Julia

 Week Fifty-one: Julia


So I sing a song of love for Julia


—The Beatles, Julia, from the untitled album aka The White Album



No song holds more sentimental value for me than Julia. None. Let me explain.


I first conceived of this project, the one in which I would post one essay per week for a year, seven years ago. By the time I had written a dozen pieces or so, I lost interest. One year ago I stumbled upon the electronic folder that contained the fragments that would eventually be the first dozen posts of this blog. My project was revived. My hope was that through the music in my life and the memories it provoked,  I would reveal where I had been so to speak and more importantly who I have become.


The stories have been random, but as a collection they are a list of the things that matter to me. As I would get an idea and develop the thoughts into something I might like to share, with a few exceptions, I simply put them at the end of the queue. In some cases I tried to time the publication for reasons that made sense to me. The best example is the one I have saved for next week, which marks the end of one year and the end of my project.


Early on I probably had twelve to fifteen essays prepared and ready to use, so there was no real sense of urgency to write. If I heard a song and got an idea, I developed it and dropped it into the folder at the end of the line-up. If no ideas came to me readily I was always assured that I had months worth of time and therefore shouldn’t panic or force ideas.


Since there would be 52 in total (and the last one, #52, was ready and waiting) I always knew how many more I needed to write. As of three weeks ago I still needed two more. I then heard Piano Man and my shortlist was down to one. Earlier on the day I wrote this I told Deb that I still needed one more idea, one more song, and that  I was feeling a bit panicky. She said, “Why don’t you write about being a disc jockey?”


In September 1973, I returned to Salisbury State College for my sophomore year with a renewed sense of purpose. During the previous summer I had worked at ARMCO Steel Corporation as a grinder. The work was so hard that I was determined to succeed at school so I might never have to do such difficult work again. In fact, on my last day after yet another grueling shift I sat in the locker room trying to muster enough energy to put on my street clothes. The veteran steel workers, the same men who had watched and probably chuckled at the rookie who never really mastered the art of steel working, gathered around me. I stood up to face them when one of the guys said. “We want to tell you good luck at school.” I thanked them and started shaking hands with each man. As I took the hand of the last man around me, he said, “Don’t come back here. You understand me?”


I did.


Eight months earlier, at the end of my first semester at Salisbury State College I knew with certainty I would become someone’s father. Deb had indications and by Christmas of ‘72, we planned for a future that we were too young to fear. On August 6, 1973, Julia Brooks Thanner was born.


As often as I could for the next ten months I traveled between Salisbury where I attended school and Baltimore where Deb and Julie lived with my in-laws. School was going much better than it had, and on top of all that, I was given a truly memorable opportunity. I became a disc jockey at the newly created WSSC radio station. As the second half of the Dynamic Duo. My dorm mate and chum, Gary handled the first two hours of our four hour show.


In an era that featured vinyl instead of electronic music, we did things the old-fashioned way. With dual turntables, we would cue the next song while the current song played. It was a blast. A truly memorable time, one that made my homesickness just a little less apparent for a short while.


I started every show with a little known group named Fever Tree, and although I still can’t remember the name of the song I used to announce my show, it was fun to play my Fever Tree albums in order to find the one I used. I’m still looking.


Every show ended with a tribute to my little girl a hundred miles away…


Half of what I say is meaningless

But I say it just to reach you Julia.


When I explained my frustration about finding just one more song to complete my project, Deb smiled and added, “I have been waiting for you to use Julia.”





Julia (Remastered 2009)

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