Music on My Mind by Debra J. White

Photo Source: Unsplash

When words fail, music speaks. Certain songs connect me to old friends, old memories, and even an old dog. I might smile, laugh, or cry if a particular song plays on the radio. Let me tell you about them.

I was ten years old and in the fifth grade. A member of St. Joseph’s Brigade, a local marching band, in Astoria NY talked to our class about the marching band. The year was 1964 and I was in the fifth grade. Smitten by the speaker’s presentation, I rushed home and asked my parents if I could join. I would be a musician. With their approval, I learned how to play the snare drum. We practiced every Tuesday after school. Our band competed in local contests and parades. Band membership taught me about camaraderie and teamwork. We won some competitions and lost others. I was a good drummer, winning a few medals from quartet competitions, but not nearly as good as my friend and fellow band member Barbara. She killed it with her version of Wipe Out, an instrumental song from the 1960s. I listen to an oldies station and hear the song Wipe Out on occasion. I always think of Barbara and how she banged out her version of Wipe Out. Wow, she was good.

I attended high school, also in Astoria, from 1968-1972 in a school then known as Mater Christi. Around 1980, the school became known as St. John’s Prep. In 1971, I ran for student council president and our party won. During our celebratory win, the song, United We Stand (by the Brotherhood of Man) played. Nothing could dampen our enthusiasm. We would change the world. That didn’t quite happen. Those were turbulent times. The USA was rocked by civil unrest related to the Viet Nam war and civil rights. A close group, we tried our best to make the school a better place for all. I’m an old woman now, in my 70s. Now and then, a tear crawls down my cheek when I hear the song, United We Stand, on the radio. It brings back memories of the night we won the election. Despite my age, brain trauma, and the passage of time, I remember my former student council members. I was proud to take a leadership role in our school. The song also fills me with regrets. My parents didn’t support my desire for higher education. I wasn’t strong enough to forge ahead on my own. At graduation time, I said goodbye to friends headed for colleges like Syracuse, Georgetown, Boston, Cornell, and more. Me? I landed a mindless job in a mailroom for a major financial company. I eventually earned two college degrees but on a part-time basis. I missed a lot by not going to a four-year school after graduation. Life happened and I moved on.

I quit smoking in February 1982, finally kicking a 12-year bad habit. Staying smoke free was a challenge. Nicotine in cigarettes is addictive and it’s not easy to quit. I know, I tried several times and failed. This time was different. I refused to accept failure. So that I wouldn’t be tempted, I took up jogging. At first, I could barely make it through a mile without gasping. But I persisted. Each week I added more miles. I didn’t faint either. By March, I was fit enough to run a five-mile race. The New York Road Runners Club (NYRRC) sponsors dozens of road races in and around the city. Runners paid a modest entry fee and received a complimentary T-shirt. For the next several years, I continued to run in races. Some were a mere two miles while others were ten, twelve, and fifteen miles. By 1986, I had pounded the pavement enough to run in the annual NYC marathon. How I finished the first time, still conscious, is nothing short of a miracle. I ran in two more marathons – 87 and 90. At least half the race takes place on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn. A high school band along the Fourth Avenue route played the theme from Rocky. I was already tired but had miles to go. Hearing the uplifting music pushed me to continue. I finished each marathon, albeit near the end. I had hoped to run in yet another marathon, but a 1994 pedestrian car accident makes this impossible. Still, I am glad for the races I competed in and for the many friends I made, some of whom I’m still in touch with. Running brings people together.

Every time I hear the theme song from the 1980s TV drama, Hill Street Blues, I’m immediately think of my dear friend Maryann. We met at work during the 1970s. By the 1980s, we were both in different jobs, but we remained friends. I sometimes spent the night at her place on Thursday. Why Thursdays? I don’t remember. Maryann whipped up a delicious dinner then we changed into our jammies. At 10:00 p.m., we always watched Hill Street Blues. Hearing the theme brings me back to New York City and my overnight stays at Maryann’s place. We’re still friends but we’re miles apart. She still lives in NY, and I now live in Phoenix. I’ll always treasure our friendship. That song reminds me of all our good times. Not everyone is so blessed to have such a special friend.

I loved the 1980 movie, 9 to 5. Hearing Dolly Parton belt out the theme song to the movie brings me back to my corporate days that started in the mid-1970s. Over the years, I worked as a file clerk, receptionist, secretary, and department manager. During my corporate career, I slipped into dresses, pant suits, panty hose, and sensible pumps. I wore a modest amount of make-up but nothing too gaudy. I carried a briefcase to work to look important even if I wasn’t. At the corner newsstand, I picked up a copy of the NY Times to read on the subway ride to the office. I ate lunch in the company cafeteria. The coffee was weak and the tuna salad a bit dry, but it was fun to share a meal with my co-workers. I was a company girl on the move until I wasn’t. A 1982 re-organization said my job was expendable. At first, I was crushed but I picked myself up. I moved on. I never worked another corporate job again.

