"WILD THING" ON THE BUS . . . 10 13 10
PARSON’S PALAVER: The Night of the Wild Thing . . .
10 12 10
Have you ever had to put up with something you didn’t like 
for awhile? I mean something that was going on right in front of you that you were fairly powerless to stop. You weren’t being harmed, not really; just irritated. I’ve been in such places, and I think we can learn a lot from such moments. I hope I have. For instance, there was this time when my brother and I were travelling by bus to Minco, Oklahoma. I have written elsewhere of those summer trips to central Oklahoma to see the grandparents. This happened during the summer of 1966.
During those trips we changed buses and bus lines in Abilene, and then headed north on U. S. 277; across the border this became Interstate 44. Eventually our trip took us through the town of Lawton, Oklahoma, th
e home of the Ft. Sill U. S. Army base. Back in the early sixties it was plenty busy with preparations there, as elsewhere, for the escalation of the Viet Nam War. Therefore it was not unusual when riding buses from 100 hundred miles any direction from Lawton to find soldiers either heading out on furlough, or travelling back to the base at furlough’s end. And on this trip two soldiers got on in Abilene and took their seats just across the aisle from us.
I normally liked the company of the soldiers on the bus. It made me feel a lot more secure, because they mostly all seemed a real good bunch, even though they were so young. One evening I was travelling the hitch from Abilene to Minco, and a couple of soldiers had got on the bus with a new-fangled device the likes of which I had never seen before. It was a portable, battery operated mini-turntable. It was designed primarily for the use of those small, plastic records they used to call “45s”. That stood for 45 rpm’s (or revolutions per minute). A person could buy a
stack of 10 “45s” and get 20 songs. That’s because there was one song on each side of the record. On the “A” side the music group would put their newest “big hit”, while on “B” side, a somewhat less popular or well-known song would be placed (one that was not played on the radio much). That way people would get a taste of what the forthcoming album would be like (a full album, at 33 & 1/3 rpm would usually have 12 songs on it total, including the ones released on the 45).
We were all sitting about one third of the way back in the bus. Maybe you recall that that is the row of seats which is right underneath the bus’s skylight. You could look up and see the clouds and sky – or the stars at night through tinted glass. Shortly after the bus got going, one of the soldiers popped open the top of his turnable-in-a-box and pulled out a single 45 record. It was getting dark, and I was getting sleepy, but I was curious as to what song the guys were going to play. It turned out to be a song I knew, having already heard it on the radio: “Wild Thing”, by the English group, “The Troggs”. The lyrics were si
mple and redundant, yet compelling:
Wild thing, you make my heart sing;
You’re making everything – groovy. Wild thing.”
The two stanzas were similar. You can still find the song on the internet and listen to it yourself. It was the simple, raw call of a randy male for close, physical companionship with a female he found attractive. It was a young man’s primal call to unite sexually in the rites of deep passion, come what may after that.
The first time or two, I enjoyed the song, since I had heard it on the radio already and gotten to like it there. The soldiers were snapping their fingers, bouncing in their seats to the tune of the music, and even trying to sing along with that “wild thing.” “Wild Thing: I think I love you . . . but I want to know for sure! . . . Come on, hold me tight . . . . I love you.”
They would play it, sing with it, then giggle and laugh at their efforts to do so. Then the guy with the portable player would pick up the arm and play the song all over again. After it was over he would do it again. I looked up through the skylight as I yawned. The stars were now fully out, and I was ready for a late evening nap, prior to our arrival in Minco. Yet still the pounding, driving music continued. The soldiers did realize that there were others around them on the bus, so they turned the song down just a bit; yet kept on playing it! I lost track of how many times I heard “Wild Thing” that evening, but I was sure that I had heard it enough to last me a lifetime. Mercifully we arrived in Lawton, and the soldiers got off the bus there and presumably returned to the base with their audio treasure. And that “wild thing” of portable music came to an end.
I managed to sleep until the bus rolled into Minco, Oklahoma, about 66 miles later on U. S. 81. There either the bus driver or my brother woke me up, and we got off the bus wearily but happy to see my grandparents – and be free of the noise. What I took from that special experience of “music on wheels” was that something you like, can become monotonous and even annoying after a time. Especially when you are trying to get some sleep!
But in a larger sense, I also recall that I learned from that long, noisy ride what it meant to be in the world with others. To live with others in a public venue meant to tolerate what they were enjoying, even if it was troublesome and inconvenient to me.
