Come on, people, everybody get together in Daydreaming on the Porch

Years ago I bought one of those “Time-Life Year in Review” books for 1969. I eagerly snatched it up because that was the year I graduated from high school. I was 18 and the world was my oyster (for the first time, I might add). I was so happy to be finished with 12 grueling years of public school that I could hardly contain my excitement, tempered at the time, naturally, with an equal mixture of dread and anxiety about what lay ahead at college in another state. That is another story altogether.

I really was just a boy, a teenager, for most of the last part of that turbulent decade, and much of the high gravity of those years passed me by as news events tend to do when you’re young. In high school you have preoccupations other than earth-shaking social movements and epoch-making historical events. I had grades to keep up, homework, suburban lawns to mow for my customers, basketball to play in the afternoon at the neighbor’s hoop, school yearbook staff duties, and many other important things, I’m sure, other than thinking about how siginficant the Sixties was going to be in the social and political history of the 20th century.

Nevertheless, to this day I still feel I am somewhat “of that time and age” with all its social and cultural turmoil, the absurdities and excesses of the hippie, drug, and Woodstock scene, the hysteria of mass movements in fashion, sports and music, and other occurrences in popular culture, along with the really important events such as the civil rights movement, opposition to the Vietnam War, and the implementation of Great Society social programs such as Medicare and Medicaid. It was also a time of hope and idealism.

That book about 1969 took me back vividly to my youth. Since I was, from an early age, an avid consumer of newspapers, newsmagazines, and the documentary photomagazines of the day such as “Life” and “Look,” I had a few moments of real remembrance and longing for those long-ago days. That period, and the years that followed in the 1970s, were my “formative years” I like to think, and those books of pictures showcasing the personalities, events, tragedies and triumphs of the age, in some truly remarkable examples of photojournalism, capture and help trigger vivid memories. Or, at least, what memories you can call up from 50 years ago.

I recall that a young co-worker, of another generation and age altogether, spotted that book about 1969 on my desk, picked it up spontaneously, and flipped through the pages briefly. He then put it down without saying a word, all the while talking about this and that thing that interested him at the moment. I didn’t blame him at all not for stopping in his tracks and exclaiming, “Wow, the Sixties. That was quite a time. You remember a lot about it?” Sadly, for many of a certain age and generation today, born long after the Vietnam War ended, those years may be remembered for some of the cultural artifacts such as Beatles music and the signature clothes and lifestyles of the time, but the lessons of history seem to get lost on succeeding generations, I’m afraid. How many youth today are interested in studying history? Fewer than when I was in college, and that wasn’t a lot either. For a young person to understand the Sixties and Seventies today would require some reading, study and research to get beyond the stereotypes. Most people don’t have time for that.

Not that I’m any scholar of that decade. I could go back and discover a lot for myself and learn how the younger historians of today view that decade that upended a lot of the received wisdom and the status quo that had prevailed since the late Fifties.

But what an era! And, what memories!

Here is a song that embodies some of the magic and hope of that era. Considering what we are going through now in this country and the world, the words of this song sound hopelessly innocent and naive. What a difference half a century makes.