Darlin’

Late one night many years ago after spending some quality time drinking beer, laughing, and listening to music in an Oxford bar called The Gin,  three friends and I meandered our way back to an apartment at the Round houses.  Katherine and Allyssa lived there.  We all staggered into the apartment and flopped into various chairs about the room. 

The Round Houses were not your typical, low-rent college apartment complex.  No, the Round Houses were cool.  Despite the façade of coolness, they were still just crappy, fire trap apartments with bad paint, cheap carpet and cheaper appliances.  They were located just around the corner from the famous Ole Miss Marijuana patch.  The marijuana Patch is where Ron Shapiro, soon to be proprietor of the Hoka, worked when he first came to Oxford.  He was a security guard. No kidding, Ron Shapiro was a security guard at the marijuana patch.

As three of us got comfortable and talked about who knows what, Katherine put an album on the stereo. Yes, we had actual stereos in those days, turntables and tape decks with giant bad ass speakers.  No one paid much attention to what she selected.  Katherine had interesting taste in music.  It was just background music for our conversation.  We always had great conversations on all sorts of topics.  We talked politics and religion.  We talked sports.  We talked law.  We talked a lot of law. 

Katherine was just a little crazy but had an amazing intellect.  I was certain she would make a fortune in Personal Injury Law.  Allyssa was a world savvy and somewhat cynical retired ballerina from Long Island who came to Ole Miss in pursuit of an MBA.  John was a laid back surfer dude from Florida and one of the nicest guys I have ever met.  We were good friends.  Everyone should have friends like these at some point in their life.  We worked hard, and we played hard.

I remember that night when the very first notes of a song caught my attention.

For me, those notes cut through the sounds of our conversation as if we were sitting silent.  I recognized the attitude of the intro riff and just seconds later a crystal clear voice began singing “Darlin’, I’m feelin’ pretty lonesome…..”

It had me.

I don’t know why, but I instantly loved that song.  Though I had never heard it before, I knew that song. Perhaps it was because I understood being broke and missing someone dear.  I listened intently while that song played. I don’t know why, but that song stayed with me.  I never bought the album it came on.  It was on a crappy soundtrack album for a crappy John Travolta movie called Urban Cowboy.  I didn’t even know who performed it for many years.  My universe of music didn’t include that particular artist.   Though the singer has since become very famous and enjoyed amazing commercial and critical success, when she sang this song on that crappy soundtrack, she was still virtually unknown.  Bonnie was her name, Bonnie something.

We are 40 years past that night at Katherine and Allyssa’s apartment.  I just heard Bonnie Raitt sing ‘Darlin’, and it all came rushing back again. It always does.  I’ve heard it many times since the days in the apartment and it’s always like traveling through time and space back to those special days in Oxford. Songs, like smells, can trigger powerful memories, great memories. I can hear The Tangents playing in the Gin and smell the smoke and cheap perfume in the air. I remember the heartbreak and frustration of the Steve Sloan era at Ole Miss.  I can hear our laughter over the low rumble of conversations that broke out while the band took a break between sets.  I can still see the optimism of our youth sparkling in our eyes and the bright promise of our futures glittering like fireworks in the night.  I think of some of the absurd things we did and got away with. It’s good to be young.

The Hoka and The Gin are now long gone, but the somehow the Round Houses remain. Ron Shapiro has passed away and they have plowed the marijuana patch under to build a soccer stadium. I am retired now. My wife and I live in Florida.  Sadly, come August, John left us six years ago.  Allyssa has retired and moved back up to Long Island.  (Who in the hell retires to Long Island?)  Katherine is retired.  She and her husband live happily in Oxford.

When I hear that song, perhaps what I miss now are those dear, dear friends.

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