Sunday Drive: Summer of '69

Atlanta skyline, 1969.
Click to enlarge.

Though strange and fateful things were happening around the nation and the globe, August 1969 in my corner of the world was a golden afternoon of slow time and drifting thoughts - a calm before the storm - brilliant sunshine over the green fields of the South, the sultry summer heat, electric fans, and open windows - airports, railroad stations, and zipping through Atlanta at freeway speed in a Mustang convertible, top down, no seat belts, no worries, no fears.

Like the chambered nautilus, our lives advance from one compartment of experience to another, and another. Then, in that bright season, there was yet a mystery and a glamour about the larger world, as yet unexplored by me - and naïve faith that somehow the future would always be bigger and brighter still, unblemished and sweet as a fresh peach from the Georgia orchards.

Or so I thought.  I was old enough to shave (weekly) but not to drink (publicly).  It was another time, childhood's end, a land unreachable now by any means - but sometimes I remember that August in the heart of the South, my beautiful, tragic homeland - and feel again the thrill of youthful hopes vibrating in the air, hear again the sounds of tunes that made me smile or sigh - and think bittersweet thoughts of loved ones and home, where I can never go again - where none of us can ever return.

Perhaps you can relate. Take your pick, if any of these mean something to you.









And one by the late, great Joe South - an Atlanta boy made good, he was immensely popular across the Southland during his all-too-brief recording period - handsome rascal, too: