Happy 50th anniversary, 1969…you were groovy, you were grievous
Being on the other side of 50 may not sound like much fun to you youngsters, but, in all honesty, even though we are graying, losing a step, and tight jeans may not look as flattering as they once did, it certainly has its advantages.
We had the best music.
We had a true sense of community as we bound each other in a counter-culture determined to stop the war in Southeast Asia.
We had incredible art.
We were witnesses to some inspiring and significant moments in history.
We were witnesses to some mind-numbing tragedies that were also significant moments in history.
Happy 50th anniversary, 1969.
It was a hell of a year, and I don’t know if this nation has the stomach or courage to go through another of that scale and substance.
It was the year I turned 18, became a legal adult, registered for the draft, graduated high school, started looking at myself in an entirely new way.
I was leaving the trappings of childhood behind, and getting ready to take what I thought at the time to be rather big, bold steps.
Everything was possible, or so it seemed when viewed through the psychedelic lens of 1969.
And, everything was of a scale unimaginable, even by today’s overblown and sordid standards.
The year was bookended by two highly improbable sports achievements, beginning when a brash young man named Joe Namath guaranteed that his underdog New York Jets would defeat the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III, a brash prediction if ever there was one considering how the NFL had pounded the AFL in the two previous championship games.
Namath was a sports icon for the burgeoning counterculture. He had long hair, wore white, low-cut cleats instead of the standard black hightops. He was filled with confidence and talent. And, he was a rebel who had no difficulty in giving the needle to The Establishment, particularly when he shared his personal training regimen of spending the night before a big football game with a blonde and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red.
Namath became a folk hero when he made good on his promise to beat the Colts and give the AFL it’s first world champ.
At the end of the year, the Amazin’ Mets, who never finished higher than ninth place in a 10-team league during their first seven seasons, won the World Series behind some fanciful pitchers, including Tug McGraw, who was as brash as Namath.
It was McGraw who, during a mid-season meeting conducted by the team owner, shouted out “Ya gotta believe!”
It became the rally call for the previously hapless Mets who ended up winning 100 of their 162 games on their way to winning the World Series.
McGraw, the father of country singer Tim McGraw, was young, cocky, and spirited.
He was also as quotable as Namath.
When asked one time about whether he preferred AstroTurf or real grass McGraw said, “I don’t know. I’ve never smoked AstroTurf.”
Of course, what transpired between the unlikely stories of the Jets and Mets has filled the history books.
Richard Nixon was sworn in as 37th President of the United States, an event that led to what was, until now, the most shameful era in American history.
The first temporary artificial heart was implanted by Dr. Denton Cooley.
The space program was at the zenith of its arc when the United States landed on the moon on July 20 and Neil Armstrong took his “one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind” and walked on the lunar surface. Dad was giving me a ride home from work that day when the lunar module landed. Our family sat breathlessly around our television set later to watch as Armstrong climbed out into the moon’s thin atmosphere and step onto the moon.
It was the year when the first message was sent over ARPANET. Although it initially only connected to four computers, ARPANET was the forerunner of the internet.
It was a year that left an indelible mark in many ways.
It was in 1969 when the first draft lottery was held.
If you were born between 1944 and 1951, the lottery – a drawing of all 366 dates possible in a year (remember Leap Year?) – determined your draft status. The higher the number, the less the chance of being drafted.
The importance, of course, is that by random chance, some young men died early after being forced to fight an immoral, irresponsible war, while others drew numbers high enough to ensure they would not be forced into military service. My number was in the 250s, high enough to keep me from being drafted into military service, for which I was certainly not suited.
One hot and humid summer weekend on a 600-acre dairy farm in upstate New York, about a half-million hippies gathered in an acid-drenched celebration of peace, love and music. Those of us who are a certain age will forever be linked to Woodstock.
John and Yoko held bed-ins for peace in Amsterdam and Montreal, the gay rights movement took hold after the tragic Stonewall riots in New York City, the first ATM machine was put into use in Rockville Centre, New York, Scooby-Doo aired for the first time, The Beatles walked across Abbey Road, the first Gap store opened in San Francisco, and one of cinema’s all-time classics, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid” was released.
The year had its darker side of course.
It was the year when a previously unknown disease would claim its first life. Eventually, it was confirmed that the patient was the first in North America to die of HIV/AIDS.
The Manson Family stunned the world with savage back-to-back slaughters, known in the history books as the Tate-LaBianca Murders, and, of course, there was the insanity at Altamont where The Rolling Stones failed miserably to continue the peace and love vibe of Woodstock when the Hell’s Angels they had hired to provide security for the concert, got amped on bad speed, LSD, and cheap wine and turned on the crowd with heathen fury.
It was mind-expanding experience in that hippie-dippy sort of way in which we lived back when a joint and Sgt. Pepper could bring calm to an overwrought soul.
It was also a time when we collectively lost our innocence as we realized the yin and yang of what humanity was capable of foisting upon us.
Seems like our collective demeanor has become more grievous than groovy these days and that’s a shame.
Might be a good idea to dig out that old Beatles’ vinyl.
Just for old time’s sake.
Peace, love and happiness.
The viewpoints expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Independent.
How to submit an article, guest opinion piece, or letter to the editor to The Independent
Do you have something to say? Want your voice to be heard by thousands of readers? Send The Independent your letter to the editor or guest opinion piece. All submissions will be considered for publication by our editorial staff. If your letter or editorial is accepted, it will run on suindependent.com, and we’ll promote it through all of our social media channels. We may even decide to include it in our monthly print edition. Just follow our simple submission guidelines and make your voice heard:
—Submissions should be between 300 and 1,500 words.
—Submissions must be sent to editor@infowest.com as a .doc, .docx, .txt, or .rtf file.
—The subject line of the email containing your submission should read “Letter to the editor.”
—Attach your name to both the email and the document file (we don’t run anonymous letters).
—If you have a photo or image you’d like us to use and it’s in .jpg format, at least 1200 X 754 pixels large, and your intellectual property (you own the copyright), feel free to attach it as well, though we reserve the right to choose a different image.
—If you are on Twitter and would like a shout-out when your piece or letter is published, include that in your correspondence and we’ll give you a mention at the time of publication.
Articles related to “Happy 50th anniversary, 1969 … you were groovy, you were grievous”
Earth Day 2019: Since moon landing, global population has doubled
