45 RPM

45 RPM
by Gwendie Roberts

45 rpm. What a revolution (pun intended) in record playing. My sister got a plastic red with green lid record player for Christmas the year that 45’s hit the market. For the next couple of years she and I both saved every penny we could from our 50 cents a week allowances and any babysitting money we could get to buy one 45 record each Saturday at Frinks—the only music store in town and the only place to buy 45’s. Our problem was that we had only enough money together each week to buy one record, which meant we had to agree on what to get. A simple solution would have been to let her make the pick one week and me the next, but that never occurred to us. So we spent the whole week making suggestions and arguing about the choice. But that just made the music that much sweeter. We wound up with a whole bunch of Elvis Pressley—Heartbreak Hotel, Blue Suede Shoes. Her favorite, I forget the singer, was A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation (she was the romantic one) and I loved Splish, Splash, I Was Taking a Bath, a much more uptempo tune—sort of a prelude to Billy Preston. Anyhow, we’d close our bedroom door, put on our white bobby sox, push our bedside rug under the bed, and dance on the hardwood floor until either my mother or my father’s patience would finally snap and we’d hear through the door “Turn that thing off and come to supper.”

It’s funny to remember now how disapproving my mother was of some of the song lyrics. Funny because compared to today’s lyrics they sounded like nursery rhymes. Also funny because I never had any idea what the words to the songs were. Ninety-nine percent of my listening was to the music—the melody, the beat, the arrangement. For many of those 1950’s songs I’ve only recently learned the words as they are played on “Golden Oldie” stations. Although now most of them are too old to be Golden Oldies. They’re more like Platinum Oldies.

I don’t think there are many moments in my life that I’ve enjoyed more than those spent shining Mama’s wood floors with our socks, listening to our collection of 45’s.