I wanted to be a child of the
‘60s, but the only real child of the ‘60s I knew was my best friend Victor’s older sister Bronwen.
Bronwen somehow got to go to
Denver to hear the Kinks and the Zombies—the Kinks were the coolest of those British
bands.
Bronwen also had that Mothers
of Invention Freak-Out record.
You didn’t try to call me. Why didn’t you try didn’t you try didn’t you
know I was lonely?
Victor and I saw Dylan in
Denver in ’66, the day after we went ice skating at the Broadmoor. I think Dylan had The Band with him. He sang Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat.
“I bought this guitar in
Denver,” Dylan said.
“It’s a good-old guitar.”
So why do I say I’m a child of
the ‘70s instead of the ‘60s?
The ‘70s was the decade I left
home, but there’s no use describing it because it was mainly just a decade of
truck drivers and CB radios.
Some of the truck drivers were
children of the ‘60s, though, with their weed, whites, and wine.
My friend Victor and I got
launched in the ‘70s. Here I am, nearly to 2020, but poor Victor didn’t make it
to the new millenium.
