In the early 1960s I was a young convert of the Monterey Church Of Christ. One of my fondest memories of this time is the monthly Saturday night trips we used to make to the skating rink, in the big city of Cookeville. It was located in the gym of the old National Guard Armory. I still see it clearly in my mind, and hear the juke box.
My sister,and I lived for these nights. A chance at social interaction with our peers, and a temporary escape from the cultural isolation of being "yankies" in a small southern town in 1967.
I developed a very unique way of meeting girls, and breaking the ice, at the same time. I had learned to talk with an English accent watching The Beatles Cartoons, and Davy Jones, of The Monkees. Anna, and I got pretty good at it. So I would put a nickel in the jukebox, play one of these two songs, and when a girl would come rolling over...."Ello ello, who's the pretty gurl then eh?" Worked like a charm. There were times I'd have three or four young ladies to flirt with at a time. Pretty heady stuff for a fourteen year old. Picture me, at that age, John Lennon glasses, pinstripe bellbottoms,paisley shirt, and Beatle boots. And that accent..."Right then..hello."
Now lets fast forward about twenty-five years...CLUNK! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM..CLUNK!
It's a hot summer day in Tennessee. circa nineteen ninety-three. Me, and my buddy Bobby Baker, are "adventure driving" as Bobby liked to call it. We used to love to cruise the small two lane blacktop & gravel roads of Jackson County. Ah the tales.. (Remind me to tell you about the time I got in the enclosure with the full grown mountian lion.) We made friends with an elderly couple who ran an oldtime country store way out in the sticks. They would feed us, and treat us like family whenever we would stop in. Thick sliced bologna sandwiches,cheese, and home canned pickled green tomatoes..0oh. We spent hours with those wonderfull people.
On this paticular trip though we were at another favorite J-County destination, Flynn's Lick. It's a local swiming hole on Flynn's creek, on a gravel road, way in the country.It is a beautifull place. We were Drinking a few cold ones. Sharing a..umm..*cigarette*. Bob playing his six string, and me singing. A group of locals made their way down the path from the road. Bob just kept playing, so I kept singing. As luck would have it, we were doing "Yesterday", and I usually sang Beatle songs in an English accent when I was with Bob.
Bob leaned close, and murmurrd. "Follow my lead." Next thing I know he's introducing himself, and his friend from London England..Gerold. And just like that, I was an instant celebrity, with a dozen people hanging on my every word. We played every Beatle song we knew, and a few of our own songs. It was a blast!
That was a part of the joy of my friendship with Bob, we played. We used to crank his stereo, and play air guitars, pretending to be whoever was on at the time. We were grown men in our 30s, and 40s. We didn't care. I never had to wear a mask with Bob. Never had to apologize. Never had to explain. I remember one afternoon we were out in the woods & fields behind his place "hunting". Well we had 22s anyway. What we were really hunting was a buzz. We were sitting in a thicket in the shade, Next thing I knew Bob picked up his rifle, and said. "Gooks in that tree line yonder captain."
I didn't miss a beat. I turned over on my stomach, scanned the treeline across the pasture from our hiding place, and said. "Get on the radio sargent, we gotta call this in to battalion."
