establishment types to simply relegate Rock as the world of hippies, groupies and bikers.  Rock music had now connected with virtually the entire cross section of high school and college personality types.  And these spinoffs were far more uniting than divisive: Even if you barely knew someone your age, there was always the topic of music to talk about.

Most interesting though was seeing how the musicians of the 60s dealt with longevity in this evolving world they started.  For it was not only money that was putting new pressures on them; it was how they responded to 1) the new kids on the block, 2) multi-album contracts, and 3) the ability to show you had staying power, among other things.  Many dropped out or faded away.  Others sold out, trying whatever they could to stay in the limelight.  Far fewer still survived on their own merits. 

Possibly the most intriguing story of them in all in the 70s was that of the Rolling Stones.  In terms of creativity, the Stones rolled smoothly into the decade, releasing some of their most amazing albums during this “Imperial” period in their history, including 68’s ‘Beggars Banquet’, 69’s ‘Let it Bleed’, 71’s ‘Sticky Fingers’ and 72’s ‘Exile on Main Street'.  You could say that a streak like that had to end at some time.  And it did.  1973’s ‘Goats Head Soup’, though having its share of highlights, was a bit of a slip, and so was its follow up, 74’s ‘It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll’.  Both albums have their fan base, including myself, but few of those fans would debate that these 2 albums have measured up to their precursors.  Something lacked…. at least from lofty-Stones standards.  Why?

Well, this takes me back to that fame thing.  If there was any stretch of time where the Stones were struggling with the effects of stardom, it was the mid-70s.  Who knows where it would have gone if it were allowed to continue.  But as mentioned earlier, there were outside forces at work.  The first of these was the Punk scene.  Punk challenged the Stones: Big Time. Even more than that though, a significant element of the scene shunned them.  “Is this what a long-time Rocker becomes?  Gaudy!” (as portrayed on their self-centered ‘It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll’ album cover).  “Long winded!” (most of the songs on the album were verrrrry long).  “A parody of themselves!” (the distinction between tabloid and reality was slimmer than ever).  It all reeked of jet-setting hubris.  The punks wanted to have nothing to do with it.  If this was what happened to a rocker down the road, then they were breaking off the marriage. 

The Stones begrudgingly listened.  They may never admit it.  But they did.  It took a little while, but 1977’s ‘Some Girls’ is evidence of it.  The Stones had not simply been snapped out of their ‘bloated Elvis’ period; they’d been slapped out.  Slapped Silly!  The punks had done their job.

There was one piece of the puzzle still to take care of, however, and I suppose we can thank the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for setting those wheels in motion.  Keith Richards was a junky in the late 70’s, pure and simple.  The Canadians put a scare into Richards; arresting him on the road for possession, throwing him in jail, and seriously threatening a prolonged incarceration.  This threat would soon end Keith’s addiction and in the process have the unintended consequence of ending the Stones “on the run” period, allowing them to settle down for the first time in a decade by the late 70s and get work done, at their pace, and without looking over their shoulders.

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No one knows for sure (other than Jagger/Richards) whether this week’s Stepping Stone, Fingerprint File ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFNiSjN4BBY ) is a nod to John Lennon’s early 70s struggles with FBI wiretapping (a truism, unveiled years later by the FBI themselves).  It could just as easily be about Keith Richards and the day and night drug-related British Bobby surveillance he was up against during that time as well.  Either way, it was all part of the trappings of Rock ‘n’ Roll fame back in the 70s.  Take these lyrics:

“Some little jerk in the FBI. 

Keeping papers on me, six feet high”

To me, the song reveals how big Rock was getting at the time.  Yes, the powers that be were taking it all quite seriously now.  These musicians were influencing a generation.  And there were some who believed that a lid had to be put on it.  I give credit to those who felt that adversity and yet stuck it out, whether in the continuing integrity of their songwriting or on the road, which I am sure included locations which were not the friendliest of places to be for a long hair.

Fingerprint File sounds like a Curtis Mayfield song.  The Rolling Stones had once again morphed; connecting with, and even advancing a musical style.  Mick Jagger does a great job on the proverbial imaginary phone near the end of the song, bouncing back and forth between relaxing conversation with a female friend and ….paranoia. 

