The passing of President Carter at the end of last year has set me thinking about the world as I knew it in 1979 when I skipped lightly through immigration at JFK and entered the wide blue yonder beyond that is otherwise known as America. This is not a political blog so I shall leave Jimmy Carter’s legacy to one side and see what I can remember about the United States, its sights and sounds, its style and the sense of itself that it projected to the world in 1979. When I returned in 2016, it seemed a much more divided and discontented country, a country less at ease with itself. On the other hand, at the age of 19, I was little interested in party politics and perhaps saw the United States through rose-tinted spectacles, I admit that I was quite naïve at the time.
Being a Brit, I saw things in 1979 in a completely different way to my erstwhile buddy Mr N C Adler. Guns and immigration were indeed topics of conversation but they certainly weren’t all consuming, not in my mind at least.

Humourist, Peter de Vries, once wrote, ‘Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be’. There is a danger that in recollecting the past, every memory will be tinged with bright blue skies and endless sunshine – but that pretty much describes Arizona anyway. I previously recounted in my post, ‘Greyhound’, my first journey across America, the sights and sounds and immensity of it all. In Britain, if we travel 40 miles we call it a day’s journey and then return home as fast as we can to put our feet up and have a nice cuppa (cup of tea) with a bit of crumpet on the side (that’s a Brit joke).
So think of this post as a cameo experience, a collection of dabs of paint on a wall as I try and decide what made 1979 1979 in the US for me.
Where to start?
Nick says that when he picked me up from the Greyhound Bus station in Phoenix to take me to the YMCA camp where I was to work as a camp counsellor, he drove me 100 miles uphill along the Arizona Veterans Highway into the mountains around Prescott. Halfway up, I made him stop on the freeway so that I could get out and take a look at a cactus growing in the wild. The only cactus I had ever known or seen before were ones that came in tiny pots which British folk usually forget to water. Although I don’t remember the occasion especially, I can picture myself standing in front of a Saguaro cactus going, ‘Ah, cactus!’ and probably trying to touch its shiny green stem between the spikes.
The people I met back then were undoubtedly friendly and welcoming but friendship was not exclusive to 1979.
It is the music of that period that first comes to mind. A track that is forever playing in my head, and which seemed to be everywhere at the time, is Kenny Rogers’, ‘The Gambler’. Given his five marriages this now seems quite an apposite title.

‘On a warm summer’s evening
On a train bound for nowhere
I met up with the gambler
We were both too tired to sleep’
Anyone remember Hoyt Axton’s ‘Della and the Dealer’? – don’t forget, that that cat was cool. In 2022, I was driving out of Tucson as the radio played, ‘left Tucson in a pickup truck, gonna make some dreams come true’, to which I went, ‘Oh, yeah!’ After this, there was the Charlie Daniels Band ‘The Devil went down to Georgia’ lookin’ for some souls to steal.
‘Johnny, rosin’ up your bow and play your fiddle hard
‘Cos Hell’s broke loose in Georgia and the Devil deals the cards’
We soon knew all the words to this and could sing along with gusto and great passion. In my head, I got to play that fiddle and could pick a pretty good tune. So there were edgy country tunes all over. It was my first year out of school and I got to grow my hair long and let go – a bit. The previous year, another musical icon had already risen to dizzy heights. ‘YMCA’ was a smash hit and we sang it loud and proud because we were at a YMCA Camp – and that’s not a gay allusion – whether gay or straight, we camped it up, actions and all.
At the outset of this offering, Kenny Rogers’ song was the only one I remembered, but writing has triggered a whole host of other musical memories. 1979 was also the year that Rupert Holmes’ ‘Pina Colada Song’ was brought out; so to edgy country we can add parties, cocktails and ROMANCE. There were also plenty of campfire songs that mark the year for me, songs about meatballs on top of Old Smokey and worms that were inadvisably eaten only to swiftly reappear. At the camp, there was an excellent guitarist called Dave Brownley who always had a protest song up his sleeve ready to wheel out at a moment’s notice.

‘Well, it’s tricky Dicky from Yarmolinda,
Hip, hip, hip Hooray!
It’s tricky Dicky from Yarmolinda,
He’s going to save the day,
He walks, he talks, he smiles, he frowns,
He does what human can,
It’s tricky Dicky from Yarmolinda the genuine plastic man, Oh yeah!
I have since discovered that Yarmolinda should be Yorba Linda, but once you get something into your head as a teenager it’s hard to shift.
On to food, certain American food types remain a perpetual mystery to us Brits. Grits – in the UK we grit the roads when it gets icy; biscuits and gravy – we do not eat cookies with gravy it’s disgusting although what Americans call biscuits, we call scones. American savoury dishes are often decorated with all sorts of fruit. To a traditional British palate this is plain weird, but having eaten strawberries, blueberries and watermelon with bacon on Amtrak, I have changed my mind. In 1979, I remember being introduced to pancakes, bacon and maple syrup which is a carb overload, but yummy! I don’t have a single food memory that stands out, but weiner roasts around a campfire are quite high on the list, plus blueberry pie and ice cream with coffee, now that is delicious.

