Those old 78s may be a bit brittle, but the memories they summon are as strong as diamonds.
He’s in for a surprise as he will be the beneficiary of that metal box and its treasures. He can chat about those great performers and their records with ease and enthusiasm. Along the way, he has become an aficionado of vintage records, old 78s, bands, singers et. Our grandson, Zachary, is an expert at repairing old turntables and speakers. The desire and the rhythm returned, not just that of a band on a spinning record, but of life’s song, a retro feeling more than nostalgic. It was about something in that unleashed tin of records, something that again became my youth, that made my legs twitch, my foot tap, that made me want to dance (I did learn the jitterbug in high school). I could not read the spinning disc, looking at it until my upset stomach took over and, if I ever hit a curveball, it was by accident and likely with my eyes closed.īut it was not about Ted, the spinning record or the jitter-buggers. He could also pick out the spin of a pitcher’s curveball and hit it. Legend has it that Ted William, my favorite ballplayer, and the greatest hitter ever, could read the label of a 78-rpm record while it was spinning.
Secondly, I was intrigued by the spin of the turntable. There were two things that came to mind.įirst, my cousins were great dancers spinning, hopping, jumping, twirling with exaggerated movements that made them look like. They rolled up the rugs and my older cousins did the jitterbug to Miller’s “Chattanooga Choo Choo,” Goodman’s “Don’t be That Way,” Ellington’s “Take the A Train,” and others nestled in that treasure tin. I was transported to my youth in the grooves of those records and in the parties in my grandparents’ tenement, one floor below ours, where music, spun on the gramophone, was king.
#Jettison music free#
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE - SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLAST The container was a perfect fit for a cadre of 78 rpm records that appeared when we flipped the lid.Īs we lifted the chronicle of vinyls and read the labels, a wave of nostalgia surfaced. It was a metal storage ‘locker’ with center handle on a hinged cover given to us by our brother-in-law several years ago. We are repeatedly policing (aka downsizing) our home to see if there are things we can jettison, but not this time, not this thing. It happened with a peek under a bench in the cellar where we found something intriguing that we had forgotten we had (common). memories, mostly fun, sometimes melancholy. Music can bring us back, give us a second chance with so many things.
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