The JFK assassination - I was the kid walking home from school. Ruby shooting Oswald - I was one of the millions who saw it live on TV. LBJ announcing that he wouldn’t accept the democratic party’s nomination for a second term - I was the one cheering in his living room, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, the splash down of friendship 7. I was there for it all

So, where were you when Armstrong walked on the moon?

Me? I was the sixteen year old kid losing his virginity.

New Jersey is not the way most Out-of-staters think it is. People who don’t live here usually assume that the entire state consists of what can be seen from the turnpike or the Garden State Parkway. Congested suburbs, ugly industrial cities and crowded tourist traps along the shore. There’s actually much more to it than that

The Pine Barrens, for example, is the single largest expanse of undeveloped forest land to be found anywhere between Boston and Washington DC. To the south Cumberland and Burlington counties and to the north Warren and Sussex are rural and agricultural producing everything from cranberries to corn and tomatoes. Yes, that’s right, rural New Jersey and quite beautiful too. Just take a ride on interstate 80 through the Delaware Water Gap sometime and you’ll see. We’re up to our eyeballs in beautiful and fascinating places

And then there’s Morristown

Of all the hidden gems you’ll find nestled in the hills of northern New Jersey my hometown of Morristown is singularly unique. One of the oldest towns in the state, sign posts at the city limits proudly boast "Welcome to Morristown. Military crossroads of the revolution". And that’s no bullshit. The foothill region of northern New Jersey was of much strategic importance to old George Washington. The endless valleys and hollows were just the places to hide an entire army in need of retreat. In 1969 they still provided much valuable cover for good kids wanting to do bad things

The early evening of July 20, 1969 saw the end of a long hot day in northern New Jersey. Hazy enough to make the sky colorless but not overcast enough to protect you from the scorching sun. I sat on a park bench in the square at the center of town taking one last drag from my cigarette then slipping off my India sandal and crushing it out with my bare foot. My feet were callused from going barefoot a lot and I kinda got a kick out of the way I could do that

The summer was shaping up to be a pretty interesting one so far. On the historical front, Woodstock was still a month away but as of July 20 the Eagle had landed and man’s first walk on Terra Luna was at hand

On the personal front, well, there was this girl.

I had been seeing Lisa Wass for a little over a month. We were introduced by my best friend Ducky Drake. Ducky’s real name was Spencer but as kids we’d nicknamed him after the little cartoon duck from the Drakes cakes commercials on TV. Tall, well muscled and almost absurdly good looking, the nickname didn’t suit him but somehow it stuck

Lisa was the younger sister of Ducky’s girlfriend Karen. Short with brown hair and sad puppy eyes I found her attractive in a voluptuous Cheerleader sort of way. We met at Ducky’s house. She wore these tight white levis that hugged her little round butt in a way that made me crazy. I don’t recall ever asking her for a date or even having much conversation with her. She didn’t talk much. Seems like we just found ourselves making out in the back seat of Gene Swenson’s car one night going home and hadn’t stopped since. Most of our relationship took place in secret. Lisa was the preppie middle class girl next door. I was the bad ass long haired rock and roller from the wrong side of the tracks. The middle son in, what was known locally as, the notorious DeFranco clan. It was really my older brother Eddie who was the hell raiser. My younger brother Tony and I merely walked the trail he blazed with the unearned reputation he forged. And, even if my reputation was somewhat undeserved, in the world of middle class nineteen sixties sensibilities, let’s face it, I was every parent’s worst nightmare and not the sort of boyfriend Lisa could easily explain. I didn’t mind it. The stealth aspects of our affair just made it seem more romantic. In 1969 I was sixteen years old and technically still a virgin. From the moment I met her a relentless voice in my head kept saying "She’s the one. She will be the one". I lit another cigarette and wondered when or if my friends would show up. We almost always just meet in the park and figured out what to do from there. In a way, I didn’t really care if anybody showed up or not. I’d have just as soon gone home to watch the moon walk on TV