Bob Dylan expressed that same emotion in ‘Chronicles: Volume 1’, as he wrote about the legions of crazed hanger-on types who stormed his Woodstock property, eventually driving him out of town. Dylan’s one unfulfilled wish for himself was that he could just be a common man.  For all of us who never attained the opposite, it’s a very profound testament to absorb.

-          Pete

(35th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Young vs Old"

Song: Brown Sugar

Album: Sticky Fingers

Released: April, 1971

Upon waking up this past Saturday morning I quickly realized I had turned 50 while in my sleep, then took a few moments to reflect before getting on with my day.  Sheesh!  What did this mean?  Time to act my age I suppose:  Wear rubbers over my shoes when it’s raining out; brown bag my lunch for work in the morning; tea break at noon; listen to Bach; watch ‘Masterpiece Theatre’; rotate my tires routinely; sweep a metal detector across a beach at the end of a hot summer day; tuck my shirt in; where a tie to work; shine my shoes once a month; maintain this crew cut; use moisturizer on my skin; play golf; sport a smoking jacket in the evening, pipe in one hand, ‘Wall Street Journal’ in the other.  In short, become more deliberate, conventional and conservative in my day-to-day activities. 

Geez, this couldn’t be, could it?  I mean… I wasn’t ready for any of this.  Was I?

I had to snap out of it; see if I still had any semblance of my pre-half-century-mark self.  A challenge was needed, and pronto.  And not just any challenge.  This had to be extreme. 

I knew just what to do: Give the Rolling Stones a listen.

I hopped in my car and pulled out the cd ‘Sticky Fingers’ from the console.  If any Stones album could test my supposed new interests and priorities it was this one:  Virtually everything about it has the potential for coming across as offensive to the sophisticated, conservative mindset.  Glancing at the back of the picture sleeve before popping the disc in, I scanned the album track list.  Being fairly knowledgeable on the subject of this band and this record, I could see what was in store:  There were songs loaded with references to drugs (Dead Flowers, Sister Morphine), darkness (Sway), desire (I Got the Blues) and alienation (Moonlight Mile).  There was also the cover art (those zipper jeans) and of course the album’s title.

My mind wandered…..

……“Oh, the vulgarity!”

Wait, what was that fleeting thought?  Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar.  I ventured that this was the freshly minted 50 year-old inside me doing the talking.  I beat it back, but a moment later, up it crept again, a bit louder this time; “Oh, the vulgarity!”.  Then back, and up yet again; “Oh, the vulgarity!” 

Hmmmm? 

OK, perhaps I had to accept this change of heart, try not to suppress it any longer.  Yes, if this was the new me then so be it:  Time to move on; put the Stones and other rock bands with bad attitudes in the rearview mirror.  Pass me the remote; and a glass of prune juice while you’re at it.  What does that AARP Card get you again?

I thought about all this as I backed out the driveway and headed down the road.  Then, I decided to try and push back one more time, and so went ahead with my plan and popped ‘Sticky Fingers’ into the cd player.  Oh boy!  Was this the right thing to do? Hearing the first dueling Richards/Taylor guitar notes from track # 1, I realized that the challenge to my old self would ramp up fast and furious now.  Why so? Well, because there is little in the Rolling Stones repertoire that packs more potential for controversy than Brown Sugar.

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How to explain Brown Sugar?  Whatever be the interpretation, one thing is for certain:  It will never be sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  Even Mick Jagger (who wrote the lyrics virtually on his own) has struggled some with it, once stating in an interview years after the songs composition “It’s such a mishmash.  All the nasty subjects in one go…. I never would write that song now”.  In other words, Jagger has pretty much censored himself from writing anything like it again.  And this is Mick Jagger where talking about, mister test-the-waters himself, not Barry Manilow, Donny Osmond, John Denver or Linda Ronstadt.  It appears that even the lead singer for the greatest of all rock and roll bands can get a bit conservative minded in his old age; at least with subject matter the likes of which is sung about on Brown Sugar.

So what is this song about?  Well, where others (including Jagger) have multiple ideas on the matter, my own reading on it is primarily a historical one:  It’s about slavery and the various forms of abuse that many “slavers” cast on their female servants.  Take these opening lyrics:

‘Gold Coast slave ship bound for cotton fields

Sold in the market down in New Orleans

Scarred old slaver know he’s doing allright

Hear him whip the women just around midnight’

And then this:

‘Drums beating, cold English blood runs hot,

Lady of the house wondrin where it’s gonna stop.

