Things were changing almost as fast as we were. We wanted and rebelled against anchors while all the anchors were being hauled up. Or, so it seemed.

It Was The Best of Times

It was a time of happiness and joy. It was a time for music festivals you could afford. It was the time of Woodstock, Bob Dylan, Cream, The Yardbirds, Credence Clearwater, The Byrds, and many, many others. It was Haight-Ashbury, if you were going to San Francisco. The Braves came to Atlanta and the Falcons were born. The Chiefs appeared and we started playing soccer for our school. In winter. In shorts. It was Bobby Dodd and Vince Dooley in our state. And Shug Jordan and what’s-his-name over in Alabama. It was the last we’d see gasoline at 19¢ per gallon, that’s for certain.

It Was The Worst of Times

Sometimes, it seemed as if everything we knew would be dust before we had a crack at it. Church bombings. Burned buses. Assassinations of John and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. Kent State. We lost others to more, almost mundane, reasons: Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Mama Cass, Jim Morrison. The Beatles broke up.

It was Our Time…

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