“To
us
! What happened to
us
!”
“You and me, honey?”
“You and me,” he repeated, “and Bambi Lassiter, and Jared Patterson, and Gopher John Slozewski, and Jamie Lynch, and Froggy, and Slum, and Jerry Rubin, and Angela Davis, and Dylan and Lennon and Jagger and the Weathermen and the Chicago Seven and William Kunstler and Gene McCarthy and the SDS and…and
L. Stephen Ellyn
, for Chrissakes!
What happened to us all?
To
everybody
?” He waved his arms wildly, in a great all-encompassing motion that took in the hopes and dreams and demonstrations, that took in riots and assassinations and candlelight parades, that took in Bobby Kennedy and Donovan and Martin Luther King, that embraced Melanie and the Smothers Brothers and the hippies and the yippies and the Vietnam War, that swept across the memories of a turbulent decade and the destinies of a whole generation of American youth, and that nearly knocked his glass of Chianti off the arm of the sofa. He recovered and caught it just in time.
Maggie moved over and put an arm around him. “Time happened,” she said. “Change happened, love.”
“Change,”
Sandy said bitterly. “Maggie, we wanted change, that was what it was all about. We were going to change the fucking world, weren’t we? Shit. Instead the fucking world changed
us
. It changed Lark into somebody named L. Stephen Ellyn, and it changed Jared into a rich asshole, and it changed Jamie Lynch into a coffin and Gopher John into a pin-striped suit, and I ain’t even sure what it’s changing me into, but I don’t like it.
I don’t like it!
”
Maggie hugged him. “You’re shaking, honey,” she said softly.
“The wine,” Sandy muttered, but he knew it wasn’t so. “Fucking wine has me sick but they say there’s truth in wine, you know. Truth. Remember truth? It was real big in the Sixties, along with peace and love and freedom. What did we do with all that stuff, Maggie? It’s like we all forgot, forgot everything we were, everything we stood for.” He sighed. “I know, I know, it’s all past now. We’re grown up, we’re getting old. But I tell you, Maggie, we were
better
then.”
“We were
younger
then,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Sandy said. “Maybe that’s all. Maybe I’m just going through a mid-life crisis, right? Mourning my lost youth. Sharon thinks so.” He looked at Maggie stubbornly. “I don’t buy it, though. It’s more than that. I remember…I remember, hell, I know things were shitty then, we had the war, and racism, and Nixon and old Spiro, but you know, we also had…I dunno… like, a kind of
optimism
. We knew the future was going to get better. We
knew
it. We were going to
make
it so. We were going to change things around, and we had the youth, right, so time was on our side. We knew what was right and what was wrong, and we knew who the bad guys were, and there was a sense of
belonging
.” His voice got quieter as he spoke, winding down of its own accord. “It was the dawning of the goddamned fucking Age of Aquarius, remember? When peace will guide the planets, and love will steer the stars. Only peace and love sort of went out with bell-bottoms and long hair and miniskirts, and I sure as hell can’t tell who the bad guys are anymore.” He grimaced. “I think some of them are us.”
“Hey,” Maggie said, shaking him gently. “Lighten up. It isn’t so bad, honey. So it’s not the tomorrow we dreamed about. Things never turn out the way you think they will. We
did
change it, Sandy. We stopped the war. We changed the colleges and we changed the government, and we changed all the rules about men and women and love and sex. We even got rid of Tricky Dick, finally. So it’s not the Age of Aquarius. It’s still different than it would have been without us. And better.” She leaned over and kissed him quickly on the end of the nose. “Think of it like this: if it hadn’t been for the Sixties, the Fifties would have gone on and on
us
! What happened to
us
!”
“You and me, honey?”
“You and me,” he repeated, “and Bambi Lassiter, and Jared Patterson, and Gopher John Slozewski, and Jamie Lynch, and Froggy, and Slum, and Jerry Rubin, and Angela Davis, and Dylan and Lennon and Jagger and the Weathermen and the Chicago Seven and William Kunstler and Gene McCarthy and the SDS and…and
L. Stephen Ellyn
, for Chrissakes!
What happened to us all?
To
everybody
?” He waved his arms wildly, in a great all-encompassing motion that took in the hopes and dreams and demonstrations, that took in riots and assassinations and candlelight parades, that took in Bobby Kennedy and Donovan and Martin Luther King, that embraced Melanie and the Smothers Brothers and the hippies and the yippies and the Vietnam War, that swept across the memories of a turbulent decade and the destinies of a whole generation of American youth, and that nearly knocked his glass of Chianti off the arm of the sofa. He recovered and caught it just in time.
Maggie moved over and put an arm around him. “Time happened,” she said. “Change happened, love.”
“Change,”
Sandy said bitterly. “Maggie, we wanted change, that was what it was all about. We were going to change the fucking world, weren’t we? Shit. Instead the fucking world changed
us
. It changed Lark into somebody named L. Stephen Ellyn, and it changed Jared into a rich asshole, and it changed Jamie Lynch into a coffin and Gopher John into a pin-striped suit, and I ain’t even sure what it’s changing me into, but I don’t like it.
I don’t like it!
”
Maggie hugged him. “You’re shaking, honey,” she said softly.
“The wine,” Sandy muttered, but he knew it wasn’t so. “Fucking wine has me sick but they say there’s truth in wine, you know. Truth. Remember truth? It was real big in the Sixties, along with peace and love and freedom. What did we do with all that stuff, Maggie? It’s like we all forgot, forgot everything we were, everything we stood for.” He sighed. “I know, I know, it’s all past now. We’re grown up, we’re getting old. But I tell you, Maggie, we were
better
then.”
“We were
younger
then,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah,” Sandy said. “Maybe that’s all. Maybe I’m just going through a mid-life crisis, right? Mourning my lost youth. Sharon thinks so.” He looked at Maggie stubbornly. “I don’t buy it, though. It’s more than that. I remember…I remember, hell, I know things were shitty then, we had the war, and racism, and Nixon and old Spiro, but you know, we also had…I dunno… like, a kind of
optimism
. We knew the future was going to get better. We
knew
it. We were going to
make
it so. We were going to change things around, and we had the youth, right, so time was on our side. We knew what was right and what was wrong, and we knew who the bad guys were, and there was a sense of
belonging
.” His voice got quieter as he spoke, winding down of its own accord. “It was the dawning of the goddamned fucking Age of Aquarius, remember? When peace will guide the planets, and love will steer the stars. Only peace and love sort of went out with bell-bottoms and long hair and miniskirts, and I sure as hell can’t tell who the bad guys are anymore.” He grimaced. “I think some of them are us.”
“Hey,” Maggie said, shaking him gently. “Lighten up. It isn’t so bad, honey. So it’s not the tomorrow we dreamed about. Things never turn out the way you think they will. We
did
change it, Sandy. We stopped the war. We changed the colleges and we changed the government, and we changed all the rules about men and women and love and sex. We even got rid of Tricky Dick, finally. So it’s not the Age of Aquarius. It’s still different than it would have been without us. And better.” She leaned over and kissed him quickly on the end of the nose. “Think of it like this: if it hadn’t been for the Sixties, the Fifties would have gone on and on
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