“Don’t let the past ruin the future. Don’t let the future ruin the past.”
Said in a solemn tone, it makes one seem profound.
For me, it’s a paraphrase of “Every sinner a future, Every saint a past.”
The first part is clear – the past is past, it can be ‘overcome’. The second part is a cautionary tale: Never forget where you came from.
That’s just my take, but I could be a bit off – until today I swore Russia was going to invade Montana.
I have been pondering the past since I heard “Yellow Coat” by Steve Goodman, on a recent beach walk.
It features the question asked of an old flame: “Did you ever get to buy that Yellow Coat?”, speaking eloquently to past relationships, and the little details that seemed so important at the time, but didn’t really matter after all.
The song reprises the quick ‘whatyoubeenupto’ that is part of a random meeting with a long lost love. And the twinge of regret that it hadn’t worked out.
The past is complicated. We look back with a mixture of amusement, warmth, and yes, regret.
Past relationships are especially complicated. Details fade with time, and we may remember them as something they weren’t.
But I’m clear on my details, because my pre-My Captor relationships are in writing, since most were through the mail, with women in correctional facilities.
I’m not on Facebook, but it can be a way to re-connect with lost friends and lovers.
And maybe settle old grievances.
In a move to curb ‘past-relationship misinformation’ Facebook has added a “Have you been drinking?” button, which pops up when conducting a ‘friends search’ after 11P. If the searcher clicks yes, the site adds a footnote with the year the searchee’s profile photo was taken, and their current weight.
Speaking of grievances, I made a recent exception to my “No Facebook” policy, and found my 8th grade Civics teacher, Mrs. Novotney. She had given me a B, I know it should have been an A, and while she is no longer with us, her estate agreed to change it to a B+, so a reasonable compromise.
But I recalled her, and Civics class, with a bit of terror.
Not sure what she ate, or drank, the night before, but as she walked the aisles, if a student was misbehaving, would pause and pass gas as punishment, then move on. If the entire class was bad, she would turn the heat way up to create a Dutch Oven effect.
Apparently she was part of the Nun’s research on sensory deprivation.
But “Yellow Coat” happily brought me back to much younger days, but with some serious regrets.
My “How to deal with past regrets?” dilemma, was solved when I visited the Hallmark Cards ‘Regrets’ section, organized by life phase – the ‘Catholic cards’ came with a penance enclosed – and the cards really helped:
(Ex- High School girlfriend): “Sorry I started that rumor about you sleeping with the football team!”
(Ex- College girlfriend): “Sorry I started that rumor about you sleeping with the basketball team!”
(Ex-Co Worker): “Sorry I started that rumor about you sleeping with the boss!”
(Everyone I’ve Ever Known): “Sorry for just about everything!”
On the card’s inside: “This isn’t an admission of liability. Have a nice day!”
I knew I had some personal work to do, but wasn’t sure how to proceed.
I finally resolved to deal with past regrets the way I do with all my uncomfortable moments: Pretend they never happened.
I feel better already.
For 90 more posts like this –regrettably, each of which could have been better – go to beersatthenifty.com
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Steve Goodman (1948-1984) A Chicago folk artist who wrote multiple lasting hits, including “City of New Orleans”, “You Never Even Call me by my Name”, and “Go, Cubs, Go”, among many others. Ironically, he has a Chicago post office named after him – not John Prine? He died of leukemia at 36.
A Dying Cub Fan’s Last Request Steve Goodman A lifelong Cub fan, he was asked to sing the National Anthem before Game 1 of the 1984 NL playoff series – their first postseason appearance since 1945 – but died shortly before.
By the shores of old Lake Michigan
Where the hawk wind blows so cold
An old Cub fan lay dying
In his midnight hour, the toll
Around his bed, his friends had all gathered
They knew his time was short
On his head, this put this bright blue cap, From his all-time favorite sport
Told ’em, “It’s late, and it’s getting dark in here
And I know it’s time to go
But before I leave the lineup, Boys, there’s just one thing that I’d like to know
“Do they still play the blues in Chicago
When baseball season rolls around?
When the snow melts away, do the Cubbies still play
In their ivy-covered burial ground?
“When I was a boy, they were my pride and joy, But now they only bring fatigue
To the home of the brave, the land of the free, And the doormat of the National League”
He told his friends, “You know, the law of averages
Says anything will happen that can, ” that’s what it says
“But the last time the Cubs won a National League pennant
Was the year we dropped the bomb on Japan
“The Cubs made me a criminal, sent me down a wayward path
They stole my youth from me, that’s the truth
I’d forsake my teachers to go sit in the bleachers, In flagrant truancy
“And then one thing led to another, And soon I discovered alcohol, gambling, dope
Football, hockey, lacrosse, tennis, But what do you expect?