Year of the Cat by Al Stewart played on the radio one year as I left what was once an annual tradition for the Phoenix Animal Care Coalition (PACC 911). For about ten years from 2002 until 2012, PACC 911 held the annual fundraiser called Bowl a Rama. I always volunteered for the event, held in early August. I welcomed guests then checked in groups as they entered the bowling alley. All the local rescue groups/shelters were invited to participate in Bowl a Rama. Volunteers like me spent months preparing for Bowl a Rama. We had regular meetings at a café called Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. At each meeting, we shared notes on corporate and private donations. I enjoyed spending time with my rescue colleagues. Everyone had a rescued dog, cat, or horse. Phoenix has a large rescue community because of the area's pet overpopulation problem. To accommodate everyone, we bowled in two shifts. One in the morning and the other in the afternoon. Festivities included best costume and best cheer. Bowlers threw down those balls knocking down pins, all to raise money for our unwanted/abused animals. The energy was invigorating. Throughout the day, groups bid on raffle items. All proceeds benefited homeless animals. At the end of the day, I was exhausted. Every time I hear that song, Year of the Cat, I’m brought back to Bowl a Rama. I was part of something special. I’ll always remember it. If the animals could talk, they would appreciate our efforts.

I cannot listen to the Kenny G. song Havana without crying. The song played on the radio as I drove my rescued dog Ziggy to the veterinarian for her trip to the Rainbow Bridge. The Rainbow Bridge is what we pet owners call animal heaven. I adopted Ziggy in 2002 or so. I’m not exactly sure. Ziggy was another of the many hard luck dogs/cats that came through our shelter. Old and blind, she had slim chances for adoption. So, I took her home and she blended in with my other rescues. Ziggy sniffed her way around my home, finding the food and water bowls. With a little work, she found the doggie door. Ziggy bonded with Casey, a scrappy little dog given up because she developed a heart condition. The two snuggled up together all the time. Ziggy lived maybe another two years and developed liver failure. Her appetite disappeared. The whites in her eyes turned yellow. She seemed so out of it. As much as I hated letting her go, I had to relieve her suffering. I loaded her into the back seat of my car. During the short ride to the vet’s office, she rested on a blanket. Along the way, the Kenny G. song Havana played. I still cry whenever I hear that song. It reminds me of Ziggy. I always felt bad that her owners gave up on her when she went blind. She was a sweet, loving dog. I’m glad she spent her final hours with me and my other rescues. At least she was loved and cared for.

Pet therapy was part of my new life after the 1994 car accident. I never worked again due to the lingering impact of brain trauma. At the end of a long recovery, I found a new life in volunteer work and creative writing. I had been walking my two dogs, Judy and Maxine, when a car ran me over. My dogs were unhurt, but I sustained serious brain trauma, among other injuries. Judy and Maxine were instrumental in my recovery. I couldn’t have managed without them. In 1998, I thought Maxine was at her end. She was old and feeble. Like I am now. I adopted Luke from the county shelter. The friendly, tail wagging dog showed potential for pet therapy. In a nutshell, he passed a behavior evaluation, was cleared by his vet, and we became a therapy team visiting homeless children for seven years. Every year at Christmas, I gathered toys for the children. Some I obtained from a charity. Others came from a generous friend. From November to December, local radio station plays Christmas music throughout the day. The song, Jingle Bell Rock (1957 by Bobby Helms), takes me back to my pet therapy years with homeless children. They were so excited to open their gifts. Luke and I retired from pet therapy work in 2008. My dog was old and not up to the job any longer. I was grateful for the opportunity to spread kindness and compassion with my canine companion.

I jumped into animal rescue as soon as I moved to Phoenix in 1997. I first became a volunteer in 1989 at a Boston shelter. I attended an off-site adoption event at the county shelter quite a few years ago. Maybe 2004 or so. I honestly can’t recall the exact date. But here’s what I do remember. The event coordinator set up speakers to play music for the guests. One song, Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel (1966) reached deep into my heart. Hundreds of dogs and cats needed good homes. They became homeless through no fault of their own. Sadly, not every pet found their forever home. The words to Homeward Bound remind me of that adoption event and all the discarded pets.

So that’s my journey down memory lane with music at my side. Thanks for taking the ride and listening to a bunch of oldies.

 On 1/6/94 a car ran over Debra as she walked her dogs after work causing brain trauma and other injuries. After a long recovery, she moved from upstate NY to Phoenix and found new life in volunteer work and writing. Her website is under her name, Debra J. White.