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1967: Jumping Off Point

Crossing oceans, climbing bridges

Photo by kyler trautner on Unsplash

Bruce Springsteen once said (and will maybe say again on his upcoming tour, for which Paul Combs has all the tickets safely stored):

“It’s so hard to be a saint when you’re living in the city.”

Maybe I’m off by a word or two there, but if I take the trouble to look it up, I’ll just find myself back again at the Tennessee State Legislature wondering why it’s so hard to punish rabid gun owners instead of those speaking out for gun safety and strict control of assault weapons?

Think of 1967 when riots in those almost saint-less cities encouraged some folk on the far left of things to take up long-barreled or sawed-off or piped-up weapons. There were some scared legislators who wanted those guns removed from the hands of “those people” for sure.

I was eleven years old in 1967 and felt all the confusion someone my age should feel. Who was right and who was wrong and why was the supermajority so afraid of the super-minority, those who had so little political power but incredibly powerful tones?

I tried to let music help me through those many nights of wonder, fear, dismay, and often I’d turn to the British bands I loved, hoping that all I or you…