Best Christmas of All ! ! ! !

Post by **gdmoore28** » Mon Dec 11, 2006 5:59 am

My best friend and I lived on adjacent farms when we were kids, and have known each other since we first became aware that other kids existed! The other day we were discussing the best Christmases we ever had as kids. That made me wonder which Christmases my kids and grandkids will remember as they grow older. I know that Christmas is always a big, big deal to my two grandsons, especially. That's when they return to their home state to spend a couple of weeks with their dad and their grandparents -- and get spoiled and pampered and loved beyond all reason. Their departure is always a sad conclusion to a happy communion.

I have no trouble recollecting my best Christmas of all. It was a Chistmas that brought me much more than the fleeting joy of material gain -- it was the beginning of my devotion to a hobby that has yeilded a lifetime of memorable experiences, personal accomplishment, and lasting friendships -- and a fulfilling career in the musical instrument and sound reenforcement industries.

That Christmas experience actually had its origins in an event that occurred almost two years earlier, on the evening of February the 9th, 1964. I was almost eleven years old, and I remember my brother and I sitting in front of my family's black and white RCA TV. My family loved watching the Ed Sullivan Show, and when the show began that night, my brother and I moved to our usual position on the hardwood floor of our small farm house -- playing with our plastic soldiers on the rug in front of the open-faced butane space heater, whose yellow-glowing grates provided a flickering light to the miniature battlefield below.

I don't recall any of the other acts on the Sullivan show that night, but when the host asked his live audience to please welcome The Beatles, and my dad asked my mother, "Are those girls, or boys?", my brother and I, of course, turned to gaze at the subjects of my dad's query. But as the rest of my family sought to satisfy their curiosity about the four boys with girls' haircuts, I was totally transfixed by the music. And by the young (mostly female) audience's reaction to the music. My family just couldn't take their eyes off those mop-top haircuts, but I was right there in New York City with that obsessed audience, and I couldn't take my eyes off drummer Richard Starkey -- aka, Ringo Starr -- as he rolled rhythmically left and right behind his drums. I remember thinking to myself, "He's behind those other guys, but HE'S in control!"

In the months that followed, I devoted myself to finding Beatle's music anywhere I could. For the first time, I became the primary user of the family table-top radio, and constantly rolled the dial as I tried to find a Beatles song playing somewhere. Mom finally gave in and bought me a couple of 45s for the record player. And I was always glued to the Ed Sullivan show, praying that the Beatles would reappear -- which they did -- and discovering other pop bands -- The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, The Dave Clarke Five, The Animals -- as each took their turn in the spotlight of the Beatles-induced mania.

I'd made up my mind. I wanted to be a Beatle. And, if I couldn't be a Beatle, I at least wanted to be a drummer. But there was a problem. A BIG problem. I didn't have a drum. And my dad, smelling a short-lived fad, had no interest in dropping $50 (a week's salary on our 1960s farm) on a toy that he feared would soon find it's way to the back of the closet. When I persisted in my plea for a drum, my dad decided he would try a different tact. He was a life long gospel singer and guitar player, so he tried to interest me in learning to play his Gretch Lyncromatic archtop. But the pain that throbbed in my little-boy fingers when I tried pressing down those heavy-guage Black Diamond guitar strings on the neck of an instrument larger than me convinced me that my desire to be Ringo was a wiser choice than being George. So I immediately went back to banging on a saucepan with No.2 pencils.

But with the youthful ESP that we all possess at that age, I could sense that my dad's resistance was weakening, and by summer my persistance had paid off with a new Kent snare drum wrapped in a cheesy-looking Japanese imitation of Ludwig's beautiful "black marine pearl," close to the "black oyster pearl" color of Ringo's drums. I banged the life out of that little snare drum as I practiced every day to learn every British Invasion song on the radio.

Before long, that lone snare drum just wasn't satisfying. Ringo didn't play a snare drum alone -- he played a DRUM SET, with cymbals that swayed back and forth on spindly stands to the left and right. Out of desperation, I convinced my dad's farmhand, Bud, to help me manufacture my first "drumset." We made my bass drum from a drum -- a 35 gallon oil drum turned on it's side. Bud welded a cottonpicker spindle on each side to keep the drum from rolling away, and I played it by kicking it with the ball of my right foot. My ride cymbal was made from a discarded 20" disc blade which Bud suspended above the right side of the oil drum by welding a 1/2" metal rod to the rim. I positioned my little Kent snare drum behind the oil drum, sat down on an empty five gallon can, and wailed away. It was country-fied Beatlemania on the cheap.

My mother, naturally, wouldn't allow that oily instrument in her house, so I was forced to keep it outdoors on our front porch, which I secretly enjoyed because it allowed me to fantasize that I was performing on a stage -- with the Beatles, of course. I played many "concerts" to neighboring farmers as they pulled their cotton trailers past our house on their way to the gins. I was convinced that they enjoyed the performances because they always waved and grinned as they drove slowly by. Even as the winter approached, I braved the cold weather every day after school and practiced on the porch until nightfall.