House boy knows that he’s doin alright.

You should a heard him just around midnight.’

A few other lines round the concept out some.  The point, however, is this:  If a strict interpretation gets to the bottom of Brown Sugar, that being the topic of sexual abuse during antebellum slavery, than it’s not such a bad thing to write about, right?  In fact if this be the case, the Stones are, in their own somewhat off-color way, revealing a bit of American dirty laundry here; taboo subject matter that can often be overlooked in our high school text books.  From this perspective, Brown Sugar can be viewed as a fact-finding mission of a tune.  And if so it connects the Stones to the folk scene, which is in many ways a very honorable genre to be connected with.

“Nice argument” I thought.  My younger self was seeping back in a bit.  The new ‘50’ in me fought back:

The strange thing is, however, that the song sounds so upbeat, and includes references to dancing.  Dancing?  In this storyline?  Although predating MTV, you can almost see the potential depravity of an 80s style video:  “Brown Sugar”, “scarred old slaver”, “lady of the house”, and “house boy” all moving to the beat around a campfire in front of a shack on a moonlit night in the deep south.

Ouch, my younger self thought:  Good point. 

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Despite the controversial nature of the music and lyrics, however, fans love this song.  It’s quite possibly the most requested Stones song of all time, both on radio and in concert. And ever since seeing it performed live, (with Bobby Keys stepping into the limelight for his sax solo; upper-stage-right) I have to admit to thoroughly enjoying it myself over the years.  Why is this?  I think I’m a pretty empathetic person. Doesn’t this song ‘cross the line’?  Still, as the song blared on my speakers this past Saturday morning, I could not help but groove to the beat.  The younger me was taking control again, and would ultimately win the day.

Now I’m no apologist for the Rolling Stones, but I do not in any way think this song puts them in ‘off limits’ territory either.  Not even close.  One thought that came to mind these past days as I listened:  The Stones have far more black friends than your average Caucasian.  Keith Richards lived with and played music with the Rastafarians in Jamaica for years.  The entire band has befriended and brought back to our attention many-a black bluesmen and woman from Muddy Waters to Etta James to BB King; and rockers Chuck Berry and Little Richard (to name a few)...it’s a big reason why Bob Dylan has so much respect for them.

And I see the rules as different when it comes to the arts than say, for someone like Howard Stern (in that case, I’ve always had a bit of the conservatism in me).  First and foremost, the Rolling Stones are musicians, artists per se, giving them leeway to morph into character, much like an actor in a movie.  Yes, musicians can cross the line, and the Stones have done their fair share of it; much more than any other band I enjoy listening to.   But their line crossing is not quite as bad as it’s been made out to be by the establishment media.  And the Stones have the respect of many great musicians who never crossed that line, putting them in somewhat of a unique spot in the annals of music lore. 

Besides, I’ve always been of the belief that if it sounds good to these ears, it must have arisen out of something good in the first place.  Who knows …that dancing reference? Well, maybe Jagger had it in mind that adversity brings out things in people and cultures that they never knew they had beforehand: Ellie Wiesel, Anne Frank, Helen Keller, Jackie Robinson, Geronimo, … all had something brought out of them through adversity that may not have otherwise been there.  Was Mick Jagger writing about one of the rare positive things to come out of slavery?  Just a thought.  If so though, that’s pretty impressive.

To enjoy the Stones, however, you really need to strip them down to their essence: Music.  You can only come at them from this angle….at least at first.  Wipe out the on and off-stage personas, even the lyrics from your mind.  From this stripped down perspective, a song like Brown Sugar can be truly appreciated.  What do you get when you see years of hard work and dedication to one’s craft payoff?  You get Brown Sugar ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59K2kF6o9Tk ).  This is what can be fascinating about delving deeply into a band or any individual/team that has risen to the top of their given profession: You get to witness greatness.  By the time of ‘Sticky Fingers’, the Stones had developed an implausible sense of musical timing.  They were no longer individuals playing music together:  They were a collective whole. 

Heavy subject matter…. now maybe that’s what kicks in at 50.  As for the conservative, sophistication? Not just yet, thank you. 

