In the early 1960s, just as the The Beatles brought a new sound to America, he brought rock and roll to Birdland. He taught every kid in Birdland to sing Herman Hermit songs with a “proper English accent”. Ponder that for a minute. He saw doing what he did as something of a public service.
In 1964 he watched the Olympics on a tiny black and white TV and discovered pole vaulting. He taught everyone in the neighborhood to pole vault over barbed wire fences. He and his partner in crime taught the younger kids in the neighborhood how to play everything from baseball to Kick The Can. If he didn’t know how to do it, he’d just figure it out. His imagination knew no bounds when it came to hi-jinx. It was as if he lived to dream, and he lived the dream.
In the early 70’s, he introduced hard rock and FM100 to almost everyone I know. The music of the David Bowie, The Who and the Rolling Stones echoed through Birdland.
By the mid-1970’s, he was conducting master classes in trick shots and served as court side basketball announcer, narrating everyone’s shots, including his own, at the dunk goal in his parents’ driveway. He narrated a basketball game like Howard Cosell called a boxing match, blow by blow with emphasis and distinctive flavor.
Some people have an impact on the world that far exceeds their own understanding. He was like that. He taught many a kid how to creatively talk trash in a basketball game. He was Larry Bird before Larry Bird was Larry Bird. He never gave up hope and showed everyone how to keep going no matter what because coming back from certain defeat is almost like becoming immortal. He loved nothing more than narrating the underdog in a pickup basketball game as they battled and played beyond their ability just to hear his ‘on-air’ description of their efforts. Everyone left those games with a very strong self image. Even if you lost, you know you gave it your best; you went down swinging to an elequent and inspiring narration and that is, after all, what really counts.
At one time, he was the undisputed king of the air guitar. His love of music knew no limits. He didn’t listen to music. He experienced music.
I haven’t seen him in over 40 years, but thing things I learned from him are things I still try to live by today. Be a good guy. Help the little ones. Be optimistic. Find the humor in things. Enjoy music. Live well.
Mike Dickson died yesterday.
The world will neither notice nor mourn Mike’s passing, but those of us who grew up with him in Birdland certainly will. To some people, the crash of Lynyrd Skynyrd was a jarring event. Other’s had their world rocked by the death of John Lennon.
To the kids of 1960s Birdland, Elvis just left the building.
Mike Dickson, Rest In Peace. You were a fine man, a good friend. Music will never be the same.