I had never heard of him. No one had.
The show resumed and it wasn't long before I was totally pulled in by this performer -- long curly hair, wearing a suit, pounding on the piano, singing with gusto, blowing the harmonica. I cannot say that I really followed the story of "Piano Man" -- what I recall the most is how this man performed. I remember asking around the next day to see if any of my friends had seen the show. After all, I had sat up alone and had no other witnesses. No one else had seen it, and it would be several weeks before I'd hear "Piano Man" on the radio. Of course, the rest of the story we know.
***
It's near the end of my freshman year in high school. My theology teacher, Sr. Renee, had allowed us to study music lyrics throughout the year as part of our religious studies. So it wasn't unusual when she told us about a new song by Simon and Garfunkel that she claimed to be one of the most beautiful songs she'd ever heard.
A couple of nights later, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, doing homework or writing letters -- something -- and listening to the radio. The disc jockey introduced a new song by Simon and Garfunkel, and my ears perked up. I turned up the radio and listened to "Bridge Over Troubled Water" for the first time, recognizing immediately that my teacher had not steered me wrong. The masterpiece written by Paul Simon (who I contend is our best American songwriter of all time) built slowly, with lyrics tensing the opposition of rough times, darkness, and pain with friendship, comfort, and shining dreams. By the time Art was singing, "Sail on silver girl..." I was in tears. I honestly don't remember ever being moved to tears the very first time I heard a song -- but I did that spring evening in 1970.
Here's that version with lyrics if you want a reminder.
***
In high school, I used the radio to wake me up. I had it timed so that I could hear two or three songs before commercials came on, reminding me it was time to get out of bed. At the end of my sophomore year -- May 1971 -- I distinctly remember the morning I heard these words coming through the radio as I awoke:
My father sits at night with no lights on
His cigarette glows in the dark.
The living room is still;
I walk by, no remark.
I tiptoe past the master bedroom where
My mother reads her magazines.
I hear her call sweet dreams,
But I forgot how to dream.
But you say it's time we moved in together
And raised a family of our own, you and me -
Well, that's the way I've always heard it should be:
You want to marry me, we'll marry.
The voice was clear as a bell, and like none I had ever heard before. The music and atmosphere of the song was haunting. But what really caught my attention were the lyrics. This was the time of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" and other male-oriented music. Since when did anyone sing about reluctance to getting married? Or the truth of some marriages?
My friends from college they're all married now;
They have their houses and their lawns.
They have their silent noons,
Tearful nights, angry dawns.
Their children hate them for the things they're not;
They hate themselves for what they are-
And yet they drink, they laugh,
Close the wound, hide the scar.
But you say it's time we moved in together
And raised a family of our own, you and me -
Well, that's the way I've always heard it should be:
You want to marry me, we'll marry.
I was stunned into silence. I was drinking it in. Yes, it was the time of the Women's Movement, but that rarely made it to radio airplay. That was something for the magazines and womens' television shows. How did it make its way onto a major Cleveland radio station?
You say we can keep our love alive
Babe - all I know is what I see -
The couples cling and claw
And drown in love's debris.
You say we'll soar like two birds through the clouds,
But soon you'll cage me on your shelf -
I'll never learn to be just me first
By myself.
Well O.K., it's time we moved in together
And raised a family of our own, you and me -
Well, that's the way I've always heard it should be,
You want to marry me, we'll marry,
We'll marry.
I was still of the mindset that marriage and children were the be-all and end-all. I had no other aspirations. This singer -- who did they say it was? Carly Simon? -- challenged my thinking in that early morning, and for many other mornings to come. Carole King would do the same with her Tapestry album, and later Joni Mitchell would become my guru. Perhaps these songs are dated now -- I don't know. What I do know is that there was a moment in time that Carly Simon cast a net to young women and pulled them in to thinking about their lives in a different way -- perhaps more than Gloria Steinem or the others were able to do. We were young -- we had dreams -- but Carly (who always wrote for adults) was challenging us to see the realities and make informed decisions. Can't say it always worked in my case, but I will say this -- it wasn't as if I wasn't warned.
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