Ever since Johnny Carson retired, so did Doc Everson and his Big Band sound. During the past 25 years the airwaves have been a cacophony of loud, annoying and forgettable "music." I put this last word in quotes because the "music" is not music. It's just plain noise!
During my high school days in the 40's we didn't have TV, computers or cell phones. Nor did we have Viagra for those horrible four hour erections. Instead, we macho guys put a coke bottle in our pants pocket, a condom in the wallet and danced cheek to cheek, hoping we might get lucky on prom night.
Then, after taking my date home before midnight (curfew), I would drive down Main Street in Coshocton, OH, park anywhere (no meters in those days), walk over to our favorite hangout, MacCluggage's Malt Shop, and watch the cars go by, honking their horns. They were the lucky ones who had a girl friend in the passenger seat and permission to stay out until 1:00 am.
Bully Jack Brown usually mooned the honkers, much to the horror of the young ladies who ducked down in embarrassment. Brown was a football player, a linebacker with huge legs, and he always tormented us skinny guys with sucker punches to the stomach or a hard kick in the ass. I avoided him like the plague.
Bill Benner was two years older than I and he also played football. In one pickup game after school, the 7th grade, Benner tackled me and twisted my ankle until it broke. I ended up in bed with a cast for six weeks, just listening to "The Farm and Home Hour" on radio everyday. The show had a concert band and played mostly Sousa marches. That's when I learned to play the drums.
A dozen years later I was driving from Columbus,OH to Coshocton and I heard the siren behind me. It was an Ohio State Patrol car. I pulled over, the officer got out and it was Bill Benner in uniform. I had no idea he became a police officer. Bill then apologized profusely for breaking my leg and said it was a long time chip on his shoulder. I shook hands and told him to forget it, as I had.
But now I digress. Back to the subject. Lousy music. I have to quote Frank Sinatra: "Rock musicians only know three chords, and two of them are wrong." It's now four days after Christmas and I'm hearing "White Christmas" on my TV music channel. Beautiful song! Think of it. Written by a Jew! Will Irwin was Irving Berlin's music librarian in his spacious townhouse on Beekman Place in New York City. Will told me Berlin turned into a cranky old man with all kinds of medical ills, and he still retched over the memory of his daughter marrying a goy.
During the final days of his life, Berlin ordered all his house lights to be turned off when a choral group appeared outside on December 25th to sing "White Christmas." But they still sang in the dark.
And I remembered that the super of my apartment building on West End Avenue gave his runaway daughter and husband a safe haven, as private detectives were searching for them.
It's time for lunch. I'll do another blog next week about the subject I started out to complain about.
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