a generation lost in space
Jun. 1st, 2022 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somedayseattleAfter I finished my shift of riding the back of the train I rolled over to pick up Erica. On the ride over I switched to 104.7 FM. I hit that station at the opening notes of Don McLean‘s 'American Pie', and epic tribute to The Big Bopper, Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens. I’ve always considered it an incredible tapestry of lyrics. Hearing this song always makes me happy because it invokes a great memory.
A few decades ago, way back in the 1900s, I was a stupid teenager who sounded like a stupid teenager. I could barely construct a full sentence. As a senior in high school I saw there was an elective course called Creative Writing. I figured that it would be an easy course and maybe it could help me create some coherent thoughts. The teacher was a short, hippy of a man named Mr. Attaway. He had a Ringo Starr haircut and a 1970's gay porn mustache. He was passionate about words. “Words are all we have, man! Everything else is just masturbation!” Mr. Attaway was rebellious. He did not believe in tests or grading students. He just wanted people to appreciate the words that we have at our disposal. Needless to say he was a huge influence on my thinking. They were not a ton of people signing up to take this class so Mr. Attaway only taught it for two periods a day. The school did not dedicate a full-size room to the class. We met in what was basically a glorified supply closet with one window. On my first day I walked over to the desk in the front row, far left. I believe it was fifth period. I tucked my books under the chair when I noticed someone had written on the top left corner of the desk in pencil.
“Long long time ago, I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile”
I dutifully wrote underneath it-
“And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance”
Game on. Every day I returned to class to see one more line of this song written on the desk. I would add the next line. This went on for weeks until the song had been completed. It was comforting to know there was only one other class using this desk. Whomever was writing their lines and I had a personal connection of sorts. I came in one day aghast to see the janitor had completely scrubbed the desk clean. I tried to revive the magic by writing in pencil-
“There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven” but my mystery friend never responded.
I had asked Mr. Attaway a couple times who was in his other class and he only responded by saying I would recognize them because of how well spoken they were. 40 years have passed and I’ve never learned the identity of the vandal who wrote all over that desk. I kind of like it better that way. The mystery remains.
A few decades ago, way back in the 1900s, I was a stupid teenager who sounded like a stupid teenager. I could barely construct a full sentence. As a senior in high school I saw there was an elective course called Creative Writing. I figured that it would be an easy course and maybe it could help me create some coherent thoughts. The teacher was a short, hippy of a man named Mr. Attaway. He had a Ringo Starr haircut and a 1970's gay porn mustache. He was passionate about words. “Words are all we have, man! Everything else is just masturbation!” Mr. Attaway was rebellious. He did not believe in tests or grading students. He just wanted people to appreciate the words that we have at our disposal. Needless to say he was a huge influence on my thinking. They were not a ton of people signing up to take this class so Mr. Attaway only taught it for two periods a day. The school did not dedicate a full-size room to the class. We met in what was basically a glorified supply closet with one window. On my first day I walked over to the desk in the front row, far left. I believe it was fifth period. I tucked my books under the chair when I noticed someone had written on the top left corner of the desk in pencil.
“Long long time ago, I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile”
I dutifully wrote underneath it-
“And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance”
Game on. Every day I returned to class to see one more line of this song written on the desk. I would add the next line. This went on for weeks until the song had been completed. It was comforting to know there was only one other class using this desk. Whomever was writing their lines and I had a personal connection of sorts. I came in one day aghast to see the janitor had completely scrubbed the desk clean. I tried to revive the magic by writing in pencil-
“There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven” but my mystery friend never responded.
I had asked Mr. Attaway a couple times who was in his other class and he only responded by saying I would recognize them because of how well spoken they were. 40 years have passed and I’ve never learned the identity of the vandal who wrote all over that desk. I kind of like it better that way. The mystery remains.