Maybe I’ll wait till I turn 60.

-          Pete

(34th in a series of) Stepping Stones "Kudos"

Song: You Got the Silver

Album: Let It Bleed

Re-released:  April, 1969

Note: I do get to the Rolling Stones eventually here.

On the flight back home from Washington D.C. this past Tuesday after a Monday meeting at USGS Headquarters, I looked up from the book I was reading (“Born to Run” which I highly recommend to anyone, not just runners) and glanced outside the window as the plane began its descent into Boston from the South.  On a clear day, there is no better approach-view anywhere than that of coming at Logan Airport along the South Shore, and on this day it was a beautiful sunlit morning, blue sky and ocean all around, the numerous Harbor Islands on the near horizon ahead.   My newly focused attention out the window was just in time to spot the unmistakable Scituate shoreline and its four cliffs.  I counted each from North to South, zeroing in on a particular peninsula of interest which included the southern-most cliff:  The beach-front village of Humarock. 

Ahh, Humarock; the scene of many a fantastic time over my lifetime from the age of 14 on, thanks to the family McDermott, and particularly my close friend Mac.  The most recent of these visits had been just this past week, and as the flood of memories from it came pouring back over me, I honed in on the village to see if I could spot Mac’s cottage.  Quickly I scanned way down the peninsula from the 4^th cliff.  There was the small bridge spanning the North River; the body of water which separates Humarock from the mainland.  Further downstream was the larger bridge, crossed numerous times over the years to get to our destination.  Now up the main road from the bridge:  Batch of houses, then woods, and then….cove!  Yes, the cove.  It was unmistakable even from the air, having looked out at it and the sunset beyond so often from the deck.  OK, now back up the neighbors narrow driveway from the cove, and there it was; the cottage, and just in the nick of time, as Scituate began fading from view and the farther northern confines of Cohasset and Hull loomed up ahead. 

Humarock began a great adventure for me this past week, which culminated with a surprise 50^th birthday party in Maynard, hosted by my lovely wife, Nancy.  Bob had arrived there with his family from France on Monday night, Mac present as always; once again stepping to the plate as host and master of ceremonies.  And with the arrival of Pat and Sharon on Tuesday from Ottawa via a vacation trek to New York City, reunion was in the air.  Interspersed throughout the week was 1) a grand-entrance visit from Joe on Monday night resulting in some classic discourse into the wee hours; 2) the Wednesday evening arrival of Nancy, Charlotte and Peter leading to 3) the lot of us heading to Falmouth on Thursday for a day on a long-familiar beach with Fred, Kip, Kelley, Lilly, Mom and Dad.

On Saturday, back in Pepperell, as most of the Humarock crew from that week sat in the backyard by the fish/frog pond dining on a great lunch prepared by Nancy (how she did this on top of everything else I do not know), I was alerted to the fact that something was in store for the evening.  No details given (and none understood):  Just a simple heads up to get in the car - and soon.  The tipoff was directly from my wife, and the look in her eyes as she told me said it all:  Cool, calm and collected, mixed with happiness; for me.  Nancy, Charlotte, Peter and I then piled in the car.  And on the Nancy-insisted, self-imposed blind ride down to Maynard, I repeatedly asked myself the question: What was I was in for?

Reflecting here now, I can answer that question:  The highlights of my life.

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Half a century.  That’s how long the Blob Squad has terrorized this planet.  This loose-knit gang-of-eight ruffians that I am proudly a part of have been hanging out together now for a, long, long, long time: Sand box days; pick up ballgame days; fishing days; fire cracker days, bonfire days; hiking  days; double-dating days; skiing days; road trip days; camping days; family-gathering days; Humarock days.  A real-life ‘American Pie’ (to catch an observation made by Bob last week). You name it, I believe we have been through it. 

The Blobs introduction into this brave new world of 50 and beyond began in May with a surprise party for Pete F, hosted by his brother Paul, at Fenway Park, back when there was still a glimmer of hope in the Red Sox season (in actuality, we may have been witnessing the beginning of the end that day: An 8-2 whitewash/thrashing/whatever-you-want-to-call it at the hands of the Baltimore Orioles).  Anyhow, thinking back, I believe I have been to all 5 of Pete’s birthdays which are divisible by 10. 