In the counter culture world of the sixties it was hip to be indifferent about the space program but I couldn’t help being fascinated by it. The NASA public relations machine tried so hard to frame it all as a picture of superior American technology and integrity. I suppose, to a degree, it was so but in my opinion they came straight to the point and missed it completely. Their obsession with promoting all the successes and burying all the failures obscured what a heroic undertaking it actually was. It was the Apollo 1 fire, a major glitch, not NASA making it look easy, that first made me realize that the men who rode the rockets not only did things that had never been done before but did them with absolutely no certainty of what to expect. In those days it was the first time around for everything

"Hey Dave", came a voice from behind me. It was Ducky. I turned and saw him strolling up with Karen and Lisa

"Hey man", I returned, "I see you got two girls there"

"Yeah, So?"

"So I don’t have one. How bout you let me have one"

"Ok. I’ll letcha have this one". He linked arms with Lisa and swung her over to me

She gave me a kiss and smiled slyly as if to suggest something was up

"So. What are we doing?" I asked

"Well", Ducky began, suddenly very businesslike, "We were thinking it might be nice to go swimming. It’s so hot."

I looked at Lisa. Then Karen. Then Duck. They were all looking at me as if the ball were in my court

"Ok" I said wondering what they were up to, "Where?" "Black River falls", said Karen

"Yes, the falls", Lisa chimed in. She slid up in a way that really got to me

"I’m game. Any idea how we’re gonna get there?" Black River was remote

A good twenty miles from town and none of us had a car. On the other hand its remoteness meant that we’d likely be skinny dipping. An appealing idea with the girls along

"What’s Gene doing"? Ducky asked.

Gene Swenson was our ace in the hole whenever we needed wheels. He seemed to have unlimited access to his parent’s car. We both played in a band together so it was generally assumed that I had the inside track on him. That wasn’t necessarily so

"Well, I guess I could call him."

Lisa grabbed my arm held it to her breasts and nodded

"I’ll call him"

As I headed out of the park the expedition to Black River seemed to acquire a sense of urgency. Something in Lisa’s over eager insistence began to fill my head with ideas. I wondered if Gene was still home and if he’d be game for it. After all, we didn’t have a girl for him so he’d have to go along with being the odd man out

I was about to cross the street at the southwest corner of the park when the light changed. I looked to my right and there was Gene driving his parents big white Mercury Monterey convertible through the intersection. My, how convenient, I thought

"Hello Gene", I said casually as he passed by.

He looked up, as if startled at the sound of my voice and then over at me

"Over there", I said pointing towards the park. He pulled up at the curb

Ducky and the girls were already gathering on the sidewalk as I trotted up

"Wow Dave. How’d you get him here so fast?" said Ducky with a grin

Gene hopped out of the car and asked what we were doing

Most people didn’t understand or appreciate Gene. He played keyboard in the band, which was cool, because he bore a striking resemblance to Ray Manzerak. Tall and rawboned with wire frame glasses, He had a reputation for being a cold fish of a guy. Some of the kids at school jokingly referred to him as Mr. Spock. They were wrong. Fact is, Gene loved a good time just as much as the next guy. True, he was a bit on the analytical side but there was a passion to him that went over most people’s heads. It was music

I’ve played with a lot of musicians down through the years but I’ve seen very few with talent like Gene’s. He had perfect pitch. No, really, perfect pitch. We used to play a game. I’d play these oddball chords on the guitar while he looked the other way. Even I didn’t know what they were half the time. And he’d identify the chord

He could pretty much master any musical instrument he picked up within a few weeks

I pitched the idea to Gene. He thought about it for a moment then said,

"Sure. Let’s go. I’ve even got a few towels in the car. We’ll need gas though"

I fished through my pockets. I had three dollars and change. Ducky had six. We each coughed up two with Gene throwing in one making a total of five

Ah, those wonderful sixties when gas was a mere 29 cents a gallon. You could cruise all night on five bucks. Even in a Mercury

The fastest route to Black River Falls was down I 287 to the Bedminster exit. It involved some doubling back on route 206 but the quick ride down the interstate took less time than making the trip on secondary roads

