The touch of the ordinary

I graduated from Law School just as MTV began on cable television. I remember visiting Ken Smith in Danville, Virginia and watching music videos while Ken was at work. The effect of the images as connected with the music was alluring and addictive. So addictive that in 1983 my cousin Ed spent most of his vacation time in New Orleans with his buddies, eating pizza, drinking beer and watching music videos while the allures of New Orleans hung outside the house, thick like the humidity and the Spanish moss in the trees.

I remember that I soon found room to object to music videos because they substituted a pre-made image to go along with the music. This created a situation in which pre-packaged images substituted for the associations between the music with the age of the listener and the places in which we heard the music. It eradicated the imagination of the listener, the memory of the recipient and replaced it with some mini-drama, conceived by some Hollywood director or "creative" person. Our memories were replaced with a storyboard.

When I was a young teenager, I remember listening to "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple while my buddies and I played cards and slept over at each other's houses during Summer break. The songs of Deep Purple and Jethro Tull and such make me think of those sleepovers in Dunwoody in the late 60's and early 70's.

For at least two years, the equipment manager at W&L would put Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" in the tape player first and we heard it every day before and after football practice. For that reason, that song reminds me of a dusty locker room under the stands at Wilson Field. Just like "Beast of Burden" by the Rolling Stones reminds me of our Senior year during football season. I can't tell you how many times we sang that at the top of our lungs during my senior year in football.

Jim Stafford's song, "Spiders and Snakes" will forever be associated with high school basketball, since it seemed to be constantly playing when John Boswell and I were driving either to or from basketball practice. Of course, "One Toke Over the Line" figures in there too, since we always sang that together when driving around.

When I think of Grand Funk Railroad, I think of a restaurant in Valdosta where my parents always drove to meet my aunt and uncle to exchange Christmas presents. In the restaurant was a juke box which had all the greatest hits of Grand Funk, and which always seemed to be playing while we ate at the restaurant in early December.

Finally, Peter, Paul & Mary's "If I had a Hammer" makes me think about driving around Indianapolis with my dad in his Hillman Scout, listening to the folk music on the gray leather radio he kept in the Hillman.

I have food triggers to memories. Fried Shrimp makes me think of St. Petersburg. Oysters mean Apalachicola. Beaten biscuits mean little ham biscuits in a bag for the train ride from Hopkinsville. Barbecued pork means the Pic A Rib across from the old train depot in Clarksville. Turkey, dressing and all the trimmings reminds me of the dining room at the farm. A cold coca cola is the front room in my great aunt Mamie's house on Franklin Street. And coal smoke drifting in the winter wind, and the smell of tobacco curing permeating everything throughout the year.

Its funny how different things can trigger explicit memories and emotions. Like this afternoon. Kate and I were standing in line at the Kroger Pharmacy, trying to buy prescriptions for Cindy, toothpaste for Kate and dogfood for Tex. We were talking about nothing. Really, nothing. Cindy was sitting elsewhere within a display of patio furniture and plastic cabanas, trying to quell a burning pain in her knee.

When we had completed our purchases, we left the pharmacy area and headed for the display where Cindy was sitting. As I approached, I noticed her sitting under the plastic cabana, with her sunglasses on. I made a bad joke about visiting Margaritaville.

But as I approached closer to Cindy, I noticed a hitch in her voice as she told me she had called Momma's house to hear the recording left by Kate on the answering machine. Apparently, as she heard the answering machine message on the telephone, she suddenly remembered that the old message had been laid down by my father. Now Cindy sat, behind the privacy of her sunglasses, and mourned anew for the loss of my father. For the loss of his recorded voice on an answering machine.

As I bent down to comfort Cindy in her chair, employees of Kroger came up behind us and offered assistance and comfort. Kate, embarrassed by the attention, hustled us out of the store. I offered my arm to Cindy as we left the store.

In his old age, my father could be sarcastic and short sometimes. Particularly to Cindy and to Momma. But I guess we all knew the depth of his love for us and still feel our loss. It is amazing what can trigger those memories. Amazing how deeply they go. And how closely they remain near the surface.