The party continued in July, a double-barrel Phil/Dave appreciation in Dave’s backyard.  I guess I’d still be sitting by the fire if Bec didn’t impose her will on me to get to bed (in hindsight, a good thing).  On top of these connections were 1) a great visit to Pete’s hideout in Vermont, and 2) a quorum of us in Humorock back at the beginning of last week (pre Bob/Pat arrival).  From this perspective, the gathering in Maynard this past Saturday was a continuation of a year-long celebration, which will conclude when Mac turns the fateful corner next February. 

We continue to pace ourselves on this Blob-athon.  Pace? … something unheard of in our younger days, but, well…times are changing.  Let’s all keep the geezer inside at bay though, ehhh?

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OK, on to the Maynard bash.  First off, I had a blast.  To do this though, I had to first accept the fact that if you are going to leave yourself open for something like this (which I did) than you have to be willing to play the part.  And so, the Mad Hatter hat designed by Joe was plopped on my head where it remained for much of the evening (with the dead-center photo of me in my young-teen years with a sweater on that made me look like I was auditioning for an episode of “Lost in Space”).  The giant “50” pin, a gift from Nancy’s Aunt Carol, was then secured on my clothing, where it too, remained.  I turned to Dave upon his arrival and stated “this is what you avoided”.  He laughed and re-affirmed having made this point clear to Becca months earlier: NO BIG PARTY SURPRISES.  Others have done this as well over the past few years, including Dale and Nancy.  I decided to take the path chosen by Mom all those years ago:  Roll with whatever comes your way.

Besides the great setting, the first thing I noticed when we arrived at the site was a poster: Pete Townshend, circa 1971, wielding/pole axing his guitar in the direction of his microphone with the scribed words “Bloody Hell, I’m Missing Pete’s 50th!”.  Wow.  I loved it.  Creative and insightful.  Madeline and Jeff, the closest of friends to Nancy and I (Madeline being there when we met) had put their stamp on the evening in many other ways as well, including preparation of the invitation, shown to me later, with a caption at the top which read: “We tried not to age, but time had its rage”, from Townshend’s The Sea Refuses No River.  Madeline, how did you think of that?  All in all, very, very, nice guys:  Thank you. 

Next thing spotted, the bad-haircut Pete lollipop photos at every table, the idea coming from Trish and her drummer-of-the-night husband Tony; good friends from home (and other than Carolyn, the only Pepperell invitees as Nancy's focus was on my longstanding connections).  Yow!  I remember those haircuts; slightly better than the ‘scuz’ cuts that preceded them at St. Mary’s, but still haplessly naive.   At the time I thought it was a fashion statement.  Now?  I still believe it was a fashion statement, but not in the same way I thought when I strutted my stuff way back when.  As for Tony, he and his band played the night away in classic 70’s fashion.  The sound was dead on, Joe joining in on a jam at one time, doing his best Clarence Clemons impersonation with one of the many blow-up saxophones scattered about.  Thank you Trish and Tony, and the band for a raucous evening.

I liked the fact that I got there early.  This allowed me to greet everyone as they arrived:  First Kay and Carol followed by Beth and Steve, then Pat, Ruth, and family, Jen, Dale, and then everyone else.  If I were arriving late, it would have been much harder to compose myself.  Getting there early gave me some time to get a bit on top of my game, so when, for example, Bruce arrived, I could harass him for having already turned the corner: “Your 50!” I laughed (his big day was 3 days earlier, mine not until this coming Saturday).  When the two Amy’s in my life (sister and niece) arrived at the same time, I could make note of the coincidence to both; when Bec and Dave arrived with Sara, I could point out to Sara that she was also there for my 40^th gathering in Humarock; when Mom and Dad arrived with the cake, I could enjoy the moment with them, looking at the photo of Dad and I almost 50 years earlier; and so on.

The cake:  Joe would get me to smash my face later in the night into one of the few slices remaining, a repeat of my bachelor party “Keith Moon” moment.  Not as funny or spontaneous this time around, but …. needed.  Before doing so, however, I secured the slice that had my baby face on it and worked my way around the face:  I could not bring myself to eat my former head.  And so, I left it on a table, wobbling like a bobble head doll.  Anyhow, seeing Mom and Dad walk in with the cake was the moment when I felt the party began, as is always the case when my parents arrive.  Later, Dad’s speech was the “icing”, a touching reminder of the strength of our family and the patriarch and matriarch at the center of it all (by the way, the only way I was going to get up on the stage that night was to thank Nancy and then apologize to Mom for turning 50, but I decided to save both for here). 

