The hippy looks back at the roots of his lifetime love of modern music, through the songs he grew up with, and technology of the day that played it for him.  

His journey began when he was 2 years old, and it started with the Beatles, and a couple of years later, Motown and more. 

As you’ll see, these memories turned out to be a lot more bittersweet than expected.

Age 2

Growing up, my mother told me this story many times, of not long after I first began talking, I also started singing. And the very first song I ever sang was “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles. 

The single was released around 10 months after I was born, and it was still a hot hit on the radio when I was 2 years old. My mother told me we used to hear it a lot in the car. 

One day without prompting, I sang along with the chorus, which delighted my parents. Even at the age of 2, I had excellent taste in popular music. I like to think at the tender age of 60, that I still do.  

Age 4

My family moved from north Jersey to down the shore in Asbury Park when I was 1 year old. We lived there for three years, until I was about four. We lived in a two family house. 

My earliest memories of my life are based in that very house, and around Asbury Park. I can still picture the kitchen, the living room, my bedroom, and the steep main staircase that led up to the entrance of our place. 

The upstairs bit was my ours, and the downstairs part of the house was rented to another family. They were a married couple, a little older than my parents, and they had a couple of grown children; a son and a daughter.

Their names were Carmen, and Emily, and their daughter’s name was Sara. I think their son’s name was Anthony, but I’m not sure. I didn’t really know him. 

Carmen owned the Mobile petrol station in Asbury. I remember going there with my dad as a child, and petting the gas station guard dog, a friendly, happy German Shepherd, who wasn’t quite as friendly on his own, when he protected the station at night. 

Carmen and Emily already lived in the house when my parents purchased it, and they would all go on to become very good friends. They remained close for decades, until Carmen and Emily passed away many years later. They were nice people. 

When I was around 4, my mother called me into the living room, and Emily and her daughter Sara were already there. Sara would have been in her early 20s at the time. 

They told me Sara was losing her hearing, and she wanted to give me her collection of 45rpm pop music records, because she couldn’t listen to them any more. It was a tall stack of singles, in some sort of plastic carrying case.

My mother said, “What do you say when someone gives you a gift, Doug?”

“Thank you, Sara!”, I replied enthusiastically. It was like an unexpected Christmas morning!

I didn’t really understand the tragic context of this gift, I was only 4 years old, but I was certainly excited. I couldn’t wait to go into my bedroom, and play both sides of every one of those records on my Show’N’Tell. It was my very first record player. 

A Show’N’Tell was a popular kid’s record player from the 1960s. that had a built-in screen, and was used to tell stories with still pictures projected on the internal display. You put a cardboard strip with the graphics on film into the top, then played the record. You had to advance the pictures manually when the story narration beeped by pushing the strip down further. It was easy. I had a bunch of stories for it, but the only one I can recall with any certainty is Puss’N’Boots. 

My mother showed me how to use the 45rpm adaptor, and adjust the RPM rate on the turntable, so I could play the 45rpm records on my little kiddie Show’N’Tell. 

I was entranced, these were grown-up records. It was lots of early rock and roll, like the Beatles, and the Stones, plus the very best of Motown, and Atlantic Records too. It was a fantastic, and comprehensive collection, that looking back, I very much wish I still had. 

It’s weird the details I can still recall from this seminal moment in my young development. I didn’t know where to start, so I just randomly picked a record. It’s not like I knew how to read. It was 1967, and I was 4 years old. 

I carefully placed my first single on the platter, and I turned the record player on. Once it was spinning, I gently placed the needle on the outer groove.

My ears were suddenly awash with the most amazing sound I’d ever heard in my very young life. It was nothing like I’d ever experienced before. It didn’t sound like the Beatles, it didn’t sound like the children’s songs on my Show’N’Tell records either. It was so unique, and it made me feel like I was a real big boy, listening to grown-up music. I loved it!

That first song I played was “You Really Got A Hold On Me” by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and I think of it as the first single I ever owned. I know it came in a collection of many others, but it was the first one I played, and I don’t think I can overstate the impact it had on me at the time. The words went way over my head, but the sound. Oh my god, that sound!  

I still get the same feeling of pure joy when I listen to it today. You will too, from that classic opening piano hook, to the soaring, mournful vocals. That girl had a tight grip on Smokey’s heart, and you could feel it in every line. 

“I don’t like you, but I love you”. It hits even harder when the words mean something, but even when they didn’t as a child, I still felt it. 

This carefully curated collection was the very best pop music from early to mid 1960s. I struggle to recall every single tune, but there were some standouts. 

I mentioned Atlantic Records, because of the Drifters. “Under the Boardwalk”, “Up On the Roof” and “Save the Last Dance” were all there.  

At the age of 4, I thought the boardwalk in Asbury Park was the only boardwalk on the planet. I also thought it was the most magical place in the world, and I just knew they were singing about it in that song.  As I swayed to the music, I closed my eyes, and pictured the amusements along the shore. 

