To this day, the mural pieced together from Sports Illustrated photos from the early to late 1970s still clings to a wall of my upstairs bedroom in my mom’s house. Who knew the then-new invention of Scotch tape with stickiness on both sides would work so well?
As the years passed, most of the stuff in that room has been moved from shelves to boxes and from relevance in my life to distant memories.
Then my girls, Bryson and Blaine, started getting older and delving into the upstairs treasures of my sister, Nadine, and I. It seems like every time they spend the night at Mom’s house, I get presented with something they have found, and they want the story behind it. It’s actually fun because it forces me to remember some things I’ve squirreled away so far back in my brain that I forgot they were there.
People used to call me “Bake” because my favorite St. Louis Cardinal was Bake McBride. He is from Fulton and so was my father. We both had '70s-style afro hair styles. I was reminded of that when my daughters found my ninth-grade yearbook.
Back then, I read McCloud mystery books, which were based on the TV series with Dennis Weaver that ran on NBC.
St. Louis also used to host a Holiday Hockey Tournament that featured three nationally prominent college hockey teams and Saint Louis University. They found a program from one of the years when my late dad and I attended.
I get a kick out all the little treasures my daughters dig out, but last week they stumbled upon something I consider to be special. The flood of memories almost knocked me down.
Staring at me were color portraits of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. It was the cover of a copy of the original sheet music of "Hey Jude."
I sang "Hey Jude" in the summer camp talent show in 1969, shortly before Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon.
My mom took me to Mel Bay Music Center in downtown Kirkwood to find the music—I really just wanted the lyrics. That was the only way to learn lyrics in those days; there was no Internet to look them up in a matter of seconds.
A couple of my friends told me that I shouldn’t sing a Beatles song because they did drugs and had long hair. But I walked out on the stage with that music in my hand and belted out "Hey Jude."I didn’t do the “na na, na, na, na, na na” part at the end—but I can tell you they sing it 19 times. I have counted.
The music is now in Bryson’s room. She can’t wait to show it to friends and her favorite social-studies teacher when school resumes in August. I told her to be careful with it and that I want it back.
I hadn’t held that music for more than 40 years. But I suddenly want to keep it forever, just as I did the day I purchased it—for 50 cents.
Commentary by Alvin Reid
