I wasn’t planning to have Farrah as the first of The Stars segment of my auto-biography. Appropriately, this came about because it was my sister’s birthday and her good friend’s as they always do came to visit. I find these events difficult as they lead to reflecting and in turn to being emotional. For myself, avoiding sentimental issues is survivalist, for it leaves me in a debilitated state. Thankfully this condition is exhausting and we move on. Icons never move on, they become frozen in history. Trouble is they can never be more than what they were, so they live today but are always remembered as yesterday. Few are strong enough to live in this condition, for after all, we are not Gods. They become the walking living past.
I don’t want anyone to think I assume to know what people think and this includes women, but I do have a mother, two sisters and a daughter and an admirable array of broken relationships, so you’ve got to know, I’ve got to be right sometimes. I’m not going to get bogged down here with the gender issue because personally I think it’s a lemming. Our spirit is significant regardless of which body it happens to find itself in.
So returning to this reflecting thing and my perspectives, the influence of Farrah on my teenage years needs to be described as profound. Would have I, considered this assessment and made it during the heat of the moment. Hardly, after all I was a Sabrina guy, but remember, I probably couldn’t be a Sabrina guy without Farrah. Most of our living, breathing population has no idea what I’m talking about. They will create there own unique experiences, as each generation expresses itself individually then by extension collectively to shape there own hero’s and symbols.
We decide what’s in, who’s in and who’s out and what’s out. By the way what’s with all the tattoo’s. Oh, Oh, exposed myself. Old-fashioned. I was just never into maiming or inflicting violence. Seems so environmentally unfriendly. Maybe, that’s it, lost hope. Gotta use pain to get that back. Most likely I just miss the point.
I didn’t have pin-up girls posted in my bedroom, many other things going on, yes. See how I handle touchy subjects? But I did get around. Few got around as much. I manufactured a lifestyle to push the threshold of getting around. Be it relative’s or friend’s, across a range of age’s, up and down the States or coast to coast in Canada, England, Paris, Rome, Slovenia, Croatia, Latin America I don’t know and the Orient at that time, I don’t think so, but I walked into many guys rooms to find Farrah on the wall. Many men wanted to reproduce her. Fertility deities will survive all the movement’s that maliciously attempt to destroy them as long as man has breath. Bitterness shall also pass and die. Be it Venus, or Aphrodite, or Guinevere, or Joan of Arc a huge, huge list of successful women happen to be attractive. I don’t believe any of these historical figure’s who’s names whisper through the lips of man and time, weren’t in some way special people. But because they’re special people it doesn’t mean they get to bypass suffering.
So my sister’s and their friend’s and my girlfriend’s wouldn’t have been shy of emulating at least in part if not in totality the fashion, the hair, the make-up, the lingo, the dancing, the partying, the schooling, the dreaming, the communicating, the bonding, the pain, the caring, the living, I mean this was us, or at least a representation of a significant fraction of us, in the 70’s. Do you wan’t to take it back, even if you could? I liked my generation, we were alive, we liked nature, we were on the move, we loved music, we were ambitious, we wanted to know and were free or at least as free as anyone needed to be. We were still responsible, (because we had to be) maintained commitments (took much of our free time) and still believed in family (that’s all we really are). Every generation pays a price for the direction it embarks and every society has to contend with mischief and greed and other ugliness but I believe the essence of our time was sweet. If I wasn’t delusional how could I go on.
We were firing on all cylinders this fine day with a full compliment of staff and the public attention we deserved.. All our doors and windows were invitingly open and my section was small, meaning less stressful, enjoyable and I was grateful. I had five tables of two, fondly referred to in restaurant parley as deuces, my preferred choice of modus operandi. We had two greeting stations at two entrances, womenned by two hostesses at each and I was at one chatting and sizing up the battle field which for me, is an on going, served me well, process. I still had one available table, as the other four were already gamely eating and I began doubling back in the normal frame required to be punctual and attentive. I was a considerable distance for my poor sight, observing Farrah scoping her menu and she looked up at my coming direction, I had instant recognition. Without suave, I suspect emitting such excitement with my demeanour that she reciprocated this same exuberance towards me. From then until her departure we were like five year olds in a sand box. I have on occasion overreacted but I’m hardly a ga ga guy. I felt very protective of her.
Farrah was reaching the later stage of her life. Avoiding being ferocious in my description of her physical decay would be proper if it didn’t serve as foil, to her sweet as pie, down to earth, wholesome innocence and internal beauty. She looked as if she’d been holed up for a decade in the basement of any big city projects. Yet her unique blue eyes were caring and compassionate. She was rolling her shoulders back and forth grateful for my undying attention. Farrah wasn’t flirtatious she was just content that somewhere, someone still remembered and I received the affection of that representation. She was embarrassed to be seen in public but had courage and here she was in the current cat’s ass, centre of hollywood north, feeling like a fish out of water, with all the beautiful people. The irony wasn’t lost. My staff too young and the customers to absorbed in themselves to take a second look, all was unaware. If a famous person is identified in Yorkville, Toronto it’s similar to throwing a match onto a combustable. Maybe two or three of our staff of fifty, if keen, would understand what Farrah meant to my boys, in our prime. I said nothing. Farrah and I had lunch as I worked, which soon after, was the only time, the last time.
Don Henley————Boys of Summer
America——————Sister Golden Hair
Hall and Oates———She’s Gone
Dorothy Moore——–Misty Blue
Gary Wright————Dream Weaver