Clearly I did not understand the true nature of the activities taking place under the boardwalk. That went way over my head too. 

There were quite a few early Beatles singles as well, and I can recall the old green Apple logo on the labels. Baby, you can “Drive My Car” is the one I remember most. Beep-beep beep-beep yeah!

By far, the majority of the singles in the collection were Motown. Besides Smokey and the Miracles, there were The Supremes, Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, The 4 Tops, The Temptations, the Jackson 5, Martha and the Vandellas, and probably a whole lot more that I can’t recall. I played all of those records over, and over on my Show’N’Tell. 

We left Asbury not long after that. My new record collection got packed away when we moved to Oakhurst, in Ocean Township. We got out of Asbury a few years before riots rocked the city. 

Age 13

The Show’N’Tell was replaced by a cheap, portable record player that I used for a few years, but when I was 13 years old, my parents bought me my first proper stereo. 

Many of my friends were Jewish, and age 13 was their bar mitzvah year. I think my parents thought I felt a bit left out, since I kept being invited to these massive bar mitzvah receptions, as my friends were showered with many big lavish gifts. I always guessed that’s why they made more of a fuss than usual over my 13th birthday. 

My father and I went to a hi-fi shop up on Route 35, and we went into the sound room, to check out different systems. The salesman convinced my father to buy me a Sanyo quadraphonic system, with all the bells and whistles. 

The system had a record changer that could play multiple discs, an AM/FM stereo radio receiver, and an 8-track tape deck that could record as well as play them. I knew I’d be driving in a few years, and I could make my own 8-tracks for the car. 

Quadraphonic systems never took off, as you might have guessed, since many of you will have never heard the term before. It meant it had 4 speakers, instead of the usual two like a traditional stereo. The salesman said that all LPs and singles would soon be released in a compatible format, so it was future-proof. That never happened, but it was still a great sound system. 

We got it home, and set it up in my bedroom. I didn’t have many records to play, but then I remembered the old collection of 45s from my early childhood. I knew I still had them, and I fished them out of my bedroom closet. They were still in the same old plastic carrying case. 

And then I spent the rest of my 13th birthday blasting out all my old favourite classic Motown hits, and more… And they never sounded better!

Age 16 and a 1/2

I got my learner’s permit 6 months before my 17th birthday, and I was excited to start driving. My first car was a Pontiac Firebird Formula. I didn’t keep it long, it was way overpowered for a teenager, and it was a gas guzzler, but it did have an 8-track tape deck. 

Someone gave me a copy of James Taylor’s 1979 album, “Flag”, and on it was his cover version of “Up on the Roof”. It immediately brought back memories of the original. 

And then  once again, I remembered the 45rpm record collection that Sara had given me, and I got it out of the closet. Only this time, I recorded many of the songs onto 8-track tapes.

It finally hit me, how I got this collection. In the 12 or so years I’d had all those records, I never really considered how they came to be in my possession. I’d never really considered the tragedy that inspired Sara’s generosity. Sara’s hearing loss, was my musical gain. 

I knew my mother was still friends with Sara mother, Emily. So I asked my mom about her. 

My mom explained that Sara was completely deaf now, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She was married, she had children, and she had recently been the first runner-up in the Mrs. New Jersey contest, “in spite of being hard of hearing”. The words in quotes aren’t mine, but are lifted directly from the Asbury Park Press photo caption at the time. 

And not Miss New Jersey, but Mrs. New Jersey, a beauty pageant of some sort for married women that was staged back in the 1970s. A quick search online tells me it is still going on today. Who knew?

In all that time, it never dawned on me to ask about Sara, or to consider the painful circumstances that inspired her gift to me. I can remember feeling a profound sense of gratitude. She literally gave me the music I grew up with; it was the soundtrack of my youth. 

I’d developed my own tastes over the years, and have already written about my deep appreciation of Bruce Springsteen. He grew up on the some of the same music I did, as did his friend Southside Jonny. 

Southside Jonny and the Asbury Jukes were just starting to break big around this time, and I had one of their early records. On it, he covered Sam Cooke’s “Havin’ A Party”, which was yet another track in my collection of 45s. I love both versions, but Southside made that song his own. 

The foundation of my musical tastes is so deeply rooted in that collection of 45rpm records. I don’t know what happened to them. When I moved out of my parents’ house, I don’t think I took them with me. And that, was that. 

Age 60

Last spring, my original set of AirPods died. They were 5 years old, and served me well, so I replaced them with a new pair of AirPod Pros. With the purchase came a free 6 month trial of Apple Music. 

When I bought my first iPod in 2005, I ripped MP3s from every CD I could find in the house, and every CD I bought after that. I started buying digital tracks and albums a few years later, and played them all on my iPhone. 

