Montreal in the sixties. Brown buses. That's what I remember most. Orange bus tickets, I think. 10 cents for kids. Lots of cars with giant fins..all turquoise or pink. And that alluring sweet smell of their lead- laden exhaust.. Ummm.
Anyway, today I started to watch a 2010 film my husband saw listed and taped, ah, recorded for me. Made in Dagenham, with Sally Hawkins, the actress I saw in Mrs. Warren's Profession in New York City last October.
The movie takes place in 1968 - and the sixties make me happy. I watched a bit and decided it was an evening movie, despite the neon sixties flash. Norma Rae-ish, I think.
So I went to YouTube and looked at some Yardley commercials from the sixties, which make me happy to revisit, and which were placed in the Monkees TV show, a show that makes me happy to revisit. I listened to I'm a Believer (good song!) and that video led to a video of the Beatles' first appearance on Ed Sullivan, in 1964.
Suddenly I wasn't happy anymore!
Too much baggage around that iconic moment. Too much guilt. Well, a little bit of guilt.
It's a family story, or kind of myth. I almost kept my 14 year old brother from experiencing the Beatles' "live" with 70 million other North Americans.
My brother, who wasn't merely a follower, but a front runner when it came to trends in music, almost didn't get to see the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The boy who bought every Beatles Album TWICE because he once left his entire collection on one of those turquoise cars with fins parked in front of our house on our street - and it drove off.
As I recall it, after so many decades so my memory may be shaky, I wanted to watch an episode of Lassie, a mere rerun as it happens. And we only had one black and white Westinghouse (I think) television. So I had one of my hissy fits as my tired ole 60's Dad reached over to change the channel to CBS at the request of my older brother - so he stopped and hovered over the set, with his thin tie dangling in front of the screen, thought for a moment and caved in to me, his 'favourite' and then my brother did something he didn't usually do, he had an even BIGGER hissie fit. He started jumping up and down just like a girl. I thought he would pee himself.
My father freaked out a bit, I think, to see such am undignified sight as a boy begging so, after at few minutes, he changed the channel back to Ed Sullivan, just in time for the Beatles' second set - I think.
OK. I give you. Not a nice thing to do.
So. today, I wondered if I should send the YouTube link to my brother, who lives far a way in Scandinavia and has for decades, but I don't think he moved expressly because of me. But no, let sleeping collie dogs lie, I thought.I'd like to visit Copenhagen again soon.
But then I began to wonder if I had it right in my mind. Was Lassie the TV Program that I had wanted to watch so badly that Sunday night in February back in 1964? So I went back to the Internet, Wikipedia, this time, and discovered, not so much to my surprise that, No, it wasn't.
In 1964, Lassie came on an hour before Ed Sullivan, on CBS, the same station. The Wonderful World of Disney aired against Ed Sullivan. And then with a little more Internet sleuthing I figured out what was playing on Disney, The Three Lives of Thomasina. (Some one talking about that moment on a message board says that Disney was airing something with Patrick McGoohan. Ah Ha!)
Thomasina! And to think I felt BAD all these years. Sort of, a bit. But it was Thomasina! I love Thomasina. Thomasina, to a 10 year old girl, is as special as John, Paul, George and Ringo is to a 15 year old boy. I wasn't just a spoiled brat acting out - I was a little girl entranced with the story of a glistening golden Tabby cat and equally glistening acting couple, Susan Hamphire and Patrick McGoohan, the beautiful witch and the handsome (fatherly) Vet, which was almost as good as being a doctor like Dr. Kildare.
Not a re-run of Lassie, but the mystical, magical Three Lives of Thomasina.
What a burden to have carried all these years...I'm pretty sure it's my brother who put that sorry Lassie Story into my head, that mean-spirited FAMILY MYTH, just to make me feel very very bad. All these years. And it worked, sort of. Well, a little.