05/04/07
The Rambling Man has been referred to as an “Old Hippie”. I’m not exactly sure why. I don’t consider myself to be “Old” (is there such thing as a “Young Hippie” anymore?), so I wonder what those who refer to me that way are implying. Plus the fact that in my youth I was about the farthest thing from a hippie as someone could have been makes me wonder why they place that label on me now. Is it the fact I wear my hair in a ponytail even though I’m pretty much bald? Is it the earring? Is it the fact I have been known to burn a doobie from time to time? Is it that I was able to retire at the age of 54 and don’t do much anymore other than lay around the shanty and put a good buzz on while they still have to get up early every morning and join all the other rats in their Monday through Friday race?
The term “Hippie” is derived from “hip” or “hipster” which, back in the 50’s was used by the beatniks to mean someone who was in their group or thought the same way they did. In other words, it was someone who was cool, Daddy-O (I learned that from Maynard G. Krebs). It was not a derogatory term. Of course the “Hippies” didn’t refer to themselves as hippies, they preferred being called “beautiful people” or “flower children”. “Hippie” was given a negative connotation by the media in describing drug use, extra-marital sex (the hippies called it “free love”), and protests against the Vietnam War in which the hippies took part. Back in the days of the real hippies (not the tie-dyed wannabes of today) The Rambling Man was a crew-cut, straight-arrow, non-political high school student. The most illegal and controversial thing I took part in back then was swiping a root beer mug from the Dog n Suds drive-in restaurant. By the way, I have that very same mug for sale on ebay right now if anyone is interested.
I was white-bread, middle-America, Little League and apple pie. My dad went to work each morning and my mom stayed home and took care of my sister and me and the house. I ate dinner with my entire family every evening, and we all ate ice cream while watching Ed Sullivan together every Sunday night. I watched John Wayne movies and believed America was really like that. My first inkling that it wasn’t exactly like that was when I saw the movie Easy Rider. The first time I saw Easy Rider I didn’t think it was a very good movie. I was confused by the advertising slogan for the movie which said, “A man went looking for America and couldn't find it anywhere”. Later in life I realized how accurate it was. The American idealism of the 1950’s and 60’s was collapsing around us into the cynicism and mistrust of the 70’s and 80’s. Growing up my generation had been given the peace and security of Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best, and then we were sent off to Southeast Asia to kill people we had no reason to be pissed off at. Had I known then what I know now I may have ended up becoming a hippie. But, to be honest, at the time all of that was going on I was more concerned about winning the next basketball game and trying to get laid than I was with politics and war. For those of my readers who are now wondering, yes we did win the next basketball game, and no I didn’t get laid.
The Rambling Man has also been referred to as a “Biker”. I do have a motorcycle. I do have a black leather jacket with lots of zippers. And I do wear a black helmet, gloves and glasses when I ride. But again, I am probably the farthest thing from most people’s image of a biker a person can be. If you want to know the difference between a biker and me just go see the movie “Wild Hogs” and you’ll get the idea. Just like “Hippie” the term “Biker” was given a bad connotation by the media who played up the newspaper selling, sensationalistic, dastardly deeds of the motorcycle gangs of the 50’s and 60’s. Unfortunately, the image rubbed off onto all those who enjoyed riding motorcycles, like me. And while I will admit to sometimes trying to “look the part” when I ride, I am one of a growing number of just regular folks who just happen to enjoy the feeling of freedom achieved in motorcycle riding. The “Bikers” I know are some of the finest, nicest, most considerate people you could want to meet. One biker buddy of mine is a railroad engineer and also one of the most talented guitar players and singers around. Others I know are truck drivers, insurance salesmen and auto repair shop managers. In other words, they are everyday people who have everyday jobs just like you and me (well, like you anyway). I enjoy motorcycle riding so much, in fact, that I am in the process of looking for another motorcycle. The one I have is great, but I want one with a bigger engine. It’s like that old saying goes; Motorcycles are like boats and penis’s. No matter how big yours is, you always think you need a bigger one.
I guess the point of this Ramble (if there really is one) would be that too many people judge others by what they look like. It’s the old “don’t judge a book by its cover” thing. At present my cover apparently implies “Old Hippie/Biker”. I wonder how I’d have to wear my hair, what clothes I’d have to wear, and what I would have to drive to make people mistake me for a writer??