And then there was the memory box.  First, the box itself: Now I’ve seen well thought-out concepts in my lifetime (for example, “Steeves Trivia”, the Who’s ‘Live at Leeds’ original album extras of bogus bootleg material, The Knights who say “Ni”, GIS software, Quisp vs Quake, USGS topographic maps, DEVO), but this may just take the cake (not my cake, mind you).  It took multiple views to pick up on every nuance, though I’m not sure I’ve absorbed it all just yet.  Amy’s insights (with significant contributions from many of you) were, to say the least, brilliant.  Here’s a rundown, along with some explanation, of what I’ve observed thus far (you can skip the red text if you want to cut to the chase, but for those interested in details, I hope you find it worth your while):

Ø  The giant ‘Sniffinge’ hovering over everything (perfect print size - this creature of my youth. Pulled out of an Apple Jacks box sometime in the early 70s.  Sniffinge was one of a group of “Funny Fringes” { http://astronit.tripod.com/fringes.htm } of which I had most, but not all.   Believe it or not, I still have a handful of remains.  Who knew this guy was my favorite?  Was it Amy? Charlotte?)

Ø  “Fweep” (or for more accuracy sake “The Fweep”.  An unfortunate substitute teacher in high school who patrolled the library, often running head long into our verbal abuse – and taking it all good-naturedly)

Ø  Mamie (yes, the Bertone Mamie; a small, but heavy statue that sat outside that family’s home in the Little Italy section of Franklin for decades, yet occasionally would go missing.  Why?  Gaining notoriety in the Blob Squad after my having informed them that Dad occasionally serenaded him on my Sunday Paper Route {before I got my license, Dad trekked me around town on Sunday mornings}, we would heist him, set him up at the table for our poker games, then return him to the same spot the next morning before anyone noticed).

Ø  The Blob Squad (if I ever go to Grad School, I’m writing my thesis on this crew)

Ø  “Chapeau” (side by side with beer, the greatest Belgian contribution to mankind. Scary when played against seasoned veterans in the back alley haunts of Waterloo.  The term also reminds me of Mac’s favorite line when in French speaking regions: “Chapeau means hat, oeuf means egg”)

Ø  The Who (the band who rose Britain out of its “decadent ambient state” in the 60s and 70s)

Ø  “The Bootlegger” (with the only beer store within driving range locking its doors for the night right in front of our faces in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Dale and I heeded the advice of a local, and followed him to an alternative source…. on the dark side of town)

Ø  “Smitty City” (I used to think the Smith family gatherings, which included more than 50 cousins, was normal.  A recent reunion at Rocky Woods Reservation found me a little more in the know)

Ø  Nicky (the term ‘old faithful’ had to be redefined after this dog showed what she was made of)

Ø  “Smile, Smile, Smile” (how many Dads would step out of their car every Sunday morning {on the aforementioned paper route} to sing this corny, yet weekly-played NPR song loudly and proudly?)

Ø  “Goldapalooza” (what you get when you unite the Steeves family for a week in Charlestown Rhode Island cottages to celebrate a 50^th wedding anniversary)

Ø  Block Island (Nancy as “Motorcycle Mama” on a rented moped, eight months pregnant with Charlotte.  Also, one of many places where I witnessed how cousins become friends for life)

Ø  St. Patty’s day at Kennedy’s (12 hours of Irish music, Dale, Captain Kangaroo, and St. Patrick himself!)

