Our rock band became a moderate local success for us, and allowed us to have something to do on the weekends. Early on, we unceremoniously kicked Mark Ward out of the band, something I still feel guilty about. We printed a business card that had our band name, “The Split Ends” with the names and phone numbers of four members of the band: me, Johnny, Dave, and Carl, and left out Mark’s name. We left the card on his Farfisa-style organ without saying a word to him. That was just mean!
We listened to music constantly and asked ourselves:
Is this a song we like?
Is this a song others would like?
Is this a song we can all actually learn to play?
We studied The Rolling Stones, The Animals, The Beatles, The Rascals, and the new bands, Traffic, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Cream, and The Who. We played at Canteens, which were weekly dances held in the cafeteria of the high school from 7:30 to 10:00. We played the whole time except for one fifteen minute break in the middle. I remember the janitor used to threaten to kill the power if we were still playing at 10:00. One time he actually did it. Our trademark show included a portable light show. Morris Peltz, a classmate and friend of ours, built a couple of light boxes that each held four spotlights. We put colored lights in them and there was a foot switch to control the speed at which the lights changed colors. We could do it quickly for a fast song, or keep it constant for a slow moody one. For the final song we always lit a smoke bomb or two behind the amplifiers. This often got us in trouble, but we were a rock band and were supposed to rebel a little bit. We never asked for permission, and in our minds the audience was always surprised by it and thought it was cool. We also played at other events like sock hops, which were dances given after basketball games where everybody had to take off their shoes so that the floor wouldn’t get scuffed. Also, each class had a prom every year, and as the band aged so did our reputation and the likelihood we’d be asked to play at these special events. We also loved to watch other bands play. Our favorite bands at the time were The Orange Invasion, Lord Dawn, Alexander Rabbit (Galaxies V), and The Young Monkeymen. We would study and watch how they played, listened closely to their performance, ogle their equipment, and get ideas on how to perform better. Periodically Carl would get us all tickets to see a big act in Princeton or New York City. These included Steppenwolf, The Doobie Brothers, Chicago, Chambers Brothers, James Cotton Blues Band, Vanilla Fudge, Country Joe and the Fish, and finally the mother of all concerts, Jimi Hendrix in his only performance at Madison Square Garden. As a drummer, I grew every time I heard a record or saw a performance. I also eventually realized the pivotal relationship percussion has with bass lines. This is called “the bottom” in music circles. I learned this mostly by watching the local R&B bands from Trenton, and listening to The Rascals and recordings created in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. I really liked clean and tight drummers with perfect, in-the-pocket, tempo. So Keith Moon (The Who), and Ginger Baker (Cream) were not my favorites, I always considered them to be sloppy, self-centered performers (I liked their music though). Drummers whom I respected were Dino Danelli (Rascals), John Bonham (Led Zepplin), Jim Capaldi (Traffic), Carmine Appice ( Vanilla Fudge), and Danny Seraphine (Chicago). Being in a rock band was a great activity in high school. It gave us a cool identity, and increased the likelihood of us getting girls. In the process, I made life-long friends, and never felt bored at all in the summer or on weekends. Most-importantly, we were in charge. No bosses, parents, or teachers watching over our shoulders, nagging us to practice, or telling us what to do. For the first time in our young lives we felt we were in control of our destiny — and we were entertaining people. It was such a great feeling to play a drum set and watch people dance to your beat. When we were on a break, and we had to mix with the crowd, we felt people staring at us. Not in a bad way, but with respect. As a band member at that exact point, what I did mattered to someone. That’s why I liked it and why it fueled my ego. Because for the first time in my life, no one compared me to Brad or Kent, no one thought about the many things I couldn’t do, they only looked and heard the things I could do, and enjoyed it as much as me.

