Summer of '77

Ahh, the glorious parent road trip. Being dragged from historic location to historic location all over southern Ontario when we were young. Visions of Martyrs Village, Pioneer Village, Fort Henry and many more have all blended together 30 years on.  We never had a lot of money growing up so to cut the cost of travel we would get crusty Italian bread or fresh croissants, mortadella and prosciutto with some cheese and fruit for meals on the go. Stopping at whatever version of Denny's or the Golden Griddle we would find along the way before hitting a motel for the night. At the time I was blissfully ignorant of the fact that I was actually learning something, focusing more on the idea of my resting inertia being disturbed for the summer, but now....these are the things I like to do. Discovery, history, simple yet good food.

The venerable Chevy Vega followed by the Chevy Nova being our transport during those summer road trips. Yes, that Nova My Faithful Steed To think its warm and fuzzy beginning was to be sullied by my coming of age as a driver of ill repute. Seat belts were a thing to slip off without your parents realizing it, of course a parents ear is finely tuned to that kind of thing and for a short guy my dad incredible reach to the back seat - I'm sure you get the picture. Certainly no car seats or anything resembling a nod to safety. Parents up front smoking their faces off from a time when they used to smoke. Radio tuned to some nonsense talk radio show for some reason and long boring drives punctuated by visits to little towns and nondescript motels. All the things an 11 year old kid looks for. The only fun was torturing my little sister, I mean pestering her a tiny bit in response to her provocations. She started it!

The summer of 1977 was the year we did the 1000 Islands and Gananoque region. I remember Boldt Castle and the ferry ride to it...sitting atop a cannon with my gaudy brown leather jacket and shaved head. What? Oh...let me rewind a bit. This is the summer that my dad took it upon himself to have my head shaved. I suppose in a fit of like father like son togetherness, he took to be to get my scalp freed of that annoying mop...just like him. Now, truth be told, I don't remember going or even getting the cut but my sister says she vividly remembers it. She might have even been scarred by it. Once again, I swear I was dropped on my head a few times. I understand my mom was quite upset when she got home from work late that night to find me with some stubble where my brown locks were. What I remember was having to face my friends with that shiny dome...baseball hats weren't in vogue back then. If I was scarred I got over it pretty quick.

Now, there may be something to be said for my thick lustrous hair that I currently sport...perhaps that ritual shaving helped, but I suspect that comes from my grandfather on my mom's side. Which brings us back to the cannon between my legs....right. Photos of me look like a mini me to my dad, brown leather jackets, bald heads and silly/sullen grins on our faces. Can you blame us, we've been stuck in a car with no air conditioning for days on end driving all around the damn 401. Are we there yet? In one picture, I am straddling a huge cannon with my shiny noggin and SS era jacket...ahhh, the 70's and their fashion mistakes and photos not thoroughly thought out..

What I also remember is driving along some highway, staring out the window where one could see a sun shower happening off in the distance...it was almost surreal to watch rain falling elsewhere. And almost fittingly in the surreal department was the radio announcement that Elvis had died. The King was dead....one of those where you when moments. Stuck in a car...that's where. I must admit I am a fan of Elvis. My parents, I suspect more my mom than my dad, had a few 8 Track tapes of Elvis that I listened to, I watched all his silly boppy movies and remember most of the lyrics to the songs in them...actually one of my favourite song  lyrics comes from one of those movies, Fun in Acapulco:

"Drink, drink, drink

Oh, fiddle-de-dink

I can dance with a drink in my hand"

And you can watch the video here Elvis ...how does he make his body go in 17 different ways at the same time. Cheesy and really lame? Yep, for sure. So what. The man died, cut him some slack.

Like Michael Jackson after him and just about any mega star, Elvis turned into a caricature of himself...what you heard and saw more of was the excess that he had become. Think his Vegas shows, bedazzled outfits and fried peanut butter sandwiches. Jackson had his ranch and Elvis had Graceland. Something about absolute power corrupting absolutely comes to mind but at least there were the early days. He was a bad ass before he came to be that special agent for the government. He had moves, he could sing and he looked like Elvis...seriously. He was the man...one of five guys that I think are "the man", The others being Johnny Cash, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young and Bob Marley.

Shaved heads, ugly jackets and the passing of Elvis....that was the summer of 1977 for me. What were you doing that summer?

Ciao

D