Auld Indeed

All dates since January 1, 2000 have seemed unreal to me. I was born near the middle of the last century (1952) and, although intellectually I know this to be silly, to this day it feels to me as though the current year should be written Nineteen-something-or-other. I still sometimes hesitate when dating a check or document lest I start the year with the wrong two digits.
 
Though I seldom can put a specific date to recollected conversations, I can assign January 1, 1970 to one, simply because the date was the reason for it. After the turbulent 1960s, a new decade seemed to offer a fresh start. (It really didn’t: culturally the “1960s” as we usually think of them continued another four years; they transitioned into the cultural “1970s” over the course of 1974 as former hippies swapped their headbands for disco shoes.) “1970” itself had a futuristic ring to it on that day, which probably prompted the dinner conversation with my dad, mom, and sister about the far distant year 2000 when not just a new decade but a new century and millennium would arrive. I remarked that I would be 47 – older than my dad in 1970. This seemed so ludicrous that we all laughed at the notion. My dad said he didn’t think he would last that long. (He did: he died on July 12, 2000 at 74.)
 
Age 47 and the year 2000 both arrived on schedule of course. While I didn’t laugh at the latter event it nonetheless still felt ludicrous. Tomorrow will be 23 (!) years later yet. Perhaps the reader can imagine just how ludicrous that feels. So, for Auld Lang Syne I’ll fire up the Wayback machine to recall life 23 years before 2000 on January 1, 1977.
 
The radio played a bigger part in my life then than it does today, so it likely was playing. Playlists are easy to recreate since the Billboard 100 offers a week by week cheat sheet going back decades on which songs were popular when. The top 10 in the US for the week of 1/1/77 were:
 
1. Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright)
Rod Stewart
2. You Don't Have To Be a Star (To Be In My Show)
Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis Jr.
3. The Rubberband Man
The Spinners
4. You Make Me Feel Like Dancing
Leo Sayer
5. More Than a Feeling
Boston
6. Sorry Seems To Be the Hardest Word
Elton John
7. I Wish
Stevie Wonder
8. Dazz
Brick
9. Car Wash
Rose Royce
10. After the Lovin'
Engelbert Humperdinck
 
OK, there have been better Top Ten lists before and since – but there have been far worse, too. I didn’t own any albums containing any of those songs (in that era I preferred the likes of AC/DC and Bob Seger), but wouldn’t have changed the radio channel if any of those numbers played if it meant crossing the room. I might have in my car for a couple since that just meant pushing a selector button.
 
My personal life was in a fun phase in ‘77, which is appropriate for age 24 in the most hedonistic decade of the past two centuries. My very special lady was a strawberry blonde named Angela. 46 years later it still feels wrong to post a pic without her permission, so I won’t, though she does figure in a nonfiction short story on one of my other blog sites. (We broke up in ‘79 – it was her idea.) My car was a 1973 Ford Maverick (nothing like the current Ford with that name) of which I was fond. It served me reliably wherever I drove it. Two years earlier this included a circuit around the continental US. I have only one photo of it, strangely enough, and that just by chance because I photographed a cat. I lived at home with my parents, which is normal for single 24-year-olds today. It wasn’t actually rare then, but in 1977 it did tend to encourage the judgmental question “Why?” (The reason was money, of course; I bought a cottage a few years later, which otherwise wouldn’t have been possible.) I was healthy, young, strong, and stupid. I wasn’t stupid on the surface. I was bookish (then as now), intellectual, and well-educated in the liberal arts. I was stupid deep down. The full effects of that wouldn’t show up for some years, however, so in 1977 I was blissfully unaware of it.

1973 Ford Maverick in background

All in all, 1977 was quite a good year. I’d be happy to experience it again, either exactly as it played out the first time around or, better yet, with the classic “If I knew then…” advantage.
 
Now, here we are 23 years after 2000. Assuming I survive past midnight, I will be as surprised as my dad was 23 years ago on January 1. It is too early to get a read on what 2023 has in store. For me personally 1977 would be a daunting act to equal, never mind exceed. But I’ll totter on and give it a try. Happy 2023! (I didn’t even hesitate on those first two digits.)

 

The Clash – 1977