Rock of the Aged

I went through my teenage and early adult year’s in the 1980’s. Just as it is today, music is an essential element for daily living. I have been a frustrated guitar player since I was about 10 years old. I am very out of practice and no one will ever confuse me with with the late, great Les Paul. Nonetheless, my red Squier Affinity Telecaster remains at the side of my desk so that I can play some chords until my tendonitis makes it hurt too much. My love for the guitar has driven me toward great guitar sounds. I have always enjoyed listening to many different genres of music. I love the wonderful chords and beautiful vocal harmonies that come from acts like Simon & Garfunkel, The Eagles, and Dan Fogelberg. I also gravitated toward the harder rock edge from a young age to bands such as KISS and Queen. This harder rock edge and my love for great guitar tones, rockin’ guitar riffs, and rippin’ guitar solos made the 1980’s a great time for music in my life.
Some of my obsession with guitar driven rock music probably started when I got a 45 record of “Don’t Stop Believin’” from Journey. [NOTE: For those of my readers who don’t know what a 45 rpm record is, ask your parents.] I already liked Journey’s music at the time. But that song is one of many in their catalog that features the perfect blend of Steve Perry’s vocals, Ross Vallory’s bass, and the smokin’ guitar of Neal Schon. I played that record constantly as I started my air guitar career. If Neal Schon was unable to fulfill his duties in Journey, I wanted to be READY.
During my sophomore year in high school, another band released a great album – Foreigner. Their album, “4”, had some GREAT songs on it which included: “Urgent” and “Waiting For a Girl Like You”. Once again, it was that perfect blend – Lou Gramm’s vocals and Mick Jones’ guitar. This culminated in my attending a concert in 1982 at the Savannah Civic Center. Foreigner was promoting their “4” album with (then unknown) Bryan Adams as an opening act. I went to the concert by myself. I was so close to the stage I could tie Lou Gramm’s shoelaces if he needed it. At one point in the show, they told us they were playing a song from their new album - “Juke Box Hero”. I stood there as my chest rattled from Dennis Elliot’s bass drum and Rick Wills bass guitar. You could feel the crescendo build as Lou Gramm’s vocals began. Then, Mick Jones brought me to the crest of the wave. I HEARD ONE GUITAR (JOOOOOOOOOOOONG) AND IT BLEW ME AWAY (JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENG).  I could see stars in my eyes. So, the very next day, I walked around sporting my overpriced Foreigner shirt that I bought at the concert. I saw Foreigner again three years later. The second time, I was in the nosebleed seats with a group of friends. I would have loved to have been closer to the stage but among this group of friends were some very pretty girls. Sorry, Mr. Jones. SOME things have priority over watching you play the chords to “Feels Like The First Time” from 15 feet away.
I am now in my mid-forties and I still love those songs. Next month, I am going to have the pleasure of seeing Journey and Foreigner live. They will be accompanied by another great band from the 80’s – Night Ranger. The bands and I have all gottten just a bit older. None of them have the original lineups intact. Neither Journey nor Foreigner have the singers that helped put them through the stratosphere. That’s OK. Arnel Pineda and Kelly Hansen quite superbly handle the lead vocal spots of Journey and Foreigner respectively. Even Night Ranger has a different guitarist these days (Joel Hoekstra replaced Jeff Watson). Obviously, it won’t be the same as it was in the 1980’s. Then again, neither am I. I know that once the chords start playing, I will be back in 1985 (minus the Members Only shirt).

Ace of the Arcade

My son, Caleb, LOVES to play the video game system we have in our home.  Many a time, I have entered my domicile after putting in a full day’s work and seen him with controller in hand. I do manage to get a brief and almost automated “Hello”. In spite of this warm greeting, his eyes never leave the screen. Sometimes I even stare at him for a couple of extra minutes just to be sure he is blinking at regular intervals. Usually, he is engrossed in a race between a plumber, a mushroom, and a princess. Other times, he is engrossed in the adventures of a blue, hasty hedgehog. Sometimes, the plumber and the hedgehog are playing together in the same game. My wife, daughter, and I have also fallen into the tractor beam thrown out by the ensnaring entertainment system.