I had a decent collection, but clearly I didn’t have every track ever recorded. A trial with Apple Music came close to fixing that, so I signed up. It pretty much played whatever songs I asked for, and could even find some obscure versions of rare tracks. Colour me impressed. 

“Hey Siri, shuffle Springsteen”, or “shuffle Southside Jonny and the Asbury Jukes.” No problem. Led Zep? The Beatles? The Kinks? The Stones? All good. 

And then I tried some genres, and I thought of one I hadn’t listened to in ages. “Hey, Siri, shuffle Motown”. 

She replied, “Alright, now shuffling Motown essentials.”

After a few tracks, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles came up, and I heard the first single I’d ever owned, as “You Really Got A Hold On Me” roared out of my speakers. It was the first time I’d heard it in ages. I stopped whatever I was doing, and listened intently. 

I still loved the track that day just as much as I did that first time I heard it when I was 4 years old. It was some 56 years later, and it still filled me with as much joy as it did that first time. And then I sobbed.

I sobbed with mixture of joy, and sadness. I was happy that the music of my childhood, and youth, still resonated with me. It still filled my heart with joy. And I was also overcome with sadness; the sadness of loss, and the tangible realisation of the passage of so much time, and of so many people I’ve cared about over the years who are no longer there. 

And then I remembered poor, dear Sara. I hadn’t thought of her in such a long time. Her generosity, born from her loss, shaped my musical tastes for my entire life. And in that moment of realisation, the idea for this piece was born. 

My musical journey began with a stack of carefully curated 45rpm records. That collection had some of the finest popular music of the early to mid 1960s and it was given to me by a deaf woman, when I was a pre-schooler. No wonder it took me so long to grasp the significance. 

That collection was assembled by someone that lost their ability to enjoy the music they so clearly loved, because they gradually were becoming profoundly deaf. And from their unfathomable loss, the foundation of my musical tastes was born. 

It was a priceless gift, given from someone who paid a price higher than I can possibly imagine. It took me years to fully appreciate all of this, and even now, I’m not sure if I can truly express how much these songs changed my life. And thanks to the evolution of technology, those tunes all remain part of my life to this day. 

Sara

I really didn’t know Sara. I’m sure the day she gave me the records wasn’t the only time I met her, but I doubt I saw her more than half a dozen times in total. Her mother, Emily, and my mother were close friends for years. 

I looked for Sara online, and am pretty sure I found her. It’s scary easy to find people online in America with just a few details. She’s still alive, but she no longer lives in NJ. 

I also found Sara’s first engagement announcement from the local newspaper in 1962, before we lived in Asbury. It’s how I found the address of my family’s house in Asbury Park. I knew the street name, but I couldn’t for the life of me recall the house number. Remember, I was only 4 years old when we moved out. 

It’s also how I learned Sara’s parents were living there when my parents bought the place. I didn’t realise they lived in the house before we did. I guess I never thought about it. 

It said she was engaged to a guy serving in the military, in the early 1960s. That could have meant Vietnam. I don’t know what happened, but when she was a contestant in the Mrs. New Jersey contest more than a decade later, she had a different surname from her fiancé mentioned in the clipping. Did they break up? Did he get killed in action? I have no idea. 

I also found that photo from the local paper of her being a runner-up in the Mrs. NJ contest. In truth, I misremembered, I thought she was the winner of the contest, and I was trying to fact-check myself. I’m glad I did, for the sake of accuracy, and for finding the photo. That was a bonus. 

I debated contacting Sara, sending her a letter, and sharing my story, but in the end I decided against it.

Maybe she would remember me, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be reminded of such a sad time in her life. Would she even remember such a small, inconsequential moment? It’s me that found meaning in it, perhaps it was one of the worst days of her life.

If I could communicate with Sara, I’d want her to know that she’s one of the few people in my life that made such a huge contribution to who I am today, without ever knowing it. She changed my life in such a positive way. She gave me the priceless gift of music, just as she was losing her ability to enjoy it herself. 

I hope you had a good life, Sara. One day when I was four years old, you changed mine in a massive way. I wish you knew. Thank you, Sara. Thank you. 

* * *

After a 30 year career as a journalist, working for some of the largest news organisations in the world, including Associated Press and Reuters, and 15 years as a duty news editor for BBC News, Doug – the northlondonhippy is now a full time hippy, and writer. And for the last few years, he’s been #EpilepsyHippy. His life was a whole lot more fun before gaining that new title. For real. 

Doug is also the author of “Personal Use by the northlondonhippy.”   “Personal Use” chronicles Doug’s years of experience with mind altering substances, while calling for urgent drug law reform. It’s a cracking read, you will laugh, you will cry, and you can bet your ass that you will wish you were a hippy too!

You can also find Doug –  the northlondonhippy on Twitter: @nthlondonhippy but only if you look really hard.

And if you want even more, (and who wouldn’t?) you could always check out Hippy Highlights – which is the best of the best stuff on the site, and it’s all free to read. What are you waiting for?