So much of life is like that: God gives us many moments in which we become the spectators of something we do not find stimulating or enjoyable; but others do. And we must stand aside and give them their time of joy, amusement, or enjoyment. They may even be unaware of how much torment it is causing us. We may not have the opportunity to inform them. But through this inconvenience God is watching, God may even be testing us – to see if our love for His other people is growing. So we are right to ask ourselves, is it? Am I growing to love others and be with them in their joy even when I do not feel it? That is the question. And I do hope and pray you know the answer.
LBC
e home of the Ft. Sill U. S. Army base. Back in the early sixties it was plenty busy with preparations there, as elsewhere, for the escalation of the Viet Nam War. Therefore it was not unusual when riding buses from 100 hundred miles any direction from Lawton to find soldiers either heading out on furlough, or travelling back to the base at furlough’s end. And on this trip two soldiers got on in Abilene and took their seats just across the aisle from us.
I normally liked the company of the soldiers on the bus. It made me feel a lot more secure, because they mostly all seemed a real good bunch, even though they were so young. One evening I was travelling the hitch from Abilene to Minco, and a couple of soldiers had got on the bus with a new-fangled device the likes of which I had never seen before. It was a portable, battery operated mini-turntable. It was designed primarily for the use of those small, plastic records they used to call “45s”. That stood for 45 rpm’s (or revolutions per minute). A person could buy a
stack of 10 “45s” and get 20 songs. That’s because there was one song on each side of the record. On the “A” side the music group would put their newest “big hit”, while on “B” side, a somewhat less popular or well-known song would be placed (one that was not played on the radio much). That way people would get a taste of what the forthcoming album would be like (a full album, at 33 & 1/3 rpm would usually have 12 songs on it total, including the ones released on the 45).
We were all sitting about one third of the way back in the bus. Maybe you recall that that is the row of seats which is right underneath the bus’s skylight. You could look up and see the clouds and sky – or the stars at night through tinted glass. Shortly after the bus got going, one of the soldiers popped open the top of his turnable-in-a-box and pulled out a single 45 record. It was getting dark, and I was getting sleepy, but I was curious as to what song the guys were going to play. It turned out to be a song I knew, having already heard it on the radio: “Wild Thing”, by the English group, “The Troggs”. The lyrics were si
mple and redundant, yet compelling:
Wild thing, you make my heart sing;
You’re making everything – groovy. Wild thing.”
The two stanzas were similar. You can still find the song on the internet and listen to it yourself. It was the simple, raw call of a randy male for close, physical companionship with a female he found attractive. It was a young man’s primal call to unite sexually in the rites of deep passion, come what may after that.
The first time or two, I enjoyed the song, since I had heard it on the radio already and gotten to like it there. The soldiers were snapping their fingers, bouncing in their seats to the tune of the music, and even trying to sing along with that “wild thing.” “Wild Thing: I think I love you . . . but I want to know for sure! . . . Come on, hold me tight . . . . I love you.”
They would play it, sing with it, then giggle and laugh at their efforts to do so. Then the guy with the portable player would pick up the arm and play the song all over again. After it was over he would do it again. I looked up through the skylight as I yawned. The stars were now fully out, and I was ready for a late evening nap, prior to our arrival in Minco. Yet still the pounding, driving music continued. The soldiers did realize that there were others around them on the bus, so they turned the song down just a bit; yet kept on playing it! I lost track of how many times I heard “Wild Thing” that evening, but I was sure that I had heard it enough to last me a lifetime. Mercifully we arrived in Lawton, and the soldiers got off the bus there and presumably returned to the base with their audio treasure. And that “wild thing” of portable music came to an end.
I managed to sleep until the bus rolled into Minco, Oklahoma, about 66 miles later on U. S. 81. There either the bus driver or my brother woke me up, and we got off the bus wearily but happy to see my grandparents – and be free of the noise. What I took from that special experience of “music on wheels” was that something you like, can become monotonous and even annoying after a time. Especially when you are trying to get some sleep!
But in a larger sense, I also recall that I learned from that long, noisy ride what it meant to be in the world with others. To live with others in a public venue meant to tolerate what they were enjoying, even if it was troublesome and inconvenient to me.
So much of life is like that: God gives us many moments in which we become the spectators of something we do not find stimulating or enjoyable; but others do. And we must stand aside and give them their time of joy, amusement, or enjoyment. They may even be unaware of how much torment it is causing us. We may not have the opportunity to inform them. But through this inconvenience God is watching, God may even be testing us – to see if our love for His other people is growing. So we are right to ask ourselves, is it? Am I growing to love others and be with them in their joy even when I do not feel it? That is the question. And I do hope and pray you know the answer.
LBC
