I’ve Got Nothing to Say, But It’s Okay

I’m not a great conversationalist, which might seem strange coming from someone who enjoys public speaking before large audiences. But one-on-one or in a small group, it’s a struggle for me to keep the gab going, especially if I have nothing worthwhile to say. For me, words are a precious commodity, and I choose my words carefully. Maybe that’s why I’m a writer. 

I do admire people who can carry a conversation, and I have some friends who never stop talking. In a group situation, I am happy to cede the floor to those who are the life of the party. I’ll nod, I’ll grunt, I’ll throw out an affirming “Cool,” or “Aye-uh” if I’m in Boston. I may even chime in if I feel inspired, or if I can contribute some tangent on the topic. But in the Kingdom of Chatter, the one with the biggest mouth is king. 

I admit that my hearing-impairment plays a big part in my conversational awkwardness. I can see the eyes roll when I repeat something that someone else already said. But I didn’t hear it, so how am I supposed to know it was said before? Restaurant noise also makes conversation difficult for me, and that may explain my preference to eat alone. 

On the other side of the tin-can string, I am a good listener. If a friend comes to me with a problem, or with a need to talk, I won’t be formulating in my head an instant response to everything he or she is saying. I genuinely want to listen, and I might ask a few questions to keep their story going. If you come to me to chat, I will listen and affirm you. I won’t solve your problem but I’ll try and guide you to find your way yourself. I offer advice only when asked. 

One of my favorite scenes from Lincoln, the great 2012 movie by Steven Spielberg, takes place in the telegraph room in the White House. It’s late night during the Civil War and the President is dictating a message to his general in the field, Ulysses S. Grant. But before Sam, the telegraph soldier, can transmit, Lincoln asks a couple of out-of-the-blue questions: “Do you think we choose to be born? Are we fitted to the times that we’re born into?” 

Sam is clearly floored by the questions and he tries to deflect them back to his Commander-in-Chief. So then Mr. Lincoln poses the questions to Sam’s friend, who mentions that he’s an engineer. Notice how the President suddenly takes a keen interest in this young man and listens closely to his story. 

This leads to one of the more memorable conversations in the movie as Mr. Lincoln reflects on Euclid’s axiom on equality: “Things that are equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” The conversation was relevant to the era's struggle for equality that the President wrestled with, and it led him to amend the message to his general. My point is this: Lincoln was a good listener and that skill only made his decisions stronger. 

Being a listener is a different gift from being a conversationalist but they can be complementary. I think there is room in our world for both. 

The New Sound: Growth of the Beatles

I finally made it! Like most schools of the era, Marina del Rey Junior High in Mar Vista (West Los Angeles) had an Honor Society that welcomed into its ranks all students with a 3.5 GPA or higher (I think). In the Fall semester of my 8^th Grade, I somehow managed to get only A’s and B’s on my report card, and I was automatically enrolled in the prestigious group. There were some perks and privileges, one of which was the HS pin that I wore proudly on my sweater. The other was the annual Honor Society field trip, and this year’s group was going to college – UC Irvine! 

The University of California, Irvine in Orange County, California was dedicated by President Lyndon Johnson in 1964, so it was practically brand new when our contingent of eager junior high kids scampered onto the campus in March 1967. I had never been to a college before. Being the oldest in the family, I had no older friends or siblings to show me the ropes or tell me stories about college life. Frankly, I hadn’t even given any thought to college; it was too far away into the future. For me, this field trip was an opportunity to get out of classes for a day with friends and explore a pristine campus that our teachers told us was the shining crown jewel of the UC system. 

I was certainly impressed. I had never before set foot on a school that was so big. There was a lot of walking on that damp and cold March day, and our college student guides explained to us how UC Irvine was designed like spokes on a wheel. The buildings of the various departments – humanities, science, medical sciences, athletics, etc. – sprayed out as advertised, like spokes that emanated from a well planted park as the center of the wheel. Not all the buildings were completed yet, and we could hear the hammering and saws of construction. Our tour guides took us into the student center for snacks. And that’s when I got hit by a hammer of sound that practically transformed my life. 

The student center had a cafeteria, vending machines, coffee stations, Coke machines, and other snack amenities that made our junior high lunch area pale in comparison. It had a state-of-the-art stereo system – a LOUD stereo! And blaring out of those huge speakers was the Number One song in America that week: “Penny Lane” by the Beatles. 

