Petersen

A baby boomer friend says even his children revel in the music of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s.

By contrast, the music of the past 25 years “casts no shadow,” he says. “It’s soon gone from consciousness. Poof. Move on.”

I agree.

Attending Blue Mountain Community College (1975-77), I was as smart as Miracle Whip. Using the ready, fire, aim approach, I got three years of education in two years — 120 credit hours for the price of 80 that transferred to the University of Oregon.

What a bargain!

I got even more education if you count the time three roommates — two of whom went on to earn doctorates and write books “above my smarts level” — tried to educate me in lyricology.

Students, it seems, are much like retired people. We all had part-time jobs and more time than money. We’d sit around evenings, after a supper of ramen noodles, in our third-story apartment and debate lyrics.

Hearing has never been my strong suit. Wife Wonder claims I only hear what I want to hear. Like the refrigerator door opening.

“You come running like a dog looking for a treat,” she says.

It’s true. I’ve been called lots of things but never late for dinner.

Maybe I was hard of hearing before my time. Even in the 1970s, at “Harvard on the hill,” lyrics had me stumped.

I thought Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton’s “Islands in the Stream,” was “Aliens in the Stream.”

Elton John sang “Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza.”

Bachman Turner Overdrive’s “Taking Care of Business” was “Taking Care of Christmas.”

“You’re an embarrassment to the Dean’s List,” roommate and future professor Dave said.

To me, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “There’s a Bad Moon Rising” was “There’s a Bathroom on the Right.”

Steve Miller’s “Big Ol’ Jetliner” was “Big Ol’ Jed and Ina.”

The Beatles’ “A Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes” was “A Girl with Colitis Goes By.”

“Biology class must be tough for you,” roommate and future professor Tom said.

To me, a farm boy, Blue Swede’s “Hooked on a Feeling” was “Hooves on the Ceiling.”

Led Zeppelin’s “As We Wind on Down the Road” was “And There’s a Wino in the Road.”

Golden Earring’s “Radar Love” was “Red-Hot Love.”

“No wonder you can’t get a date,” Dave said. “A girl says ‘You’re hot’ and you’d hear ‘You’re a robot.’”

To me, a cheapskate, the Bee Gees’ “You Come to Me on a Summer Breeze” was “You Come to Me and Supper’s Free.”

Neil Diamond’s “Forever in Blue Jeans” was “Reverend Blue Jeans.”

Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” was “Bake Me a Pie of Love.”

“You couldn’t bake a shoe,” Don said. A future career Navy man, Don remembered the time I almost burned the house down trying to make popcorn.

On our track team trips, we’d stop at diners with table-side jukeboxes.

“Put a nickel in,” Tom would say.

“Who has a nickel?” I’d say, not knowing my penniless living was good preparation for retirement.

At home we played mountains of vinyl records. When we tired of that, we went to the basement to watch “American Bandstand” on TV or tuned the radio to Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 radio hits program, “the best selling and most-played songs from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from Canada to Mexico.”

Boomers as kids were measured by the size of their stereo speakers, which often emitted nearly as much volume as a jet at Boeing Field. If the other boomers are now nearly as deaf as I was 50 years ago, blame Led Zeppelin.

Eight-track tapes in Volkswagen buses had speakers that could be heard from Echo to Hermiston.

Times have changed. Now rock is played on oldies stations and we turn down the volume to “see better.”

(Most of us) can remember lyrics from our favorite songs from the 1960s and 1970s but have no idea why we walked into the kitchen.

Yes, we had peace, love, the best music, the Woodstock festival and the Age of Aquarius letting in sunshine.

If we codgers belt out Five-Man Electrical Band’s “Long-Haired Freaky People Need Not Apply,” you’ll know we have a boomer card.

And if we sing “Oh Eh Oh Ah Ah Ting Tang Walla Walla Bing Bang,” you’ll know where we’re from.