Admittedly, for the cost of my family’s weekly food budget, this game system has more than paid for itself. But as I gaze upon my son’s intense game play, my mind goes back to my teenage years. Home video games systems were extremely primitive by today’s standards. The first game system my parents provided was a black and white game system with a very simple theme. You had two white stick objects (one on each side of the TV screen). Using a game controller, you had to hit a square “ball” to the opposite side of the screen forcing your opponent to volley it back to you or miss hitting it with his/her stick. If the opponent missed, you scored a point. Just like Caleb, this could have my sister, brother, or me in front of the TV set for hours on end.

Ultimately, I was drawn toward the video game arcade in my neighborhood. My parents were very gracious to provide me with a couple of bucks at least once a week. This served a two-fold purpose for my parents. Firstly, it provided me with a safe, legal, and inexpensive form of entertainment. Secondly, for two dollars they could get me out of the house for 2-3 hours. In retrospect, with as much money as they “invested” in my teenage years, it’s a wonder why they don’t have a controlling interest in several video game companies.

The arcade was located in a mini-plaza within short driving distance of my house. There were several suites in the mini-plaza. Unfortunately, I only remember the pizzeria and the arcade. Sometimes, my friends and I would pool our money together to have some pizza then go next door to the arcade.

Aside from the numerous pubescent, pimply faced patrons, there were two primary figures that were constant to the environment. The first is the arcade attendant. The arcade attendant is easily recognized by the uniform vest and pouched apron. The pouched apron contained extra tokens for game play and dollar bills for making change.  The second is the police officer assigned to the mini-plaza. He was a tall, gentle giant of a man whom we all simply addressed as “Sir”. The officer’s job was simple: keep order and make sure people don’t loiter in the parking lot. Most conversations were simple. “Young man, you have to go inside or leave”. “I am waiting for my mother to pick me up, Sir”. You will have to wait INSIDE or LEAVE, young man”.  “Yes, Sir”.

The ritual was simple. You took your dollar bill and placed it into the change machine and received 6 tokens for one dollar. This was a great deal since most games were one token per game credit. I put countless hours over the years playing Berzerk (“Intruder Alert!”), Tempest (“SuperZapper Recharge”), and Bosconian (“Battle Stations”). For two tokens, I could play Dragon’s Lair (“To slay the dragon, use the magic sword”).

There is one night that sticks in my mind very clearly. After, playing all of the aforementioned games, I had one token left and the arcade was closing in ten minutes. I went to my greatest game fixation at that time — Tag Team Wrestling. I figured I could use my last token on a quick game and end my fun night. I sat in the stool and put my token in the coin slot. I started the game and immediately was in my own world. Nothing else around me existed. I was playing my wrestling game with the same intensity that my son guides his hedgehog. I noticed two people standing beside me using my peripheral vision. Steadfast in my game, my eyes were fixated on my wrestling match. Eventually, I lost my final match and my game ended.  I stood up and let out a deep cleansing breath. Then I noticed something. All of the other pubescent, pimply faced patrons had left. The two people at my side were the arcade attendant and Officer Sir. I looked at my watch. The arcade had been closed for fifteen minutes. The arcade attendant and Officer Sir had been kind enough to allow me to finish my game without interrupting me. Office Sir even said “Good game, young man.” “Thank you, sir”.

I walked out the door and got into the 1975 Chevy Vega my sister had allowed me to borrow for the evening. In the morning, I would go back to chasing pretty girls (no tokens required) and planning my next arcade outing. But, in that misaligned 1975 Chevy Vega, I was the Ace of the Arcade. That was better than being King of the World (That’s right. I’m talking to YOU, Jack Dawson).