Road Apples by Tim Sanders
June 6, 2011

Hanging with the elderly hipsters

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Summertime is here again, reminding those of us who are no longer exactly youthful of our youth. Ten years of my youth were spent in the 1950s. It was a much different world then. Today, for example, American parents worry about the international Islamic terrorist menace, the possibility that the price of gas might skyrocket to over $6 per gallon, and the corrosive effects of hip-hop on our culture. In the '50s, on the other hand, American parents were worried about the international communist menace, the possibility that the price of gas might skyrocket to over 25 cents per gallon, and the corrosive effects of rock and roll on our culture.

And speaking of culture, if you'd heard the terms we used back in the '50s, and '60s, you'd have questioned whether or not there was any. Culture, I mean. Many of us still use the terms we learned back then, and this often confuses youngsters trying to communicate with us Boomers (and regardless of what you may have heard, the term "Boomer" doesn't indicate explosive intestinal problems caused by a steady diet of pinto beans). Baby Boomers are those of us born after the soldiers returned home from WWII, all ready for action of a different kind. Let's imagine that you are still young. Let's further imagine that you are at a family gathering, trying to communicate with Grandpa and Grandma, who are still stuck in the '50s. Here are some tips that might help:


• If Grandpa should slap his thigh and shout: "What's buzzin', cousin?" that is merely his way of saying "hello." And if Grandma points at Grandpa and says "he fractures me," she is not referring to a hip injury, only to the fact that Grandpa makes her laugh. And when Grandpa asks "Where's the ankle-biters?" he's not referring to fire ants, but to the great-grandchildren (he might also refer to them as "curtain climbers" or "rug rats.").


• Grandpa may try to tell you about the time he took Grandma to the "passion pit", and explain that he was a real "make-out artist" in those days, but don't worry. Grandma will tell him he's "cruisin' for a bruisin'" and threaten to give him a "knuckle sandwich" if he continues. The "passion pit," by the way, is what the "hipsters" used to call the drive-in back then, and of course you probably know all about "make-out artists." If Grandpa then shifts gears and starts talking about when they drove to the lake late one night to "watch the submarine races," Grandma may "flip out" or "go ape," forcing Grandpa to tell her: "Don't have a cow, Edwina!" This doesn't mean that she can never have a cow, but that now is not the time to act as though she's giving birth to something that large.


• If you were to stare at either of your grandparents, they might tell you to "Take a picture, it lasts longer." In 1958 this was considered almost as witty as the more direct "Why don't you make like a tree and leave?" which was synonymous with "split." Believe it or not, my dad, who was a Baptist minister and not a particularly "cool cat," occasionally tried to casually incorporate '50s slang into his sermons. Unfortunately he was not comfortable with it, and references to how Jonah had "bugged out" from the presence of the Lord and verily "caught some Zs" in the hold of a ship headed for Tarshish just sounded silly. '50s slang and King James English didn't mix well.


• In Grandpa's day, your vehicles were very important. A few kids had their own "wheels," which they referred to as "cherry," even if they weren't red. Most of us, however, were stuck driving family cars which were either "tanks" or "bathtubs on wheels." Regardless of what you drove, your friends were always encouraging you to "goose it, floor it, punch it, peel out, lay a patch," or just generally "haul ass," none of which was possible in your dad's three-speed on the column Nash Rambler station wagon. The only maneuver you could pull in that vehicle was the popular bit of '50s and '60s idiocy known as the "Chinese red light," in which you stopped for a light and everyone jumped out and ran around the car until the light changed, when they immediately jumped back in through the nearest door. Studies showed that there was no reason for this maneuver, unless you call alcohol a reason. If whatever vehicle you were driving was "totaled" or "creamed" by some careless individual who was definitely not you, you were nonetheless "up S**T creek."


• In those days, another guy was usually referred to not as "dude," but as "Clyde." Don't ask why. "Clyde" may have been a "drip" or a "creep," and may even have had "cooties." Most of the kids I knew could not identify a "cootie," but they knew people who had them. Sometimes "Clyde" was very "cool" and "hip." If he smoked, he either "fired up a fag" or "burned a weed." Clyde's clothes may have been "grody," or he may have worn some cool "threads." (In my case, it was usually the former, due to a serious lack of "bread.") A '50s or '60s party could be a "blast," or a real "drag." Gramps will gladly tell you that Grannie was a "boss chick," and add that she really "razzed his berries." That, as I remember it, was a compliment.


• Sometimes the grandparents would arrive at a party, or "make the scene," "hang loose" and "dig the sides," and finally "cut out." Sometimes places or situations were given names like "Weirdsville, Nowheresville, Deadsville, Squaresville, and Fat City." If, on their way to one of the many "villes," Grannie had said "Cool it, the fuzz". or possibly "the heat," Gramps would probably have replied "No sweat, babe" and slid his bottle of "suds" under the seat. Or he might have said "think fast" and tossed it to Grannie, who would have to figure out what to do with it on her own.


If all of this sounds very familiar to you, then you are probably on the shady side of sixty, with your grandchildren wondering why what's left of your hair is combed into that weird John Travolta DA. Just tell them that how their grandmother wears her hair is none of their business. And when they leave, say "Later, gator." They'll think it's a reference to the University of Florida, and you'll have the last laugh.