From Chubby Checker to “Maggie May” in Daydreaming on the Porch

(Author’s note: I am confidently composing this, knowing only too well that no one under 40 reads these essays, and so most of you will know what I am talking about and not consider me too ancient.)

When I was in grade school we had these odd disks called 45 rpm vinyl records. (Instant recognition, right?). I used to go to the dime store and look through the top ten records for that week and maybe buy one. We all had record players then as opposed to streaming music on our phones. There weren’t any home computers back then, laptops, desktops, iPhones, tablets, Bluetooth wireless players and devices, etc. it was pretty basic. The 45s spun fast compared to the full album records which were 33 and 1/3 rpm and twice the size, and again, all made of vinyl, which is making a comeback among the young generations today — Z, Alpha and maybe some Millennials or older. It’s hard to believe things were so “mechanical” in those long-ago days.

It’s interesting how when we look back to our youth and formative years, there are always songs and albums that seem to bring memories back vividly. Who knows why certain songs remain with us all these years later?

I think the first 45 rpm record I bought was Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” when I was 12 or 13. Before that age, the only songs I heard were either on crude transistor radios with terrible sound, or on TV variety shows my parents and us kids likely watched in the late 50s, such as Dinah Shore and Perry Como, and later, “The Andy Williams Show” in the early 60s. Those programs were classic Americana, and each of the singers had distinctive voices, styles and personas, and were enormously popular. Additionally, their music has held up with the passage of time.

Back in the early 60s, “The Twist” was a huge dance craze. It swept the country. And, it was easy to do, unlike the complicated dances of earlier generations such as the Jitterbug. You just had to fold your arms in toward your chest, raise them a bit, and swivel your hips to the beat. Anyone could do it, even your mom and dad and grandparents. It was sort of like the Hula Hoop fad in the late 50s where you similarly gyrated, keeping a big plastic hoop twirling precariously around your waist. Now that was a really dumb craze when you think about. It even seemed dumb to me when I was 9, but everyone had one, and everyone was hula hooping. At least it wasn’t as idiotic as the Pet Rock fad soon after.

Unfortunately, the “The Twist” and similar hits were old news by the time The Beatles roared into New York City in 1964 for their appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” and live concert performances before squalls of screaming teenage girls. What a hoot!

Naturally, geeky me, I was always a bit behind in the latest pop hits, and suffered extreme embarrassment and humiliation when I brought some Chubby Checker 45s to a 7th grade dance where everyone laughed because all they were playing was Beatles songs like “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” I have no idea what I was thinking back then. It was mortifying enough to even go to a dance at age 12 and not come away psychically scarred and unscathed, which I did. This was in pre-Internet days when kids were still kids and much less sophisticated that those of today who’ve grown up with the Internet.

Well, I survived that embarrassing dance, and went on to build up a collection of 45s until high school when radios were much better and the Top 40 pop and rock stations dominated the airwaves.

In the Fall of 1971, I hauled into my college dorm room a large and heavy, carved-wood AM-FM radio that was simply the best radio I had ever had, before or since, with good sound (although not stereo), and a flat, carved wood top that I could put my glasses of ice cold Hi-C Grape Juice on. It was my pride and joy. And the song I remember best from that keepsake of a radio that I held into for many years, was “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart. I thought that was the coolest song ever and always turned up the volume when it played. I was 19.

The Twist

Maggie May