In the beginning...

Iris Gaines: “You know, I believe we have two lives.”
Roy Hobbs: “How... what do you mean?”
Iris Gaines: “The life we learn with and the life we live with after that.”
-Robert Redford and Glenn Close in “The Natural”.

I get that. I really get that. Do you? I like to think that somewhere along the way I got a pretty good education. Some of it from schoolin’. Some from workin’. Some from life’s experiences. Some from those who have garnered wisdom over their many years of living. Some from children whose naturally inquisitive “10,000 questions in a day” just leaves me in awe.

Folks talk about “old timers” disease, the disease you get when you’re older that makes you forget everything. I think it’s possible we go through that at a much earlier age, and that’s where we get our real “schoolin’”. Remember high school? Remember knowing everything? We were full grown and mature adults running around in 16,17 and 18 year old bodies. Bulletproof. Nothing we couldn’t do. No challenge we feared. And our parents. Our poor parents. How could they have gotten so old and be so blind to so many things? I mean, really. The things we knew and they just, well, they just had no clue.

And then we graduated. Well, most of us. Some went to college. Some went to work. Some didn’t make it out. Accidents and disease took their toll on a few. I remember catering a class reunion. The Class of 1927. I don’t remember the small school name, but the reunion was held in Pittsburg, Texas. What I remember is this. All of their class members were living. It was their 50 year reunion. ALL of their classmates made it through. More impressive, all were there, save one, whose health was not permitting. These folks endured “The Great Depression”. And wars. Maybe that’s another reason they’re called “The Greatest Generation”. Resiliency. Anyway, somewhere along the way, we learned that we just weren’t that learned. We hadn’t learnt as much as we thought.

I was gonna be the cool dad. Know all of the cool music. I was gonna be a dj. I never had illusions of New York or Los Angeles. Just a good community and be a contributor. Friday night football games. Local parades. And most importantly, great music. For me, it was mostly about the music. Remember, back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, the music was great. Rock and Roll was evolving. We’d seen the trend moving from music companies being in charge of everything. Remember the line in “The Buddy Holly Story”? “The artist writes the song. The producer decides how it will sound. The arrangers select the musicians, and then we pick just the right artist to record it.” There were “music tanks” back then, where folks went to work to write music. To write songs. That’s what they did! That’s a job!

Now, things have gone to hell in a handbasket. Step back for a second. Carole King started as a paid songwriter. Neil Diamond started as a paid songwriter. And as so many did, they moved on to performing their own songs. Buddy Holly was an early pioneer as an artist having control. And as we moved through the ‘60s into the ‘70s, artists who wrote their own songs became more prevalent. Jim Croce. John Denver. James Taylor. Dan Fogelberg. Lots of others. It became a trend. But just as the hearts of AM/FM broadcast radio and free broadcast television have been drained, newer artists now have entourages of workers putting out “songs” that have only repetitive lyrics, music made by machines instead of humans and played without human introduction or intervention. Who would have thought being a dj would become a pathway to follow the dinosaur? Yes, I was smart. I knew everything. I selected a dying profession. Well, it didn’t matter much. Small town radio doesn’t pay for multiple kids, so I bailed out and started selling cars.

Roy Hobbs: “My life didn't turn out the way I expected.” -Robert Redford, “The Natural”.

Me selling cars may be the most ironic thing of all time. When I was hired, I knew that “dooley’s” had 4 wheels on the back. That’s about it. Sure, I knew about hot rods. Camaros, Mustangs, ‘Vettes (Cor, not Che). But mechanics and mechanical stuff? Not. A. Thing. Yes, I had changed spark plugs. Plug Wires. Changed oil. But that’s not really “turning a wrench”. If I had a mechanical issue, I knew the two most important things. “Shorty” Hunnicut and his phone number, i.e., our family mechanic. And yet, I spent a lifetime selling cars. And did a pretty good job.

So at a time in my life I should be looking at retirement in the near future, here I am, sort of starting over. A divorce with 5 kids cost me plenty, but God blessed me with those 5 wonderful souls, and I miss them every minute of every day. Health issues along the way haven’t helped any. But after a year of not working, I find myself...back in the car business...working primarily in the Service Department. Facing a new challenge, I’m loving it. And the year off? Well, it gave me more family time. I got married to a shining star. We are raising our (you guys don’t know anything) child and I got more “dad” time out of it. And with the creation of Randy’s Ramblings, I got the opportunity to write. Something I have discovered late in life that I love. I like stories. And storytelling. When Chuck asked me to put together something one weekend sometime in mid 2014, I accepted. I thought it would be something I did from time to time. No idea that it would become a weekly thing.

Forrester: “No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is... to write, not to think!” -Sean Connery, “Finding Forrester”.

Randy’s Ramblings has become a great outlet. I’ve always been a “people watcher”. And in doing that, I’ve seen a number of folks that I always wondered, “What’s their story?” Well, now I’ve run across a few that have piqued my curiosity, and I’ve found out their story. And shared it here. Frequently I go into a weekend with no idea of what will appear. No clue. And then...something comes from nowhere. A news headline. A post on Facebook. Something I see at the grocery store. Like the famous line says, “There are eight million stories in the naked city; this has been one of them.” And if you watch carefully, observe the details, hear the sound and inhale the smells of the surroundings, the story writes itself. I sit here thinking, “Why couldn’t I have been a songwriter?” A good song is a short story. A great song is a short story that sticks with you for the rest of your life, triggered from time to time by an event that strikes a chord in your soul and pings all of your senses and emotions. And brings back a place in time, complete with visuals, sound and smell. Ramblings started out as a way to talk about Rock and Roll. But like Frankenstein’s monster, somewhere along the way it took on a life of it’s own. And like you, I’m just along for the ride. Thanks for stopping by.