On days off, camp staff would head into Prescott and assemble in the local Baskin-Robbins which in those days seemed like pure 1970’s America – along with Wendy Burgers and Dairy Maid. Beer was nothing new for me, but in local restaurants margaritas were indeed a new experience – sour with a squeeze of lime and salt and served in frozen jugs, I liked it.
The standard dress in the summer of 1979 were sneakers of one sort or another

white sports socks, a comfy t-shirt (US t-shirts fit much better than British versions), jeans (denim) or those shorts that rode impossibly high on the legs with a slight upward slash at the seam. Thinking back, they were probably the closest young men could get to hot pants without getting arrested. If I were to wear them now, I would feel that too much flesh was on show, but at the time they were great. Then of course there were unclothed events as well, skinnydipping was one, I have done it in my time but principally by myself much to my chagrin. At the time, particularly in the UK, there was a fad for streaking. If this is a new term for Americans, it essentially involved the removal of clothes at sports events and then a wild run across the field of play before police or marshalls could catch you. It was usually accompanied by a great roar from the crowd. The big fad in the States in 1979, which did cross the Atlantic but not to the same extent, was mooning. For the uninitiated, ie those born after 1979, mooning was the dropping of one’s kegs usually at a road junction and then presenting your derriere for the displeasure (or otherwise) of your fellow motorist. Usually, it was done in ones or twos but sometimes a whole bus full could be seen accelerating off at the lights with pale cheeks flickering in the fluorescent glow of the street lighting. Sometimes it was offered as a challenge to see who could accelerate fastest when the lights changed. Then again, it was also done to shock the unready. Today, you might well be arrested. Thinking back, it was more of an ‘in your face’ gesture than sexual exposure.
Something else that was common in 1979 but which is no longer as widely practiced across the country is the swearing of allegiance to the flag of the United States. As a true Brit, I was proud to swear my allegiance day by day as we assembled first thing in the morning around the camp flag pole. I am not a fan of nationalism at all, so any country that considers it can never do wrong has missed the mark in my book. On the other hand, I have no problem in patriotism of loving one’s country and seeking the best for it and its people.
I’m not looking this up but as I recall at a distance of 40+ years, I used to say these words hand on heart,

‘I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, One nation under God, indivisable With liberty and justice for all.’
It’s not my country, but I like the sentiment of standing together under the twin angels of liberty and justice striving to take unity of purpose into daily life for the benefit of all. The republic bit I view differently, but you can’t win everything, at least we won the War of Independence.
As Woody Guthrie once sang,
‘This land is your land, this land is England.’
When I go to a different country or region, I do like to try and understand the people of that locality and swearing allegiance was part of that experience it was different and symbolised a place to know and to discover. In other circumstances, visiting supermarkets can also serve the same function in learning what makes a country tick.
There are a couple of phrases that I picked up in Arizona which I haven’t heard since. One is ‘to catch your z’s’ (pronounced zeees) meaning to go to bed or go to sleep. Another was, ‘Wow! That’s really neat!’ – meaning that’s really good or really cute. ‘hot’ and ‘cool’ were common words, still true today, ‘May I see your ID?’ was also a memorable phrase from 1979 (being carded) and one that at the age of 64 I no longer hear. ‘Cool your jets’ – meant slow down, take it easy and along with this ‘ mellow out’ which could mean calm down or simply kick back and relax.
Back to music, one piece that had crossed the Atlantic by 1979 was Laurel and Hardy’s ‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine’ – both Nick and I could sing it to each other. The key words for us were, ‘on the trail of the lonesome pine.’ In many ways, we were lonesome figures creating our own paths through life, not out of melancholy but with a sense of individuals ploughing their own furrows whilst approaching the future in a spirit of hopeful expectation.

I don’t know which sense should predominate, but 1979 and the following year when I returned to the US are redolent with the following smells: The pine forest after the rain, the heat of the summer when baked dry leaves and earth release their own woody earthy notes and also cheap after shave used by late teenagers the world over. In Britain, it was Old Spice and Stratos and possibly Faberge Brut – I can’t quite recall the fragrance of choice in the States at that time. Then there was the campfire in all its fiery smoky glory, away from camp recreational cannabis (was smoked by some) off site and finally, Nick’s sneakers – and there’s 1979 altogether in one glorious floral bouquet.
In 1980, we were on the edge of a presidential election that was still a year away, but the camp where I lived was inexorably drawn into the American political scene, that testosterone fuelled carnival otherwise known as the American presidential election, and so we held our own caucus. No Republicans or Democrats ran, it was simply a couple of local hillbilly outfits that wished to represent the American people. I allied myself with the 1/5th Party – no idea what we stood for except 1/5th measure of alcohol that in my view was guaranteed to win nobody’s vote. I remember that Mark Hudson ran on the ticket and that I fulfilled the role of security ensuring safety and fairplay – two things that are always questioned in American elections. I can’t even remember if we won the popular vote, but we ran a startling campaign and I was immensely proud of our candidate and his ability to persuade the assembled throng – well, she was married to him.

So as we drift smoothly to the end of this encomium. I have only one plea to make, where mistakes have been made and errors arisen in my memory of the years 1979 and 1980, I beg your pardon, I crave your forgiveness and ask only that history may judge this memory kindly. And where those errors are completely without foundation and out of order, I have only one option – and that is to request a presidential pardon. Could someone please petition the President, I would be most grateful? Thank you.

Links:
‘The Gambler’ – Kenny Rogers : https://youtu.be/7hx4gdlfamo?si=c7RssaIELcX5KSG7
‘Della and the Dealer’ – Hoyt Axton : https://youtu.be/QZHSIhdYSZY?si=4eJSkhbek00PEmeq
‘The Devil went down to Georgia’ : https://youtu.be/Mv4xlp3GlWw?si=xjGaTL2FyxRhthpb
‘YMCA’ – Village People : https://youtu.be/CS9OO0S5w2k?si=1uRR8jP_4O2UrZf0
‘The Pina Colada Song’ – Rupert Holmes: https://youtu.be/zROIlspgOjM?si=h2B6Qfy6ad9Y4scB
‘The Trail of the Lonesome Pine’ : https://youtu.be/qApsAPnoH7c?si=HfWewjRbTftEW2Y8


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