HAPPY BIRTHDAY 1974
You’re Still Golden After 50 Years!
by Christopher Long
Bless their hearts — young people today. They just don’t know any better. Truth be told, as a little old man living in the tragic 2020s, who lost his virginity as a strapping young man during the lava-lit 1970s (on authentic shag carpet, in a bedroom with Ted Nugent wallpaper), I’m more than qualified to state that I’d rather be impaled by a PS5 controller than be a young person in today’s hyper-sensitive, pseudo-complicated iWorld. Why do you think they call it, “Artificial Intelligence?” Case in point: today’s youth culture claims the Kardashians, Lil Nas X, and butt floss. My crew owned the Bradys, Led Zeppelin, and Days of the Week panties. Mic drop.
Over the years, more than a few friends have inquired about the significance of the “74” associated with many of my email addresses and social media platforms. Although it is most definitely a reference to the year 1974, it wasn’t the year I was born. (I’m way older than that.) However, I did live through those glorious days of 1974 — all 365 of ‘em. But why on earth, after a half-century, do I remain so obsessed with 1974? That’s an excellent question!
I exited the 5th grade, entered the 6th grade, and turned 12, all during 1974. And for my generation, I believe the year marked the end of our innocence — the final wide-eyed days before facing our all-too-certain future teenage trials, and then adult tribulations.
It was a magical time. It was a simpler time. If a parent takes away his or her son or daughter’s iGadget in today’s world, that kid will go instantly into nuclear meltdown mode, screaming in full-blown drama queen agony — “I’M SO BORED! I HATE MY LIFE! I’M GONNA KILL MYSELF!” Relax, Francis. You’ll be okay.
Back in 1974, we had no Internet. There was no such thing (and we survived). Heck, we only had three television channels to choose from and they all typically went off the air at midnight, except for that one cool channel that stayed on the air ‘til 5am on Friday and Saturday nights, showing classic black and white Dracula, Frankenstein, and werewolf movies from the 1930s and ’40s. The only “gadget” I had in 1974 was the little AM radio that I zip-tied to the crossbar of my dad-built, customized chopper bicycle, with steering wheel, windshield, fur-lined side baskets, and green tires. Yeah, my ride was “pimp,” long before that was a thing.
Yet, I don’t recall ever being “bored” in 1974. We played, outside — all day, and with other humans! We even walked to and from school, uphill, both ways, often by ourselves — safely. We also read books, collected trading cards, and listened to records — typically 7-inchers. AM radio was our “Spotify” in 1974. And the DJ-curated playlists were splendidly genre-neutral. And from the high-energy rock of Grand Funk Railroad and Alice Cooper to early disco hits by The Hues Corporation and Barry White to singer / songwriter classics from Cat Stevens and Carly Simon, I loved it all. As I recall, those cats were fast as lightning. Although, it was a little bit frightening. However, they did fight with expert timing. Just sayin’.
In 1974, the majority of my friends in Springfield, Missouri, still lived in their first houses. For the most part, we all still had our first pets, and our parents were still living and were still married — to each other. Additionally, our parents spent time doing stuff with us — family vacations, boating and fishing expeditions, and camping trips.
But our parents did need a little occasional downtime, and for me and many of my elementary school peeps that meant getting dropped off frequently on the weekends at the local roller rink, while Mom and Dad chilled for a few hours doing mom and dad stuff. I spent countless Friday nights at Skateland, rollin’ with my crew: Joe Deskin, Kerry Middleton, and Brad Pitt. (Yes, that Brad Pitt!) And it was during one of those famous Friday nights in 1974 that I first faced true female rejection.
Sis was a “bad girl” who hung out with a pack of other notorious, cigarette-smoking 6th-grade “bad girls.” I, on the other hand, was a naïve church boy — a pathetic geek with a sad bowl haircut and horn-rimmed glasses. Sis was a stunning beauty with long, sandy blonde hair and seductive green eyes. Hey Mom! What does “seductive” mean? Sis always wore sneakers, faded, skin-tight, bell-bottom blue jeans, and a dirty-looking denim jacket. She was my 12-year-old dream girl. One Friday night at Skateland, I found the courage to approach Sis and ask her to join me in a couple’s skate. A distinct look of contempt crossed her face quickly as she cocked her head back, worked up a loogie, and spit it in my face. I took that to mean she was passing on my couple’s skate invitation. After that night, I became less interested in Sis.
