By Rick Houser-
I doubt very much that I’m different from most other people my age. From time to time, I lapse back into reminiscing about my life and at some point I will stop and give something another look. Most times it is to just think about how it was and I often ask myself, “Why was that important or why did I do that?” The thing is that after the visit to those days gone by I still ask myself how I remember why I did something. I then smile a reassuring smile to myself because only I know why, and that folks is all that counts.
I grew up in the 1960’s and to say that they were a turbulent time is putting it mildly. Kind of like saying, a tornado is a mild wind. Growing up until then had been very much a routine. To be excited was measured on a lot lower key. In the 50’s came rock and roll, Elvis, Chuck Berry, and Jerry Lee Lewis to mention a few. They changed how the young acted and dressed, but the youth were still a main part of the family even if their music was loud.
In the 60’s, however, things changed drastically after the British invasion which to me meant the entrance of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, etc. The culture of the youth in America changed, along with the music was the social unrest and a big deal was the Vietnam War. Somewhere in the middle of the 60’s it felt to me that all of the change and unrest came together and formed what today is called the “counterculture”.
All of this brings me to a Saturday evening in mid-October in the fall of 1965. Until about this time, I had been content to lead the life of the average American kid. You know, I played basketball and went to the school dances. I wore a flat top and a shirt with a button down collar. Up until this time, it would have been safe to say we all came from a cookie cutter society and it was difficult to tell us apart.
My neighbor and one of the two best friends I had graduated from high school and then went and joined the Marines. Herb was two years older than I was but here he was having to decide if he would wait to be drafted or choose the branch of military he wanted. You see that was his only choice as our government had put over a half million of our young men in Vietnam and directly in harm’s way. I didn’t like this and as hard as I tried to think of a way around it. I came up blank. So in the mid-summer of 1965 Herb went to boot camp and in the fall he got to come home for a couple of weeks before being assigned where he would serve at and of course he ended up being assigned to the Middle East and Vietnam.
Upon his arrival home, he came over to visit with me a lot and we went to Felicity to see as many friends as he could see in a short period of time. However, the two weeks seemed to melt away and I could feel the time, or more so the lack of it. On a Friday night Herb told me to put on my best party rags and he would pick me up on Saturday evening as we all were going out to party and give him a big sendoff. I really didn’t know what he had in mind but since it was for him, I was in for it.
I was picked up about six thirty that evening and I had bought a pair of the newest styles out there- bellbottoms and a bright orange paisley shirt. I guess for those times I was dressed mod. Herb said he had planned a special night. We headed to Georgetown and up Route 68 until we got to New Hope, a name in the middle of farmland. I couldn’t figure out just why here but there in the middle of this agricultural oasis was a large building and a large parking lot and a big sign that said. “Welcome to the Sycamore Park Disco- A – Go- Go!” After reading the sign my jaws dropped.
For over a year now there were go- go shows on television with strobe lights and young girls in glittery dresses and wearing go-go boots. (They were knee high and covered in glitter.) We had come to a real live discotheque. Herb has always been a man of surprises to say the least.
It cost a dollar to get in and two people at the door would stamp your hand red for being only 18 or blue for being 21 or older. I was stamped for 21. (Always did look older than I was.) I was 15 and had gotten my first compliment of the evening. Since I was the only one marked old enough I was sent to buy the beverages and carry them back to the table. This I took as an honor for that night. I thought that since I was marked right this might just be my first chance to taste a mixed drink. However, when I looked into my wallet I realized I had only two dollars. I wasn’t planning to be at a place like this and hadn’t prepared well at all. Herb told me not to worry as he would take care of his little buddy.
The place had a couple of big guys who were the bouncers and on each side of the stage were two cages where a go-go dancer would get in and dance to whatever new dance the music was playing to. All night the music played loud and the beat was hard. This was the only time I was ever in this place but it was one of those wonders of the world. You know your life has been black and white so far and now it was in living color. The atmosphere of this place made his sendoff party feel more special than ever. Wow, what a time, is all I’m going to say.
The next morning Herb stopped by to say goodbye to me and it was one of the hardest things I have done in my entire life. He said he would be back and of course he was, but at that moment of departure all I could think of was that he was going to Vietnam. I think what pulled me through all of the emotion was thinking of the night before and the grand time we had had at the Sycamore Park A- Go- Go!
Rick Houser grew up on a farm near Moscow in Clermont County and loves to share stories about his youth and other topics. If interested to read more of his writing he has two books for sale. Contact him at houser734@yahoo.com. Alternatively, write him at P.O. Box 213 Bethel, Ohio 45106.
