It’s September 1966 – You’re A Teenager – You’re In L.A. – You Go To School – You Don’t Want To.
There are people who love High School – they do homework, they join clubs, they go to pep rallies, they have drivers licenses. You are not one of them. You still take the bus – you stay up late watching Johnny Carson or goof off with your friends on Fairfax past curfew. You started smoking in Junior High and now you have a hacking cough. You’ve already smoked dope and your friend’s dad is a Pharmacist. You ditch school at least once a week. You’ve already had two warnings from the Boys VP. You always do your homework on the bus the day it’s due and your ex-girlfriend is spreading rumors about you. The longest you’ve gone steady is two weeks. You haven’t made it past first base yet. You firmly believe you are a failure in life and there is no hope for you. You wish you could go to Colin-McEwen in Hollywood – they don’t have dress codes and you can grow your hair. Your parents would never go for that. Why are the inside of your index fingers caramel colored? Your friend gave you a handful of pills he found in his dad’s desk – he said take at least four. Dexi-something. You took them when you got up and just a few seconds ago your jaw snapped shut. You don’t think you’ll want to eat anything for the next three or four years. And you have suddenly fallen in love with the girl two rows away from you, staring out the window. She has a mouth full of braces and is eating a Baloney sandwich and a Hostess Snowball. She hasn’t combed her hair in a month – you have GOT to meet her.
And who said growing up was ever easy? At least we all lived in a Yellow Submarine.
Here’s an hour of Frank Terry – 93 KHJ from September 8, 1966.