Back in 1974 the family moved the Fuzzy show on the road to Largo, Florida as Dad had a big job down there.
I was just 9 years old, but I recall so much about those days.
We had a big pond in our back yard and we all fished and played and turned dark brown in the sun. No sunscreen...four boys in brush cuts...brown.
I also recall Mrs. Hudson...the elderly Southern woman next door...she was always so happy and helpful.
Bernie and Gloria...the black couple that would help watch us and take us to 7/11.
I remember rooting for Henry Aaron, catching fish, going to the beach, hurricane winds one day, and listening to Nixon resign.
I also recall Dad's music.
He had Frank and Dean Martin. He had Roger Miller and Johnny Cash (we'd beg him to play that one) and he had a Perry Como record that included the Glenn Campbell song, By the Time I get to Phoenix.
I remember listening to that song and wondering about that singer...
...so down in the dumps about his love (and life) being over.
And thinking about him starting again.
(I was a weird kid).
But I loved that song.
Lo and behold I read the Vanity Fair piece about Springsteen's new autobiography and his upcoming solo record.
Guess what song is on it:
By the Time I Get to Phoenix.
Another free trip down memory lane.
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