"Hello Walls" - Faron Young (1961)

Willie Nelson wrote this song, and his jazz like version is wonderful in so many different ways; from the melody he plays so well, to the slightly deeper voice than that used here by Faron Young. But I would imagine that Willie Nelson still listens to this version, too. It has a certain purity about it, which eludes even Mr. Nelson’s talented fingers. And that’s hard to do!

The song went #1 on the Country and Western charts and eventually hit the Pop charts as well, where it enjoyed 13 week run before petering out. The following year saw the emergence of Mr. Nelson as a recording artist in his own right, and to no one’s surprise he included this song on his first album “And Then I Wrote” in 1962. It is still a staple of his performances and I believe it’s also the same guitar as well! That thing has more holes in it than there are craters on the moon.

I think what I like about this version is that it gives me a peek into the world which I knew I was missing out on as a kid in Brooklyn. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my childhood in Brooklyn for anything. It was a great training ground for many of the problems which come our way later in life. I often feel sorry for those who were not raised there.

But, at the same time, I am cognizant of the fact that there was this whole other way of living to which I was not privy, even though I was aware of its existence. My little 6 transistor made in Japan radio gave me a taste of it every night in the darkness of my bedroom, where I listened to anything coming over the dial. The goal was, of course, to get the Grand Ol’ Opry, but that was rarely possible. Wheeling, West Virginia was a long way off, and to get it well, you really needed to go to the roof of the 7 story apartment building we lived in at 1310 Avenue R and East 14^th Street.

Now, going to the roof at night to listen to the radio was not the best idea, as my parents were very strict and our apartment was kind of like a prison camp. This was great training for my later adventures in the Navy, as I was used to regimentation and discipline. But there’s always more than one way to skin a cat, so I took a coil of thin copper wire which I got a the Hobby Shop on Avenue S, and ran up to the roof where I dropped the coil to right outside our second floor, rear window, which faced due South. Going back downstairs I took the wire in and hid it along the window jamb, where it was virtually invisible. At night I took the excess wire and attached it to my radio by winding it around the whole body and then connecting the loose end to the wire at the window.

This all sounds simple but had to be done after my brother was asleep. He was the type who would constantly run to my parents about anything I did at all which might be prohibited. Again, this was great training for the military and even jail, where snitches abound. You have to learn to work around them in order not get caught doing something wrong.

At any rate, these precautions were worth their weight in gold, as they opened up the whole world to me. Even today I keep 2 shortwave radios. And when the night is just right; preferably a cold, starlit one; I turn it on and listen to the static as it  gives way to news from the BBC, or the weather out of Belgium, along with a million voices speaking in tongues which I may not even recognize, but love hearing anyway. It reminds me that we are all connected, even if only by the the airwaves.

Hey, can you believe that this started out to be about Faron Young? 

Forty Two

It has been 42 years since Robert Kennedy was killed in Los Angeles. He was 42 years old. So much has been written about that night and his subsequent death that there is little to add.

I was 13 and a half when Kennedy was shot. Coming, as it did, on the heels of Martin Luther King's murder, 8 weeks earlier, it was one of those events that leaves you changed in some measure. There is a loss of confidence and security in all that surrounds you.

In the years between 1962, when I received my first transistor radio, and the end of the decade, I got most of my news and music through a flesh colored apparatus known then as the "earphone." They came with the radio. And every night when I went to bed I put the radio beneath my pillow and the "earphone" in my ear. With the lights out and the music on I traveled far and wide in search of that indefineable "something." And sometimes I'd get it. The night of June 4th was one of those nights.

Just past 3 AM in the early morning hours of June 5th, I was listening to WMCA Radio 56 (560 on the AM dial) when the news broke that Robert Kennedy had been shot at the Ambassador Hotel in L.A. No one was awake. Even back then I was a lousy sleeper, frequently keeping the radio turned on beneath my pillow all night, waking at intervals to check on the news, or search for a favorite song.

Roaming the dial from one end to the next at nighttime brought in some extraordinary places. I would jot down the names of the cities and the names of the stations. Addressing the postcards to the stations in such faraway places as Colorado, I would inform them that I had received their signals in New York City and at what time. I usually got back a postcard thanking me for listening. I had dozens of these and considered myself somewhat akin to the early radio listeners and the crystal headsets they wore.

But this event was so astounding, so mesmerizing. In the dark everything is magnified, senses are enlarged and the mind's eye gives sharp focus to the words being spoken. It was that way this night as I lay there listening to the reports coming in.

All through the next day I watched and waited with the rest of the world to see if Robert Kennedy would pull through. There was no way I was going to sleep that next night. This was a drama that had to be seen through until the end. And that end came sometime around 4:30 AM when Joeseph Mankiewicz tearfully announced the death of Robert Kennedy. The rest is history.

The world has changed in dramatic ways since those days. The ways in which we receive our news 24/7 has brought the world closer in some measure. But I will always remember, and even long for, the days when I got my news through the "office" beneath my pillow, flesh colored "earphones" in place, searching for the next "big thing."