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I am tainted with hippiedom. I turned 11 as the Summer of Love began in 1967, just old enough to know that something pretty groovy was going on in America.
Two things coalesced in my young inquiring mind that things were changing, even in Iowa Park, Texas.
For one thing, my dad hated all things hippie so there must be something to it. The Beatles were responsible for almost everything wrong with the world at the time, I was told; today, the health care problem would be blamed on the Fab Four. The Beatles, drenched in hippiedom, were a major reason things were going downhill in the U.S. in the Sixties. The second thing my prepubescent brain picked up – between wondering if my hero, Cincinnati Red pitcher Jim Maloney, would throw another no-hitter (he’d had two in ‘65) – was that people of different races seemed to be getting along. The reason I know I’m still tainted with c’mon-people-now-smile-on-your-brother-everybody-get-together-try-to-love-one-another-right-now funk is that when a pro or college sports team celebrates a success, I look to see how everyone rejoices together – black guys hugging white guys who fly-bump Latino players, all jubilantly happy together. You can see it in the stands, too; all races high-five. That makes my hippie heart happy.
One of the beauties of sports is that your skin color disappears whenever you don your team’s jersey. We football Meridian Yellow Jackets experienced that back in the fall of ‘73. We had a few black guys on the team (this was back when we said “black guys”), and there was some animosity amongst the races. The MHS coaching staff – both of them – wisely told us to “work it out.” You can’t be at odds and be a team, they said. This was the first time I’d ever been around black guys in sports. There were zero African-Americans in Iowa Park in my childhood and I never got in any kind of proximity to a black guy until we moved to Fort Worth in 1969 and I had some black classmates in fifth grade. At Meridian, Bobby and Willie Ray and Curley (yes, Curley was his real name) were my teammates. Once we slapped on those helmets, the race malarkey went away. For a few hours, it was us against the world – or at least the Eagles or Wolves. (This Us vs. Them is why the Olympics unites the U.S., too.) At Meridian, we eventually worked through the animosity. While some white classmates were bona fide rednecks who would still mumble the N-word under their breath, my nickname was “Hippie” (at MHS, we had a dress/hair code and my hair touched the top of my ear once, hence the tag) and I can honestly say I never said that epithet, probably thanks to the remaining tinge of the Summer of Love. In all modesty, I helped negotiate our peace but did not receive the Nobel Peace Prize, not being a new president and all. Why can’t we all just get along? Today’s conservative talk radio today is downright mean. So angry. And, I still see an occasional Rolling Stone magazine; its liberal bent makes it unreadable – everything that’s wrong today is either former presidents Reagan or one of the Bushes fault, never Clinton’s or Obama’s. Everywhere you turn the broadest of societal brushes are being painted: you hear that blacks and brown don’t get along; all whites are inherently racist; every Muslim is intent on taking over the world and killing every American; etc. It’s enough to make you to turn off the radio and get out your old Cat Stevens record and play “Peace Train” – “everyone jump on the peace train” – but someone would quickly point out that Stevens’ name now is Yusuf Islam. He’s a devout Muslim (and you know how they are [see above paragraph]). (Music, like sports, is a wonderful place where different folks with different backgrounds and tints forget they’re supposed to be at odds.) I’m the last guy in the world who’s a bleeding heart. I enjoy making fun of those aging dreamers; what’s sadder than a dithering hippie chanting about peace, love, and happiness? But, does all this hate serve any purpose? How many sermons have you heard that say keeping anger built up only messes you up – not the person you’re so perturbed at. Too bad we can’t put the meaness behind us. (Mean people do suck as the bumper sticker says.) Under the guise of freedom of speech (God bless it), some pretty serious bile is being spewed around. It’s their right, but... It’s enough to make you put on your Cowboys jersey, pick up a guitar, and warble “all you need is love.” (Next week I’ll make fun of me if readers don’t beat me to it.) Mark K. Campbell is the Azle News sports editor. |
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