I was sure that my yearlong dedication to becoming a Beatle would convince my dad to buy me a real drumset for that Christmas of 1965, but it didn't happen. My dad made sure that I wasn't too disappointed Christmas morning by warning me that I wouldn't be getting a drum set. The family simply couldn't afford it. I did get a new set of sticks, though, and they saw me through another year of banging on my homemade drumset.

The Christmas of 1966 held much more promise. Because my uncles had left the family farm, leaving only my dad and grandad to run the operation, there was a little more money to go around. That spring we moved off the farm and into a small house that my dad bought on the outskirts of our town. The end of that year brought a good cotton crop that was shared among fewer family members, and three weeks before Christmas my dad took me to a pawn shop in North Little Rock, Arkansas. The shop was filled with musical instruments, and the walls above the jewelry counters held deep shelves with several new drumsets neatly stacked on their ends so that their vivid colors and shiny chrome hardware glittered in sharp contrast to the grey, dimly-lit environs of the large pawnshop filled with army surplus, jewelry, and guns. Previous to this trip, my occational visits to this pawnshop had provided me with hours of prowling through mountains of WWII surplus, but this time the only thing that held my attention were those drums.

We left the pawnshop that day without a drumset, but one week before Christmas a large box appeared next to the green-smelling Christmas tree in our living room. The days leading up to Chrismas morning were long and interminable. I spent hour upon hour fantasizing how it would feel to sit behind a real drumset. By Christmas eve I just couldn't stand the anticipation any longer. I pleaded with my mom and dad to allow me to open the big box. My brother chimed in that he wanted to open one of his gifts, too. My parents were as anxious to see their sons' joy as were were to experience it, so they gave their permission to open one gift each. Since there was to be little surprize about what I would get, my brother was allowed to open his gift first. I sat by the big box and fingered the paper wrapping as my brother unwrapped his gift -- and to this day I can't remember what he got!

That night I experienced the fulfillment of a two-year dream. I played my new white marine pearl Apollo drum set with the cheap little brass cymbal until almost midnight -- the latest I'd stayed awake in my life. Since that night I've owned at least twenty drumsets, played in a number of bands, and I'm still playing in a rock band today -- and we play some of the Beatles songs that I first learned on my cheap little snare drum with the oil drum bass and the disc blade cymbal. Every time my band plays before an audience I get to live the dream I had in 1964. And I get to relive that night so long ago when a country kid got to fulfill his fantasy -- the night I became a Beatle!

(To hear me play drums with some other old guys with musical dreams, watch our demo video:)

http://www.myspace.com/legacyclassicrock

What was your best Christmas of All?????

Post by **URAR1004** » Wed Dec 20, 2006 1:14 am

gdmoore28, Marry Christmas! are you the guy in the lower right looking at the picture on your myspace page?

Post by **DARIVS ARCHITECTVS** » Wed Dec 20, 2006 2:04 am

Actually , he's the 5th beatle.

Merry Christmas guys!

Post by **gdmoore28** » Wed Dec 20, 2006 2:31 am

I'm the old guy playing drums in the video. I've lost thirty pounds since that video was filmed, so it's downright embarrassing watching my fat-ass self -- triple chin and all!

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Allow me to offer you all a big Merry Christmas, too. I hope you have a wonderful holiday with your loved ones. Have happy experiences with your kids and grandkids -- those experiences will become memories that last their entire lives.

We live in a tremendously blessed country, gentlemen. Enjoy the good life this holiday.

May God bless you all!

GeeDeeEmm

Post by **Bil** » Wed Dec 20, 2006 1:41 pm

A really good Story-one a lot of kids now should read and UNDERSTAND!!.I'ts not all about getting what you want,when you want it !There is too much of that today.I come from a family of 8 kids,me the oldest-born in 56.My father was a merchant seaman-2wks. on,2wks. off.His off weeks,he was a logger.We didn't have much,but appreciated what we had.Any toys were played with till they wore out.You didn't have a list of Christmas "demands", you took what you got.And you know,none of us were "emotionally damaged" from it.And we all raised our kids this way.Turned out good ,too.Just look in your local Wal-Marts and see the shopping carts heaped to overflowing,pushed by people spending way more than they can afford on junk that won't last a week.So enjoy your memorys of your home-made toys,because that is the spirit of the season--love and family are two things you can never buy. Merry Christmas to all of you,and God bless in the coming year! bil

twebb · Post by **twebb** » Wed Dec 20, 2006 9:00 pm

Hey Garry, I remember you starting out on those drums. Those farmers weren't waving , I think they were giving you the finger!! You 've come along way on those drums haven't you. When we used to play German soldier on Plum Bayou. Climbing cottonwood trees and sniping the farm hands on their tractors in the field and making sure we were in the house in time to see "Combat" getting our Sargent Saunders fix. I'm sure glad we out grew those days,oops ...........or did we? Gosh guys those days sure were fun!

Post by **gdmoore28** » Thu Dec 21, 2006 3:45 am

twebb is the best-bud that I keep blabbering about. Finally got him hooked on this site. He's my partner in the gas gun builds, fellow reenactor, keeper of the sacred trust, & the best damn theater/history teacher in our state. Here he is in a "theatrical" pose at a "historical" event -- I think the state pays him extra for this kind of post-grad "training" in his specialty!