“When you raise up a young boy’s hopes
And then just crush ’em like so many paper beer cups
Year after year after year
After year after year after year after year after year
Till those hopes are just so much popcorn
For the pigeons beneath the ‘L’ tracks to eat”
He said, “You know, I’ll never see Wrigley Field anymore, Before my eternal rest
So if you have your pencils and your scorecards ready, Then I’ll read you my last request”
He said, “Give me a doubleheader funeral in Wrigley Field
On some sunny weekend day, no lights
Have the organ play the National Anthem, And then a little ‘Na Na Na Na, Hey Hey Hey, Goodbye’
“Make six bullpen pitchers carry my coffin, And six groundskeepers clear my path
Have the umpires bark me out at every base, In all their holy wrath
“It’s a beautiful day for a funeral, Hey, Ernie, let’s play two
Somebody go get Jack Brickhouse to come back, And conduct just one more interview
“Have the Cubbies run right out into the middle of the field
Have Keith Moreland drop a routine fly
Give everybody two bags of peanuts and a frosty malt, and
And I’ll be ready to die
“Build a big fire on home plate out of your Louisville Slugger baseball bats
And toss my coffin in
Let my ashes blow in a beautiful snow
From the prevailing thirty-mile-an-hour southwest wind
“And when my last remains go flying over the left field wall
We’ll bid the bleacher bums adieu
I will come to my final resting place
Out on Waveland Avenue”
The dying man’s friends told him to cut it out, They said, “Stop it” and “That’s an awful shame”
He whispered, “Don’t cry, we’ll meet by and by, Near the heavenly hall of fame”
He said, “I’ve got season’s tickets to watch the angels now
So it’s just what I’m gonna do”
He said, “But you the living, you’re stuck here with the Cubs
So it’s me who feels sorry for you”
And he said, “Oh, play, play that ‘Lonesome Losers’ tune, That’s the one I like the best”
Closed his eyes and slipped away
Well, Scotty, it was the dying Cub fan’s last request, so here it is
“Do they still play the blues in Chicago
When baseball season rolls around?
When the snow melts away, do the Cubbies still play
In their ivy-covered burial ground?
“When I was a boy, they were my pride and joy
But now they only bring fatigue
To the home of the brave, the land of the free
And the doormat of the National League”
Go, Cubs, Go Steve Goodman
Written in response to Dallas Green’s complaint that “Dying Cub Fan” was too sad
Baseball season’s underway
Well you better get ready for a brand new day
Hey, Chicago, what do you say
The Cubs are gonna win today
They’re singing
Go, Cubs, go, Go, Cubs, go
Hey, Chicago, what do you say, The Cubs are gonna win today
Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
Hey, Chicago, what do you say
The Cubs are gonna win today
They got the power, they got the speed, To be the best in the National League
Well this is the year and the Cubs are real, So come on down to Wrigley Field
Hey, Chicago, what do you say
The Cubs are gonna win today.
Baseball time is here again, You can catch it all on WGN
So stamp your feet and clap your hands, Chicago Cubs got the greatest fans
Hear ’em singing now, Go, Cubs, go
Go, Cubs, go
My Old Man Steve Goodman
I miss my old man tonight, And I wish he was here with me
With his corny jokes and his cheap cigars
He could look you in the eye and sell you a car
That’s not an easy thing to do
But no one ever knew a more charming creature, On this earth than my old man
He was a pilot in the big war in the U.S. Army Air Corps, In a C-47 with a heavy load
Full of combat cargo for the Burma Road, And after they dropped the bomb
He came home and married mom
And not long after that
He was my old man
And oh the fights we had, When my brother and I got him mad
He’d get all boiled up and he’d start to shout, And I knew what was coming so I tuned him out
And now the old man’s gone, and I’d give all I own
To hear what he said when I wasn’t listening
To my old man
I miss the old man tonight
And I can almost see his face
He was always trying to watch his weight
And his heart only made it to fifty-eight
For the first time since he died
Late last night I cried
I wondered when I was gonna do that
For my old man
You Never Even Call Me By My Name Steve Goodman
Covered legendarily by David Allan Coe
Well, it was all, That I could do to keep from crying’
Sometimes it seemed so useless to remain
But you don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’
You never even called me by my name
You don’t have to call me Waylon Jennings
And you don’t have to call me Charlie Pride
And you don’t have to call me Merle Haggard anymore
Even though you’re on my fighting’ side
And I’ll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standing’ in the rain
But you don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’
You never even called me by my name
Well, I’ve heard my name, A few times in your phone book (hello, hello)
And I’ve seen it on signs where I’ve played
But the only time I know, I’ll hear “David Allan Coe”
Is when Jesus has his final judgment day
So I’ll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standing’ in the rain
But you don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’
You never even called me by my name
Well, a friend of mine named Steve Goodman wrote that song
And he told me it was the perfect country & western song
I wrote him back a letter and I told him it was not the perfect country & western song
Because he hadn’t said anything at all about mama
Or trains, or trucks, or prison, or getting’ drunk
Well, he sat down and wrote another verse to the song and he sent it to me
And after reading it I realized that my friend had written the perfect country & western song
And I felt obliged to include it on this album
The last verse goes like this here
Well, I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got run over by a damned old train
And I’ll hang around as long as you will let me
And I never minded standing’ in the rain, no
But you don’t have to call me darlin’, darlin’
You never even called me
Well, I wonder why you don’t call me
Why don’t you ever call me by my name
City of New Orleans Steve Goodman
Riding on the city of new orleans,, Illinois central monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders, Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey, The train pulls out at kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields., Passin’ trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men, And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning america how are you?
