In October of 1965 I am 18 years old, living at home and attending my first year of college. The previous year has been one of enormous change. My sister married and in no longer living at home. My desire to attend a state university was thwarted by a state financial crisis that saw the entire Freshman class, already admitted, put on hold and promised admission sometime next year.
I enroll in a community college to take advantage of the less expensive cost, and knock off some required classes and because waiting six months with no academic stimulation is not an option in my house. My circle of friends narrows. Some to out of state schools, some into the military, some into the work force. I have a part-time job that lets me take classes in the morning and work 5 hours every afternoon. There is some overtime too.
At home, my mom is in the early throes of an ovarian cancer diagnosis. We are optimistic and a treatment plan is in place. I have recently purchased my first car, a 1959 VW bug. I can commute to school and work on $3.00 worth of gas a week. At $1.25 an hour, I'm living large and enjoying a new found freedom. For the first time in my life, evenings are my own. There are suddenly no more house rules that govern where I go and when I come home. I do not exploit this sudden autonomy. I'm a good kid that loves his family and looks forward to his future.
One of my chores at home is to put out the trash barrels the night before pick-up. I look forward to this and wait for a specific time to tackle this job. To carry the two metal barrels by their handles from the backyard to the front yard takes me about 7 minutes. But I stall. I go slowly for a reason. My transistor radio is in my back pocket, the earphone in my ear. Tuned to station KFWB, I await a Thursday evening feature that occurs between 6:45 and 7:00pm.
It is then that they play the top 10 songs in England. Like our youth culture, the station is looking to the British Isles more and more since the Beatles invaded the previous year. I covet this feature because there is one song I can only hear then. There is a song that has come in at number 9 on the list that fascinates me. I've heard of Bob Dylan. His music is attracting more and more people my age. Artists like Peter, Paul, and Mary as well as Joan Baez are singing his songs. The music is different. No more My Boyfriends Back or I Will Follow Him, this music has attitude. It's topical, defiant. It warns the listener to pay attention. I'm waiting for my only chance to hear The Times are a Changin'.
I maneuver the second trash barrel in place then stop to listen. I turn to walk back up the driveway so nobody can see or hear me mouth the words. Something is going on and I'm not sure what it is.
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