The tailgate of my sweet ’76 Chevy Luv pickup and the
tailgate of countless other of my buddies trucks, were an ode to the 70’s.
Growing up in suburban southeast Texas, many an evening was spent telling lies,
hoping the girl in English class would pay attention to me, sippin’ a cold Lone
Star and most important of all, tryin’ to be cool.
Growing up in Baytown, TX in the 1970’s, trucks or muscle
cars like Camaro’s and Mustang’s, were the desired mode of travel for most
testosterone fueled teens of my day. Unfortunately, I was relegated to a 4-cylinder
Chevy Luv pickup, which is actually a mini-truck, but still a truck. It was
painted calf-shit green (from the factory no less), had mag wheels and mud
tires. The radio, speakers, tires and wheels were probably worth more than the
truck. Not what you would call a chick magnet. Pretty lame now that I think
about it, but it was mine, and it had a tailgate.
The crowd I ran with, The Country Club Hoodlums or CCH, were
all from the same neighborhood for the most part. I can’t remember who tagged
us with the name, but we wore it with a badge of honor. We hung out on the
Baker Road bridge after school or parked out in front of someone’s house on
afternoons after school let out. Most of us had known each other since
elementary school and we had stuck together through thick and thin. We didn’t hang out with the “in crowd, but I
can recall when the “in” crowd wanted to hang with us. We even chose a girl to
be CCH “sweetheart”, kind of like what the social clubs at school did. I kind of doubt the girl cared much for that
title or for that matter, even knew about it.
Hanging out, sitting on the tailgate of a pickup was the
social epicenter of our formative years. We would park in front of someone’s
house, or better yet, sit in the parking lot of McDonald’s or one of the
unsuspecting businesses along Texas Avenue in Baytown, Texas and spend the
time, talking about what we wished we were doing or who we wished we were doing
it to. We dipped snuff and spit into a
puddle of tobacco juice that was as big as a hubcap, slowly growing in size as
the night went on. Gee, I wonder why most of us never really had steady
girlfriends?
Conversations were generally about cars, girls, and music
and not necessarily in that order. We could never understand why “that” girl
would want to go out with “that” guy. We would laugh at the guys who were 18 or
19 years old and still hanging out on Texas Avenue. We said that if we
were that old, we would be in Houston at a nightclub or bar and we damn sure
wouldn’t be hanging out on the main drag. Famous last words; many a night at
age 19 & 20 were spent sittin’ on a tailgate. We were so preoccupied with our trucks and
our world that we were barely aware that Iran had taken some Americans hostage
or other current events of that era. Except for the now famous Mickey Mouse,
“Hey Iran!” poster, which had Mickey’s middle finger extended in that most
offensive way, we would have never know there was a conflict in Iran. We would
talk about what concert was coming up or what kind of tires we were saving to
buy, and that generally held precedent over a history test, the Berlin Wall or
what Walter Cronkite had told the nation that night.
Unfortunately during my high school days, disco music had
gained a foothold and even at our young age, we knew this low point in American
music could not prevail. To show my allegiance to the cause, I put a “Disco Sucks”
bumper sticker on my truck. Of course my mom told me I couldn’t park it in the
driveway with that displayed. Cultural anarchists never get a break. I could not begin to count the number of
8-track tapes of Montrose, Van Halen, Journey, The Marshall Tucker Band, Led Zepplin
and Willie Nelson were played to their demise those nights. Didn’t it suck when
the songs bled over each other on 8 track tapes? Or how about when the song
would fade away right in the middle of the cool guitar solo, only to pick up
where it left off when the tape changed tracks. Brutal. Radio stations KLOL 101
rocked and KIKK was country cool. All the righteous cars had FM 101 bumper stickers
and the best pickups carried the “Proud to be a KIKK’er” stickers. They just
don’t make bumper stickers like they used to. I had a “Lone Star Longnecks and
Aggies; No Place But Texas” bumper sticker that I was the most proudest of. My
“Onward Thru The Fog” sticker came in a close second along with the “Holley Equipped”
sticker even though my little green truck was far from a racetruck and only
carried a little 2-barrel carburetor.
Going to the Decker Drive In was required activity if you
had a truck and a tailgate. The “Decker” was a drive in movie that played 2nd
run movies and when we were really lucky, soft-core porn. We would crowd 3 in
the front seat and another 3 or more in the bed of the truck, and along with a
couple of six packs, we were kings. With
lawnchairs as thrones, we passed many a summer night paying money that was extending
some B-movie star’s career a few months longer. I don’t remember many of the
movies we paid to see, mainly because beers and left-handed cigarettes were consumed
in mass quantities. Don’t worry Mom, more beer than anything.
Muddin’ was a great pastime in those years. Southeast Texas
is notorious for its “gumbo mud” and with the amount of rain we received, we
never had much problem finding mud holes. Since you had a pickup, you were
required to have mud tires and hence, you were supposed to drive through the
mud at any time the moment arose. A few of us had 4-wheel drive and Brook had a
“heavily equipped recreational vehicle” (“Stripes” reference with Bill Murray) that
had big tires, a bumper guard and best of all, a winch. Brook generally was the
one who pulled you out of the mud when you got stuck. I bet his folks got tired
of phone calls in the middle of the night that generally went like this:
“Brook. I’m stuck. Yes, again. Come pull me out. “ Brook was a gamer and never
turned anyone down.
The highlight of the year was the last day of school campout
in May of each year. Somehow we convinced our parents that we would be camping
out in the woods and eating hot dogs. We always managed to get someone’s big
brother to buy us beer, wine and whiskey and thank goodness we hiked to the
campsite and didn’t drive. Once again,
mass quantities (“Conehead” reference. Remember Dan Akroyd on SNL?) were
consumed and brain cells were slain. One year we were introduced to “The Peace
Pipe”. I shouldn’t have to explain that one, but Cheech & Chong would have
been proud. Oh the stupid shit we got ourselves into. Dink’s older brother and
his friends raided the campsite and scared us into thinking the cops were after
us. Richard went stumbling through the woods looking for Irving, his pet firefly. You had to be there. One time Barry took it upon himself to sober
everyone up. He soaked a towel in an ice chest full of freezing water and would
sneak up on people and wrap the towel around their heads. Imagine being in a
drunken slumber and some dumb-ass wraps an ice-cold towel around your head.
Barry had done this to a few people and was feeling pretty good about himself
when he set his sights on Greg. Hulk, as Greg was nicknamed, threw his head up
and backwards as the cold water engulfed him. Since Barry was standing behind
Greg, he caught the full force of Greg’s head against his chin and was just about
knocked out cold. We all laughed until it hurt and Barry sat around the fire
with a bag of ice on his jaw. Good times…
Over the years we have all gone to living our own lives and
going our own ways. I moved from Baytown in 1984 and have only been back a few
occasions. I think quite a few of the old CCH are still living close to our old
homestead. I talk to a few of them from time to time and see a few of them face
to face every now and again. With the advent of Facebook, we have been able to
re-connect and it’s a good feeling when you see a “Friend Request” from one of
the old gang. I miss the days of having relatively few worries. Saving for
retirement and trying to get your presentation completed on time has taken the
place of having to wake up early enough so that you could go duck hunting or
having enough money to buy Foghat tickets. When you’re biggest concern was
whether or not Becky from 3rd period English class would go out with
you, life could be a lot tougher.
My kingdom for a time machine…