NEXT UP – Musical Equipment Upgrades

When I was fifteen, Dad cut a deal with his friend and our vice-principal Mr. Arcieri, to get me a job. I was to work at Flynn’s Hardware on West Delaware Avenue in downtown Pennington as a clerk on Saturdays. I would get paid $1.10 and hour. Because Dad was not a handyman by any sense of the word, he was never able to show me anything about any of the items in the store, so I learned a lot there. I learned how to thread pipe, cut glass and screening, and glaze and repair windows. I also learned how to fill out invoices and make change. Making change was a little hard to learn at first, particularly with someone of my math aptitude. But once I learned how to do it, it was a magical way to give customers the right change, ensured you did it right, and made your cashier drawer balance at the end of the day. For those of you who don’t how to do this, it goes like this. Let’s say the person bought a screwdriver for $1.89 and they gave you a five. You would put the five dollar bill on the ledge above the till, open up the register, and then grab a penny, a dime, and three dollar bills from the till. Then you would ask the customer to extend their hand. You would say to the customer as you give them the penny, “one dollar eighty-nine plus one equals one ninty, pus ten equals two dollars.” Then you would give them a dollar at a time, “Three, four, and one makes five dollars.” Then you would place the five in the till and close the cash drawer. “Thanks for shopping at Flynn’s.” It’s a lost art, really. An older kid Billy Groth worked with me, and he knew everything. He would walk around the store on his hands and mess around at the end of the day. During that time, I was much more interested in playing music with my rock band. Old Mr. Flynn was a very nice man and ran the store with his rather bossy wife. The problem was he was hard of hearing, and as such, usually mumbled when he talked to me. He would say, “Marc go upstairs get that reedergliffen for me.” I’d say, “what?” He’d say “Reedergliffen. you know the jabberlimstotter we used last week?” After time went on I used to say, “okay.” I would wander upstairs and see if something looked familiar from last week. I was stunned when I found was he was looking for, but usually he would get annoyed and go up and get it himself. Periodically his wife would say, “Bob you’re mumbling. The boy can’t understand you because you need a hearing aid.” To which he would reply, “no thanks I already had lunch.” She would roll her eyes and walk away. I lost the job because I opted to go to a “Battle of the Bands” audition in Princeton, which we won. He was looking for a kid who could drive and deliver parts anyway. So my first exposure to the work world was a failure. I learned though that there was an actual application to the math I was learning in school, and that there were a lot of things I didn’t know about tools and hardware. Things that would end up costing me dearly in the decades ahead.

NEXT UP – Rock Star?

In the summer of 1970, at the age of 16, I took a trip alone to visit my Grandparents in Eureka, Kansas. The purpose of the trip was to get my driver’s license, which I’d have to wait until August if I stayed in New Jersey. I had never taken a flight before. I remember Dad dropping me off at the front of Newark International Airport and driving off because he had a meeting to go to. He told me to just go to the ticket counter and they’d help me. So I went to the TWA ticket counter and gave them my student standby ticket. This ticket was a half-price ticket, but you were on standby meaning, based on when you arrived at the ticket counter, you would only be able to get seat a based on the availability of seats at the time of boarding. Military standby was another kind of ticket that had a higher priority than students. So I got on board and found my seat, next to another boy about my age travelling alone as well. We hit it off okay and found out we’d both be together as far as Kansas City. At St. Louis, the first leg of our journey, all student standbys were asked to come to the front of the plane, where we were escorted off and we saw the plane leave without us. The gate person told us the next flight to Kansas City would be leaving very soon at another gate so we both ran down the concourse and when we got to the gate we dropped our tickets at the desk to get in queue. One by one, they named all the standbys, military first, then students. They said my new friend’s name but not mine. Disappointed, I asked for my ticket and was surprised that they gave my ticket to him! They allowed me to get on the flight (this was before TSA), and when I found him, he discovered he didn’t have his ticket. I didn’t know where to sit, so I sat in first class. My final destination was Wichita, so when they asked standbys to come to the front of the aircraft at Kansas City, I didn’t budge.
Getting my license in Kansas wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I failed the first time, and Grandmother had to drive me to Eldorado to take it a second time to finally pass it. Because I took behind the wheel training, I didn’t have to take a behind the wheel test. To their credit, trust and patience, my Grandparents allowed me to drive for the first time the next day on the way to the Ozarks in Missouri. It was in their 1966 Mercury Monterey. What a boat! The very first day I was driving I was going 85 miles per hour south on Route 99. In 1970 there was no speed limit there, only a speed minimum of 40 miles per hour. That stretch of road was interesting. Of course being Kansas, it was flat as a pancake, but every ten miles or so the road would rise to go over an irrigation ditch and then roll down. I remembered seeing on the local news that there was a fatality a month on that road as drivers would pass on the hill only to hit a car or truck coming up the other side. Since there was very little traffic on it, they probably figured, “what the hell.” So every time I’m going up and down these hills, my heart is racing. I couldn’t get off that road fast enough, and so I increased my speed to 90. Almost at the end of Route 99, I looked at my rearview mirror and saw a little red dot getting larger. And then I saw the hill coming up. The car behind was closing in fast as I saw the warning signs: DO NOT PASS, NO PASSING ZONE! The red XKE Jaguar passed me while I was going up the hill like I was standing still. He had to be going 140 MPH. I was sweating like pig. My Grandfather was calmly chewing gum and my Grandmother was asleep in the back. I said out loud, “Jesus Christ!” They could not understand was I was so nervous about. “Oh Marc, my lands. There is nobody on the road. We’ll be fine.” I noted on the next hill there was a semi-tractor trailer coming up the other side. Once there in the Ozarks, we had a good time. I went horseback riding and we went fishing. For some reason everybody caught a fish but me. There’s a siren that goes off and hundreds of fishermen throw their lines in the water. My Grandparents caught their quota within 30 minutes. I’d still be standing there without a bite. And Granddad baited my hook.