Ø  Eifel Tower (the look in her eyes said it all before any words came out)

Ø  USGS (an amazing history, impartial science, and the best job a guy could ever have)

Ø  “whale watching” (leviathans know more than we do)

Ø  “Canada” (my - other – home and native land)

Ø  Bobby Orr (a visit to Perry Sound Ontario with Nancy - and in the process meeting Orr’s shoe-selling big brother - reaffirmed for me the super-humble qualities of this man)

Ø  Celebrating the Rolling Stones 50^th (34 Stepping Stones and counting)

Ø   “Cake Face” (Again, my bachelor party: I’ve never seen Joe laugh harder)

Ø  “Bird Lady” (Amy and I took a Mac/Phil story about a trucker lady they used to listen to on the CB radio and ran with it…. much farther than any normal siblings would have taken it)

Ø  Jason (Joe, Dale and I took the image a psychopath with a goalie mask and chain saw and ran with it…. much farther than any normal siblings/in-laws would have taken it)

Ø  Cross Country (see Gem Music Video of the Week # 82)

Ø  The Beatles (see Gem Music Video of the Week # 89)

Ø  Lost in Space (beats Star Trek any day of the week….even the Carrot Man episode.  Moisture! Moisture!)

Ø  The Blizzard of ’78 (how do you get out of shoveling out of the worst snow storm of all time?  Break your leg)

Ø  “Sucker!” (Dad’s refusal to partake in a Christmas-lights Lee Campground tradition in the middle of August lead to a very funny exchange with a trailer neighbor.  How do you beat the Milky Way for a light show?  Sucker couldn’t think of one)

Ø  Pepperell (for those who made it to the ‘Covered Bridge Party’, life will never be the same again)

Ø  Comic Books (“Flame On”, “It’s Clobberin Time”, Defenders, Avengers, and X-Men.  Most older brothers read Dr. Seuss to their young siblings.  I took a different tact)

Ø  BOMGA, or ‘Benevolent Order of Maloon the Goon Antagonists’ (When Dad came up with this acronym for a Dean Junior College campus police harassing early incarnation of the Blob Squad -to round out my high school sample resume - we latched onto it like flies on doo doo.)

Ø  Ma Betti (freshman year spent off campus playing cribbage with my 85 year-old elderly landlady.  What more could a first-year college student ask for?)

Ø  Sister Mary Elephant (cousin Jack had this entire Cheech and Chong skit memorized in 3 days)

Ø  Wacky Packs ( ‘Bazooka Bubble Gum’, ‘Chock Full of Nuts and Bolts’, ‘Blunder Bread’, ‘Crust Toothpaste’ and a mind transformed from the world of baseball cards to ….. this)

Ø  VW Bus (days of driving with 7 of us on a handful of family vacations brought the crazy side out of Joe:  From punching bag to comedy sensation, virtually overnight).

Ø  Lady’s undergarments (a Bob submission I am sure, but not what you might think!  The guys in our Carleton suite started a tradition of tacking old underwear to our living-room ceiling.  After a time, we were being invaded by female night marauders, who tacked up many-a fancy ones of their own, making our ceiling much more pleasing to the eye by years end).

Ø  Double jointed (musical jaw, stiffened fingers, I had it all)

There’s more, but I have to stop there.  Needless to say, Amy’s creation is a masterpiece and a treasure; it will likely find a resting place on our new fireplace mantle within a month or two.  What was equally humbling however, were all the great notes inside the memory box.  A few snippets that hit me include:

Niece Grace: “It takes skill to host seven kids in one house for a night”

Niece Molly: “Raw pooah, with a touch of slaw” (funny memories referring to, what else?... farts)

Brother Joe: “When I copied you (when we were kids), it wasn’t that I wanted to annoy you.  I wanted to be you”

Bec and Dave: “Best Man.  Pete’s Tours”

Niece Abbey and her: “memories from day 1!”

Nephew Joe referenced the ‘Shroud’ stories I used to tell the cousins during their “Best Day Ever” gatherings.  Shroud was an evil manipulator with a mysterious dark cape; the cousins all had their own super powers, and found ways to defeat him, story after story after story.  Nephew Jack referenced our nature hikes, as did Madeline and Jen.  Bob connected me back with many Europe memories.  There were touching notes from Amy and Sharon. There was Sister-in-law Kathy’s note about the nasty bell bruise on my leg several Christmas’ ago (I believe what she was saying was “there’s more to this guy than meets the in-law eye”).

