1984: The Flow of Days

(Pictured: Cub fans lose their minds watching the impossible happen in 1984.)

(Another post in a series.)

Some of life’s milestones we see coming. Many more we do not. Some years are full of them, as 1984 was for The Mrs. and me.

An Innocent Man: We started the year feeling marooned in Macomb, Illinois. The previous fall, I had naively taken a job that turned out to be terrible, and she was, as she puts it, “watching General Hospital professionally,” unable to find work of her own. In February, the terrible radio station fired me, and by March, times were bad enough to get us a chunk of that free government cheese they were handing out back then. As we got ready to celebrate our first wedding anniversary in April, however, things got better—the other radio station in town hired me, meaning we wouldn’t have to move for the second time in six months. They wanted me to start on the 9th, which was our anniversary, but were gracious enough to make it the 10th when I explained the significance of the date. It represented our first night out in months, dinner at Golden Corral and the new movie Splash, which has just opened.

Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like These: Not three weeks later, my best friend died. He’d been in and out of the hospital for several weeks before complications from his congenital heart condition did him in at age 23. The first death of a close friend was a wrenching transition. It turned out he had always known he was going to die sooner rather than later, although if any of his friends knew it at the time, nobody acknowledged it. But that knowledge explained the way he had lived his life since I had first met him in the fourth grade: he simply didn’t give a damn. Not in a negative way; he just didn’t let his heart condition dictate what he would do. If he had, he may have lived longer. Instead, he packed plenty of livin’ into his limited time.

Let’s Go Crazy: As summer unfolded, I got comfortable in my new job. Ann started working at the station too. Our new owner and a summer of preparation for the new Top 40 format consumed us, although I was also consumed by my beloved Chicago Cubs, during the miraculous season that resulted in the team’s first pennant of any sort since 1945. We bought tickets for a late-season game in St. Louis, which turned into a doubleheader thanks to a fortuitous rainout—and had the Montreal Expos obliged us by beating the New York Mets just once that weekend, we would have been there for the pennant-clincher. As it was, the moment had to wait for the next night. Somewhere in my archives I have a scrapbook I kept with Associated Press wire copy and newspaper articles about the game, including snapshots of the TV screen emblazoned with “National League Eastern Division Champions.” It was—even accounting for two Packers Super Bowl victories in more recent times and other very good days I have been fortunate enough to experience—the single happiest day of my life.

Lights Out: As the pennant chase reached its height, we joined the VCR revolution, buying one with a wired remote that snaked across the living room. On Friday nights we would go across town to Western TV and Appliance and spend $8 to rent three videos for the weekend. We scraped together movie admission now and then too, because 1984 was one of the most remarkable years in film history. Consider the first week of September: Ghostbusters, The Karate Kid, Purple Rain, Revenge of the Nerds, Gremlins, and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom were all still in theaters.

If this were a fictional story, there would be a cherry on top to make it a coherent whole. But I do not recall how our 1984 ended. Did we visit family for Christmas? Did we see friends on New Year’s Eve? I don’t know. And it’s actually fine that the story of 1984 doesn’t have a scripted ending, because life seldom does. When we are young, we scarcely notice the flow of days, let alone the flow of years. That only comes when we’re old, and we look back, and we are unable to see anything else.

2 responses

  1. I sometimes wish that I was just a little bit older, so that I could’ve been on the radio in the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s playing all of those great Top 40 songs from that era. However, I look back and I’m thankful that I was working at a Top 40 radio station in 1984. I was 25 years old at the time and I was playing so many of the great songs you have showcased this week. Since I was the overnight jock, I watched a lot of Chicago Cubs games in the afternoon on TV since night games at Wrigley Field were still four years away. Ahhh…the summer of 1984…thanks for bringing it all back to me, JB!!!

  2. 1984 was my last year in radio. What I remember most was the “creep” of the gated snare drum sound into pop records that year. Each passing week more and more of them had it making those without it sound like the oddball. The Mike Reno/Ann Wilson duet was an obvious offender.

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