NEXT UP – Minimum Wage

Eighth Grade was when I had my first real girlfriend, Kathy O’Leary. Her hall locker was next to mine — they were assigned  in alphabetical order then. She had long brown hair. She was smart, had a good personality, was a ballet dancer, and liked to sing. We spent a lot of time kissing along the side of her house. One time around Christmas while we were resting our lips, she mentioned that her birthday was in June, and asked me when my birthday was. I couldn’t bring myself to say I was younger than her, so I made up a date in April, so we could get back to sucking face. I forgot all about it. A few months later we were going out to the movies with her family, and after they picked me up, she said they had to go back to her house to pick up her purse. When I went with her inside, I was blown away!  It was a surprise 15th birthday party, FOR ME!!!! Only about four months early, but I didn’t let on — she and her family went to so much trouble and I didn’t want to spoil it — at least this is what I told myself at the time. All my friends were there and Mom even made the cake. No one told Kathy! I got some great records that night, Volunteers by Jefferson Airplane, and Bookends by Simon and Garfunkle. When I asked Mom later what she was thinking, she thought Kathy was doing a wacky “unbirthday” teenage thing. The ironic thing about all this for me was that up to that point, I had never had a birthday party thrown for me. My parents were not big birthday celebrators and I, being the third born, was happy to get a cake and pick what we had for dinner that night in addition to a gift or two. So the first birthday party that was ever organized for me, wasn’t even close to being on my birthday, because of a prideful lie. Lying was an easy and convenient way of saving or bolstering my ego then. It would be a lie to say that was the last time I lied. I had plenty of opportunities to stretch the truth or make up stuff outright, but after this episode, I always asked myself if I had the memory to maintain the lie, or if it was just easier to tell the truth. The fact that I’m writing this blog should be an indicator that as I mature and age, I found the latter to be the best way to go. What happened to our relationship? I spent a lot of time watching her dance in the ballet scene in every presentation of Oklahoma at the Washington Crossing Open Air Theater in the summer of 1967. The next year she transferred to the Stuart Country Day School in Princeton, where I went to a dance or two, but she wanted to date others guys — probably older. I have to admit it was a relief not having to keep up the birthday lie. Holding on to lies can be very stressful. The image above shows how Kathy signed my 8th grade year book. I had given her the nickname “Ole Irish.” I wonder how long she knew about her leaving to go to another school. Hmm.

NEXT UP – First Flight

When I was 13 my parents decided it would be fun to take us boys to New York City to see a Broadway show. The hottest and most controversial one on the Great White Way was Hair, an irreverent musical about the burgeoning peace movement and hippy culture we were just starting to see and take part in. My parents got tickets and told us we’d be going to a Wednesday matinee. When I went to school to let the teachers know I’d be out that day, my friends were stunned. I was informed there would be nudity in the play – no minor issue for an adolescent like me. So I was going to see real naked women! The day came and I’ll never forget before the play started there was a young actor with a beard and Afro walking around the back of the seats wearing nothing but a jock strap. This was going to be great! So the musical began. I had heard the LP several times so I was familiar with most of the music. Aquarius, Easy to Be Hard, and then finally Where Do I Go. Then the lights went out and there was a man dressed in a policeman uniform and flashlight that shouts out that this is a raid and everyone must leave the theater at once. The audience laughed and appauded. Then the lights came on — it was intermission. I knew the nudity had to be coming in the second act. Under the marquee outside, I stood next to my father who was lighting up his filtered Kent cigarette. “So,” he said with a wink, “what did you think of that last scene, huh?” All of a sudden it hit me. Was that last scene, the one I frankly didn’t pay attention to, the nude scene? When we came back for the second act, I was hoping they’d be another one. But alas, there was not. Apparently to make it so children as young as 12 years old could attend the performance, there were some specific guidelines the producers had to follow: low lights, no stripping off clothes (it was done under a sheet), and once they were all naked, there could be no movement on stage. That’s why everybody laughed when the policeman came out. I was so disappointed. When I got back to school the next day, in a lame attempt to maintain my coolness, I told my classmates it was really “Boss,” which meant it was awesome. Of all the hippy traits, the ones I emulated were bell bottoms, a shell necklace, and I did grow my hair longer. In fact I don’t recall visiting a barber more than three times in high school. As for naked hippies, I never saw a single one during this whole time. Maybe they were out there, I just wasn’t paying attention!

NEXT UP – The Birthday Party

These years were crazy both at home and in the larger world. Vietnam was in full swing with protests, the draft, and the draft dodgers. The music scene was exploding with Woodstock and the new louder and dissonant sounds of rock. People started to wear very bright colors. For the first time girls wore miniskirts and blue jeans. Guys started to grow their hair and wear wide bell bottoms, and shoes with high heels. Books were coming out that started conversations about women’s liberation and individualism like I’m Okay, You’re Okay. The assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr, and the deaths of well-known music idols like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin made headlines. At home, Dad was getting drunk more often. Drugs had entered the house in the form of Marijuana and LSD. Kent and Brad had taken up smoking cigarettes. Lisa was now going to school. My Grandparents and Uncle visited only once a year and you could see they were getting older as we all were.

NEXT UP – Naked Hippies