Don’t you know me i’m your native son,
I’m the train they call the city of new orleans,
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin’ cards with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain’t no one keepin’ score.
Oh won’t you pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin’ ‘neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets made of steam.*
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin’ to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they dream.*
Nighttime on the city of new orleans,
Changing cars in memphis, tennessee.
Half way home, we’ll be there by morning
Through the mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain’t heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train’s got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, america, how are you?
Don’t you know me i’m your native son,
I’m the train they call the city of new orleans,
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Yellow Coat Steve Goodman
It’s a long time since I saw you last
So tell me how you’ve been
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
Do the flowers in you window box, Still smile when you walk in?
Did you read the letters that I wrote?
And I’ve been on the road since Christmas, But it don’t seem so long
Outside of that there isn’t much to say.
I cut down on my drinkin’ some
And wrote another song
I wish you wouldn’t look at me that way
Remember all the mornings
We’d walk around the park
The nights we babysat for Billy’s kids
And all the times we used to talk
Of having one ourselves
I don’t remember why we never did
Do the neighbors still complain a bit
When the music gets too loud?
Does your old cat still sleep up on the bed?
And do you still walk around
With your head up in the clouds?
Have you heard a single thing I’ve said?
It’s a two day drive to New York. Guess I’d better go
Have you noticed the weather’s gettin’ cold?
And it’s a long time since I saw you last
Tell me how you’ve been
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
Did you ever get to buy that yellow coat?
The Past Is a Grotesque Animal Of Montreal A really fun 11:53, and pretty odd. Odd is good, though.
The past is a grotesque animal, And in its eyes you see
How completely wrong you can be
How completely wrong you can be
The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday
Makes you wonder why it bothered
I fell in love with the first cute girl that I met, Who could appreciate Georges Bataille
Standing at Swedish festival discussing “Story of the Eye”
Discussing “Story of the Eye”
It’s so embarrassing to need someone like I do you
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
I’m flunking out, I’m flunking out, I’m gone, I’m just gone
But at least I author my own disaster
At least I author my own disaster
Performance breakdown and I don’t want to hear it
I’m just not available
Things could be different but they’re not
Things could be different but they’re not
The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
She gets hysterical because they’re both so mean
And it’s my favorite scene, But the cruelty’s so predictable
It makes you sad on the stage, Though our love project has so much potential
But it’s like we weren’t made for this world
(Though I wouldn’t really want to meet someone who was)
Do I have to scream in your face?
I’ve been dodging lamps and vegetables
Throw it all in my face, I don’t care
Let’s just have some fun, Let’s tear this shit apart
Let’s tear the house apart, Let’s tear our bodies apart
But let’s just have some fun
Somehow you’ve red-rovered the gestapo circling my heart
And nothing can defeat you
No death, no ugly world
You’ve lived so brightly, You’ve altered everything
I find myself searching for old selves
While speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells
I’ve played the unraveler, the parhelion
But even apocalypse is fleeting
There’s no death, no ugly world
Sometimes I wonder if you’re mythologizing me like I do you
Mythologizing me like I do you
We want our film to be beautiful, not realistic
Perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams
And you can betray me, You can, you can betray me
But teach me something wonderful
Crown my head, crowd my head
With your lilting effects
Project your fears on to me, I need to view them
See, there’s nothing to them
I promise you, there’s nothing to them
I’m so touched by your goodness
You make me feel so criminal
How do you keep it together?
I’m all, all unraveled
But you know, no matter where we are
We’re always touching by underground wires
I’ve explored you with the detachment of an analyst
But most nights we’ve raided the same kingdoms
And none of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical now
“On the card’s inside: “This isn’t an admission of liability. Have a nice day!”
LOL!