Fred cornered me late in the evening.  He stated that he had a speech to give in front of the crowd, but had changed his mind given the somewhat scattered atmosphere.  Instead he told me one on one, but first asked if I had a preference between Bob Dylan’s Forever Young and Neil Young’s Long May You Run.  I told him, yes I did, and that it was the latter; but only recently had I felt this way, primarily due to Young’s performance of the song at the Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver 2 years ago.  Anyhow, Fred’s paraphrased speech was awesome; weaving many of his thoughts through the meaning of Neil Young’s brilliant song (we were on the same page).  Several days later, he would forward me an amateur video of Neil’s performance of the song in Vancouver ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfHKnBD1BhA ). 

The night played out perfectly.  Pete F took his customary spot as sentry, just outside of the light.  The kids played ‘Kick the Can’ and ‘Flashlight Tag’ up in the parking lot area.  Several fellow USGS employees represented the office with class.  A few surprise guests made their way onto the scene, including old friend Dana, and Bec & Dave’s Sara.  It was also great to see Kelley and Lilly; they’ve got a full extra-curricular plate these days I am sure:  Yet they chose to spend the night at the Maynard Rod and Gun Club with their old, appreciative uncle.  

As for the gifts, there was Pat’s masterful graphic-art painting quoting the Who (“See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Heal Me”) and Bruce’s signed ‘Mountain’ rock (see Stepping Stone # 9 for details).  The Bremner’s gave me an incredible bird house made from a selection of Maine tree breeds.  There was Fred’s framed photo of the two of us in the Canadian Rockies; there was Joe’s “50 years, 50 artists” homemade cd set; The Who tickets from half the family will be put to good use; Bro-in-Law Paul pointing out the primo location of the seats.  There were generous checks and gift certificates from Kay, John and Jean, Madeline and Jeff, Beth and Steve, Freddie and Kathy, and Nancy’s Aunt Carol.

Planning and overseeing it all was Nancy, and this took a lot of planning and oversight to pull off; emails, phone calls, location logistics, reservations, summer plans, invitations, band schedules, Bob’s schedule, cake, menus.  And all done in clandestine fashion.  It was truly above and beyond, and I’ll never forget it.  One of the most amazing things about Nancy is just how deeply she has woven herself into my life, including all the pieces that were in place before her arrival.  And so, she knows Bruce has a sister in Maynard (who was ill) who could have added an additional Bruce-centric element to the gathering; and she reaches out to faces that do not cross our paths on a regular basis (Kernell, Kurt, Steve V., Jeff S., Jeff, D., and Saiping, all who had summer-related conflicts or were too far to make it); and she knows Amy’s got the goods on my varied past; and at extended-family gatherings, she connects with my Mom’s sisters (Marge, Marg, Bonnie) and sister-in-laws (Pat, Shirley), and Dad’s sisters (Ann, Nineen) in ways I’m still trying to do;  You can only do all this with zero superficiality in your life:  Strip out all the baggage and you’ve got my wife of 21 years.

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You Got the Silver ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2h3TlHcLY0&feature=fvwrel ) is a tender song, the only tune to come even close to that sentiment on 1969's 'Let it Bleed'.  It took eight Rolling Stones studio albums for Keith Richards to make his foray into solo lead singing.  From that point on though, Keef would add a solo lead-vocal touch or two (or even three) to virtually every Stones album.  Richards will never be remembered for his singing, and does not raise the bar by any measure of the term, but he does have what it takes.  You could say that, with You Got the Silver, he stepped his potential as a musician up a notch, reflecting the following symboloc meaning of the precious metal in the songs title:

Silver: This is symbolic of a subtle strength.  The message here is that we ourselves can be flexible enough to be molded into something better – but strong enough to keep our core integrity intact.

If Keith Richards, or anyone for that matter, measures up to this meaning of silver, it’s because of all those who play a positive role in our lives.  I was surrounded by those positive influences myself this past Saturday night in Maynard.  I left there a better person for it.

Thanks again to one and all. 

I’ll close out this week’s Stepping Stone with a few lyrics from three songs I heard this week.  There easily could be numerous other snippets from many other songs if I put my mind to it.  But this brain is about cooked at the moment, so I’ll take that as a hint that these lyrics below collectively just about sum it all up:

 “Long may you run, long may you run

Although these changes have come”

-          From Neil Young: Long May You Run

“The memories of a man in his old age

Are the deeds of a man in his prime”

-          From Pink Floyd: Free Four

“Hey Babe, you got my soul

You got the silver, you got the gold”

-          From the Rolling Stones: You Got the Silver

-          Pete