Single-Minded: An Independent Journal of Fact and Opinion

A sad year got a bit sadder with the death of George Harrison. For those of us who remember when it all began, Harrison's death is another brick in the wall that separates us from our younger days. The death of anyone we have cared about on any level brings with it the inevitable looking backwards that reminds us of how much time has gone by and of how many things we have forgotten.

Fortunately, there are some memories that stay sharp no matter how much time passes. One such moment for me happened back in 1964, when I was a freshman at Georgetown University. It was one of those perfect early spring days that we sometimes get in Washington. I was sitting at my desk in the dorm, windows open, trying to study but mostly just enjoying the soft breezes. The radio was playing ''She Loves You.'' There was no way you could listen to that exuberant harmony without feeling . . . happy.

Thinking back to those days, what startles me is how few remaining opportunities there were to be really carefree and happy. Already the country had been through the assassination of President Kennedy. My plan to become a full-fledged member of the New Frontier ended the day the president died. I drifted through the remainder of my college days while the nation drifted deeper and deeper into Big Muddy.

Before I knew it, I was out of college and the draft notice was in the mail, ordering me to appear for induction on April 18, 1968. That spring of 1968 was anything but carefree as the nation reeled in the violent aftermath of another assassination, when Martin Luther King was shot dead. Shortly after that I was in the Army taking basic and advanced training at Fort Dix. In June of 1968, Robert F. Kennedy was shot. Three down, how many more to go?

A year in Vietnam and then I was back. I finished my tour of duty back in D.C., then settled down, got a job, got a wife, got a good life. But the clash between the war and the anti-war intensified, forcing all of us to choose sides. Then came Watergate.

If you didn't live in D.C. during those years, you can't understand how dark and oppressive those days were. As the clouds over the presidency deepened, it looked more and more like the center might not hold. We who lived in the belly of the beast understood that our system of government hung in the balance. And then just like that, our long national nightmare was over.

Ten years had come and gone since that afternoon spent listening to the Beatles, but it seemed like a lifetime. There's a quote in a book by Richard Condon: Minutes trudge, hours run, years fly, decades stun. From 1964 to 1974 was a decade that stunned, full of history, most of it bad.

The one thing that was good about that decade was the music. For my generation, it was the one thing that seemed to speak the truth about our hopes and fears. We clung to our music fiercely throughout those dark days of war and political turmoil. It kept us true to our dreams just long enough to get done what had to be done.

For much of that time, the Beatles ran point, showing us the way from the black and white era of 50's rock and roll to the riotous Flower Power colors of the psychedelic 60's. In all the talk about George Harrison, I think the most poignant comment was from a local deejay who pointed out how many Beatles songs centered around love and happiness.

In those days of wars both foreign and domestic, we needed all the love and happiness we could find. When things were at their darkest, the Beatles were there to tell us about the sunshine that was coming. Their guitars may have weeped from time to time, but the Beatles had in them a joy that could never be kept down for long.

I listen to their songs today, and they till make me feel . . . happy. I will always love them, yeah, yeah, yeah.

December 1, 2001