Understand that in early 1967, I wasn’t really paying attention to popular music all that much. A couple of years earlier I was a rabid rock fan and my ear was glued to my trusty little transistor radio as the Beatles cranked out hit after hit: “I Feel Fine;” “Help!” “Ticket to Ride;” “Day Tripper.” But by mid-1966, the Beatlemania craze that once had millions of teenage girls screaming all over the world seemed to have quieted down. The group hadn’t given a live performance since their concert at San Francisco’s Candlestick Park in August. There were no new Beatles records that Fall. They had just gotten off a disastrous public relations debacle when John Lennon casually remarked that his band was more popular than Jesus (a British interview statement that was unfortunately taken out of context). And there was another four-guys rock group on television called the Monkees, who looked and sang and joked around just like the Beatles in their fun movies. Yeah, it sure looked like the Beatles’ thunder was stolen. They seemed to be yesterday’s news. Rumors persisted that they had broken up. I was sad to see this decline in my favorite band but I moved on. 

Then, in early 1967, we started hearing some strange new music on the radio. “Strawberry Fields Forever” had lyrics that didn’t make any sense: “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.” John Lennon sang lead and he sounded like a zombie from outer space. It wasn’t the bright happy beat of two electric guitars, bass and drums. The main instrument seemed to be some kind of organ, augmented by violins, cello, and trippy sound effects. Ringo’s distinctive drumming was immediately recognizable, but nothing in this new song cried out “Beatles” – at least the Beatles that I grew up with. There were photos of the band that were released with the song and they showed John, Paul, George and Ringo wearing droopy mustaches and weird clothing. What happened to them? 

The flip side of that single featured a bright sounding tune that seemed to be in total contrast to the other song. “Penny Lane” was apparently about some street in Liverpool but, again, there were no rock’n’roll guitars. Piano was the main instrument and the arrangement was filled out with a baroque trumpet and brass band. This was the Beatles?? My 8^th grade mind did not know what to make of this. I was completely baffled by this new sound – until I heard their latest Number One single on that excellent stereo in the UCI student center. 

I lived in a sprawling Los Angeles housing project with my family. We listened to our music on a small table radio, on a mono record player, and on our tinny transistor radios. We watched music shows like Where the Action Is on our black-and-white television, but our TV speaker was small. So I had no idea of the true power of rock music until I heard the new Beatles sound in that UCI student center.

I was mesmerized by hearing “Penny Lane” in full-throttle stereo, and I stood there frozen in my tracks. Paul McCartney’s sweet voice and clear diction stood out like never before. That amazing piccolo trumpet reminded me of the Bach we were studying in band class. The Beatles’ trademark harmonies were crisp – “There beneath the blue suburban skies!” And the whole experience was anchored by Ringo’s solid drums and Paul’s loping bass, which I seemed to hear in vivid detail for the very first time through that awesomely loud stereo system. My jaw dropped, my eyes widened, and I plopped myself down on a bright yellow bean bag chair to listen more intensely as the rest of my junior high friends filed out of the student center to continue their tour. 

The music was apparently coming from a juke box and the very next song was “Strawberry Fields Forever.” I lost myself in that bean bag chair and closed my eyes as the ethereal music blasted out. I found out later that the main instrument that I thought was an organ was called a mellotron, an early synthesizer that played tape loops of various instruments, in this case a flute. John did indeed sound like a zombie from outer space, but it didn’t bother me anymore. His lyrics were modern poetry: 

Let me take you down 

‘cause I’m going to 

Strawberry Fields, 

nothing is real. 

Nothing to get hung about 

Strawberry Fields Forever . . . 

I had no idea what the heck Lennon was singing about, but it didn't matter. This was so beyond their earlier "boy meets girl" love songs. I felt as if my mind had expanded, that the Beatles were taking us into a brave new world that no one had dared venture before. I wanted to go there with them! And then I felt a loud kick on the bean bag chair. 

“Hey! Kenny! Wake up! What the heck do you think you’re doing??” Yikes! It was Mr. Dunn, one of our school counselors. He yanked me out of the bean bag and marched me out of the student center, lecturing me as we caught up with our group. And then came the words I would hear frequently whenever I got in trouble. 

“I’m surprised at you!” 

Whenever a teacher or authority figure threw those four words into my face I knew that they were telling me that I had not followed the rules or lived up to expectations. Looking back now, I realize that the whole arc of my life has been a struggle between doing the right thing and doing my own thing. And that internal struggle started on that monumental day when I heard the new Beatles sound in full wall-to-wall stereo. My world was changing. 

1967 would be a major year in popular music. A few months later, the Beatles would release a whole album of their innovative mind-bending music on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The iconic Summer of Love would follow, the summer of Hendrix and the Grateful Dead and the Doors. I would bring home those records, play them on our record player, and my mother would complain loudly. “You call that music?” 

Ah, the Sixties! What a wonderful time to grow up!