Like most kids, I spent a lot of time going to the movies. Released late in 1973, The Sting, American Graffiti, and The Exorcist were among the box office biggies in 1974. Also, the year brought a bumper crop of soon-to-be classics to the small screen. Iconic sitcoms such as Happy Days and Good Times, as well as the much-loved family series Little House on the Prairie, and the detective drama The Rockford Files all made network debuts that year. However, for my money, the pick of the litter was the short-lived TV version of the popular Planet of the Apes film franchise. General Urko was one badass gorilla, and he was totally cool. Heck, even the porn was somehow (kinda) innocent in 1974.
Then, there was the legendary motorcycle daredevil, Evel Knievel — the first bona fide “rock star” for many boys my age, during the pre-David Lee Roth era. Knievel’s mega-hyped Snake River Canyon rocket cycle jump took place on September 8th. And seemingly EVERYBODY around the world watched as Knievel climbed into his crazy contraption and blasted off, only to have his parachute open prematurely halfway through his cross-canyon flight — blowing him backward and sending him sailing downward, where he crashed at the bottom of the canyon. Although he would do a few more “traditional”-type jumps over the next couple of years, 1974 pretty much marked the apex of Knievel’s career.
It can also be said that 1974 was the tastiest year ever, ‘cuz that’s when the Ralston Corporation introduced the greatest breakfast cereal of all time — Freakies. More than merely magically delicious, Freakies tasted like Cap’n Crunch and was shaped like Cheerios. Joe Deskin and I devoured the crunchy-sweet delicacy, cases at a time, and I still can sing the catchy Freakies theme song. Wanna hear it?
Remember the Wacky Packages craze? From Peter Pain peanut butter to Mrs. Klean kitchen cleaner to Crust toothpaste, the hilarious sticker / trading cards spoofed an endless slew of American products. By 1974, “Wackys” had become such a pre-pube obsession that we named our little league baseball team, The Wacky Packers. Given our economically challenged backgrounds, “the Packers” couldn’t afford authentic team uniforms. Hence, our makeshift uniforms consisted simply of blue jeans and white T-shirts with huge Wacky Packages images emblazoned on the fronts. The shirts were a hot seller at Kmart. Rather appropriately, my shirt had AJERX printed on it.
And speaking of crazes, it would be remiss of me not to at least mention the “streaking” sensation that swept the nation in the spring of 1974. The Ray Stevens parody single “The Streak” became an instant #1 smash. Don’t look, Ethyl!
Resembling a larger, collapsible, soft plastic version of their popular “Butterfly” yo-yo, the Duncan Toys Company introduced the Jo-Jo in 1974. Unlike a traditional yo-yo, the Jo-Jo was operated by manipulating TWO ends of an unattached string that glided back and forth in a clutch system between the two sides of the Jo-Jo, like where the tiny metal piece connects the two sides of a standard yo-yo.
A bunch of us at school got totally into the Jo-Jo craze. Joe Deskin and I actually got really good at mastering various tricks, although he wasn’t as good as me. We entered all the local competitions, usually held in the parking lots of neighborhood shopping centers and convenience stores. First, Second, and Third Place patches were awarded at these contests. Joe and I won an ass-load of the patches, and his mom, Laney, would sew them on the backs of our jean jackets — kinda like a pre-pube, super-dweeb version of motorcycle club “colors.” Joe and I even made it to the County Jo-Jo Championship. But I couldn’t handle the competitive pressure on that level, and I choked. My hopes for taking home Jo-Jo “gold” were forever exterminated at the Battlefield Mall on that fateful Saturday afternoon in late 1974. As a result, I was left with emotional scars that I carry to this day. Not really.
But it wasn’t all fun and games in 1974. It also was a time of incredible American controversy and subsequent healing for our country. Faced with the disgrace of the recent Watergate scandal, Richard M. Nixon was the first US president to resign from office. Having been sworn in mid-term as vice president just eight months earlier (following the resignation of Spiro T. Agnew), Gerald Ford succeeded Nixon on August 9th. And for the first time in American history, a man who had never been elected to our nation’s highest office now occupied the White House.
It was a year filled with crazes and controversies, music, movies, magic, and more. But for me, the most magical aspect of 1974 was, a song.
Springfield’s local radio stations were typically a few months behind national programming trends, and Todd Rundgren’s 1973 Top Five smash “Hello It’s Me” didn’t pop onto my radar until early 1974. In my (qualified) view, the heartfelt, mid-tempo song addressing an impending break-up is not only the best and brightest work of Rundgren’s impeccable career, it’s THE greatest pop song of all time. Mic drop #2. Simply put, in my world, “Hello It’s Me” IS 1974. Bravo, Todd! I owe you a sweet box of chocolates or a beautiful floral bouquet of some sort.
Hey, 1974 — thanks for the memories! And congrats on reaching the big 5-0 milestone. But, you’ve always been “golden” in my book. And you’ll forever be Dyn-o-mite! ◼
