17 Isn't What It Used To Be

Frank Sinatra told us: When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It was a very good year for small town girls, and soft summer nights. We’d hide from the lights on the village green, when I was seventeen.

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It was a very good year for small town boys and big radio stations. It was at the height of disc jockeys, radio news, heavy involvement in hands-on equipment and everybody knew who you were. I still get excited at the sight of an AM radio tower.

It was also a very bad year. I absolutely hated the high school where I went. They sent out a mailing for our 50th anniversary reunion and not only will it be a cold day in hell when I attend, but it will be a colder day when I reply. Things were going very wrong for me in those years and nobody was there for me; I don’t need them.

“17” was the title of a book by Booth Tarkington; I bought it, but I don’t remember when. Maybe in that year, maybe earlier. It is a tale of youth and summertime, somewhat of a light, humorous story. I don’t know what happened to it, but perhaps some library now holds it.

“Seventeen” is also a long-running magazine for, well, 17-year-olds but the bible for anyone of a specific gender from 13 to 21. It began in 1944 and it still at the top of the pile – vital reading for teens. Not me, when I was one, but for my girlfriend.