The Summer of '65 Revisited

In the cold of winter, winds were strong enough to re-park a car, but in the beauty of summer, cold winds turned to warm breezes, and breezes became the pulse of better days. Those summer winds were never strong enough to rattle the old gate in front of my friend's house, nor shake the fence that held it in place. My barefoot days on hot asphalt, and lush grasses fresh with sprinkler water, were well celebrated. In the wonderful summer of 1965 all of my youthful dreams and ambitions were tied to the end of a kite string, or gripping the handlebars of a Stingray bike. That summer was a network of days, friends and songs that are forever embedded in my heart. I have many rooms in that heart where good memories live and loved ones remain. The years 1964 and 1965 occupy a good portion of my recollections; 1965 was a turning point for me, and come July, I turned ten years old.

I wanted to be James Bond cool, but didn't quite make it; I wanted to be as loud and exciting as any one of The Beatles, but again fell short. All that aside, the excitement of that year more than made up for what I felt I lacked personally. Hit songs on the radio never seemed more radiant or exciting! The Byrds changed the face of pop music with their 12-string opus "Mr. Tambourine Man", and Herman's Hermits were churning out hit-after-hit. The Beatles and The Beach Boys were still on top, and anyone lucky enough to have a record by either one, was the best house to be at. "California Girls" was as exciting as exciting could be, and I waited patiently for it on the radio. The Beach Boys proved once again, that the mere mention of their name seemed to be the living definition of warm days and hot summers.

As a ten year-old, the summer of 1965 was an amazing joy ride filled with Kool-Aid, the best music on the planet, and first kiss excitement. A great ball in the sky—so intense that it couldn't be witnessed with the naked eye—brought heat and summer glory to my nearly forgotten street. It was a summer of G.I. Joe, electric guitars, hot cars, and beautiful days. Down the street, the neighbor's dog barked at every passing car, and their son Gary revved his car in the driveway. I removed tiny bits of asphalt gravel from my bare feet, and celebrated the fact that a pair of cut-offs were all I needed. From my friend's record player Paul sang: "For I have got, another girl..." and when I hear it now, I am swept up once again in my beautiful days of long ago. Upon reflection, James Bond may have been cool, but he wasn't 1965-living-in-our-neighborhood cool. The skies were blue forever; the sun was hot, and life was great in the summer of '65.