Without thinking, Lisa and I took the back seat while Ducky and Karen hopped into the front with Gene. Privacy was always accorded to the couple occupying the back seat for purposes of making out and an unspoken protocol said that the couple who had it on the trip out would be expected to yield it on the trip home. Lisa and I decided to make the trip out really count

We stopped for gas in Mt. Kemble Lake just before the ramp to the Interstate. At 8:15 PM, with the sun already well beyond the horizon, daylight still hung stubbornly in the sky

As we started down the highway Lisa sat in the opposite corner of the Mercury’s huge back seat feigning shyness, her long hair flying every which way in the wind. She looked over at me and smiled a kind of "why don’t you come on over?" smile. I reached out, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her over to me

In short denim cutoffs and a light blue surfer shirt she still managed to look like a preppie. Lisa was like that. You could place her on an east village street corner dressed in rags and she’d never lose that rich girl look

Eyes were being kept respectfully forward in the front seat. Karen was punching furiously at the radio buttons trying to find some music. All that was on were news reports about Apollo 11. I would have gladly listened in on Armstrong and Aldrin’s progress but the consensus was for music

"Here", said Gene producing an eight track of Cream’s "Wheels Of Fire". Ducky plugged it into an in-dash player. Suddenly "White Room" was blasting in the car

Lisa entwined her arms loosely around the back of my neck and looked daringly into my eyes. There was a fearlessness in her that excited me. I pulled her in close and kissed her deep and probing. She probed back. We could go on like that endlessly until our mouths got numb. Only teenagers ever kiss like that. My hand, resting on her leg, began moving up the inside of her thy. I slipped, undaunted, through the leg of her cutoffs and stroked her lightly through her panties. She gasped slightly and I whispered in her ear…

"OK?"

"Mmmmmmm", she returned nodding

I honestly can’t remember anything ever not being OK with Lisa. There are moments in life when everything seems perfect. They aren’t necessarily the big moments. They are what I think of, so often, as the fragments of ordinary days. It could be something as simple as the way the air smells at a happy but otherwise unremarkable time. Somehow it makes a memory that lasts forever. A memory of one of those moments was formed as we flew down the Interstate racing with the sunset. The music blasting. The car speeding along. The wind entwining our hair I as we kissed. My fingers loving the silky smooth feel of her veiled wetness

"There is no substitute for youth", said a coworker of mine in 1991.

Actually, we were having a conversation about an up coming George Foreman fight. We were sitting in a conference room at our office having coffee when he said it and I found myself wanting come up with a sarcastic response. The remark struck me as arrogant. "Speak for yourself", I was about to say when I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the window glass. I was pushing forty at the time and, I guess, I just didn’t want to hear stuff like that. And even if old George managed to prove him wrong a time or two since then I suppose the thing that really pissed me off was that the remark was, for the most part, true. The reflection proved it

What is the sensation of your fondest summer memory? Does it sound like a staticy old tube radio broadcasting a Giants game from the polo grounds in endless silver blue twilight? Does it have the placid scent of salty sea air at the shore or maybe the smell of birch logs on a campfire in the mountains? Does it taste like the ice cream cone you bought at the Dairy Queen, melting faster than you can lick it? Maybe, just maybe, it feels like a kiss or looks like sunlight flicking shadows in that green place where your fingers once traced the every curve and secret spot of someone new who made you feel new things

To me it’s all of that and then some but the ultimate summer metaphor will always be the ageless young girl. She remains forever young and beautiful while I comb what’s left of my hair, survey the bags under my eyes and check out the expanding gut hanging over my belt with a nagging little voice in the back of my head saying "Told ya so"

Could be it’s just what I deserve

By 8:45 the day bright sky was giving way to a deep purple sunset. Just over a low rise on route 206 the intersection of Fairmont Valley road came up fast. It was a dangerous intersection, worse for cars pulling out onto the highway because of the blind rise. Gene made the turn without slowing down and headed down the long hill into the town of Fairmont Valley. Just beyond the town were the Black River Falls. Beyond that, Who knew?