I woke up to a Facebook post about Jimi Hendrix from a hometown friend. Hendrix was my idol. It was to an excessive degree. I was a teenager in the mid-1970s. So, Jimi was already dead by the time I’d heard of him.

Today, I’m sharing the contents of my teenage bedroom’s most cherished items.

Jimi Hendrix Posters

The coolest Jimi Hendrix poster I had was Jimi with wires coming out of his head. I googled it so I could display it here for your viewing pleasure.

After finding that image I closed my eyes and pictured my pink room and cork-board wall. Thank you Dad for painting* my room and putting up that wall of cork board.

My plea was for a room painted entirely hot pink. But, Dad was measured, more moderate. He broke the news to me gently, though. Only one wall would be fuschia. “Believe me, honey,” Dad said with conviction. “It’s too much. It’ll look like a bordeaux.” I had no idea what that word meant but, the way he’d said it, sounded really bad.

It was Dad’s idea to put up a cork-board from floor to ceiling on one wall. I was thrilled and quickly covered it with my art and posters. I was a devoted Led Zeppelin fan, so this black and white Jimmy Page and Robert Plant photo was one of the earlier additions. Later, I added a Yes poster — not so much because the band meant much to me, I just loved that poster. The Yes poster’s colors coordinated perfectly with my teal lava lamp. And it all came together with my beloved yellow beanbag chair.

Lava Light & Beanbag Chair

Much of my youth was spent in that room drawing , writing, and blasting music. My typical spot was seated in the bright yellow beanbag chair, with my beagle beside me, paper all around me of drawings and writings — some crumpled up, but most saved.

Box of Journals

Update: During the pandemic, I’ve been doing my Spring cleaning since last April. I finally dealt with the ancient, misshapen, torn and tattered box in a closet that held my journals from third grade to the present. I arranged them neatly into a file cabinet. The drawers are marked 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010s, and I just finished the 2020s.

I had to throw out gobs of other hazarai to make room. That frayed box was witness to extreme teenage rebellion, shameless hedonism, tortured angst, and psychedelic creativity. I love that I can back-up my stories. I’m so glad I kept those. Mom, Sally Wendkos Olds, thank you for giving me that wonderful first diary in third grade. You told me to try to write in it every day as a record of what I did. Thank you for those wise words, Mom. xoxo

Jimi Hendrix Songs

Getting back to music, not all of my albums had printed lyrics. When words weren’t typed on the record cover or inside sheet, my solution was to play songs over and over until I could make out the words, then commit them to memory.

That create a couple of scratches. Thankfully, only a couple were bad enough to make the needle skip. However, it was worth all of the time spent. I can still recite songs from my “yoot” verbatim.” I hated when I had to ask for help. One of Elton John’s songs had me perplexed. “Hey, Jenny,” I said to my sister. “Where are the streets of Perolone?”

“Huh?” she said glancing up.

“You know, in ‘Rocketman,’ I said, “it says, ‘burning up the streets of Perolone.’ Is that a country?”

Jenny laughed uncontrollably. When she could finally speak she said, “There’s no country named Perolone. It’s ‘burning up the streets up here alone.'” Then she lost it again, laughing so hard her nostrils were flaring.

I didn’t love those exchanges. Hence, I became more devoted to deciphering the songs. When I got jammed up, I lifted the needle off the record and put it back until I could figure out the words and phrases. Many hours went into this. When I hit an impossible snag with Neil Young’s “For Dad in Ohio,” my sister Nancy came to the rescue. She explained what happened at Kent State.

See also: HEROIN: Rebel Without a Clue

By Dorri Olds for Honeysuckle magazine

Burning of the Midnight Lamp

© Jimi Hendrix

The morning is dead
And the day is, too
There’s nothing left here to meet me
But the velvet moon
All my loneliness I have felt today
It’s like a little more than enough
To make a man throw himself away

And I continue
To burn the midnight lamp
Alone

Now the smiling portrait of you
Is still hangin’ on my frowning wall
It really doesn’t, really doesn’t bother me too much at all
It’s just the ever falling dust
That makes it so hard for me to see
That forgotten earring layin’ on the floor
Facing coldly towards the door

I continue
To burn the midnight lamp
Lord, alone

Loneliness is such a drag

So here I sit to face
That same old fire place
Gettin’ ready for the same old explosion
Goin’ through my mind
And soon enough time will tell,
About the circus in the wishing well
And someone who will buy and sell for me
Someone to toll my bell

And I continue
To burn this old lamp
Lord, alone
Darlin’ can’t ya hear me callin’ you?
So lonely
Gonna have to blow my mind
Lonely

Written by Ellas Mcdaniel • Copyright © BMG Rights Management US, LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

Long before Photoshop, I created this photograph of Jimi Hendrix and me. I cut out a photo of myself. Placed it on an album cover. Then surrounded it with a cool rainbow-colored hippie scarf I found in a thrift store.

One of my great achievements in lyrical memorization was Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues. That was no easy song to learn and yes, I can still recite it straight through. Not everyone can say that. Amirite?

Subterranean Homesick Blues

One of my greatest achievements at memorization was Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues. That was no easy song to learn and yes, I can still recite it straight through. Not everybody can claim such a miraculous thing (see lyrics pasted in below).

Johnny’s in the basement, mixing up the medicine
I’m on the pavement, thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat, badge out, laid off
Says “He’s got a bad cough, wants to get it paid off”

Look out kid, it’s somethin’ you did
God knows when but you’re doin’ it again
You better duck down the alley way, lookin’ for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap, in the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills, you only got ten

Maggie comes fleet foot face full of black soot
Talkin’ that the heat put, plants in the bed but
The phone’s tapped anyway, Maggie says that many say
“They must bust in early May, orders from the D.A”

Look out kid, don’t matter what you did
But walk on your tip toes don’t tie no bows
Better stay away from those that carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose, watch the plain clothes
You don’t need a weather man to know which way the wind blows

Oh get sick, get well, hang around a ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell, if anything is goin’ to sell
Try hard, get barred, get back, write Braille
Get jailed, jump bail, join the army if you fail

Look out kid, you’re gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters, six-time users
Hangin’ around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool, lookin’ for a new fool
Don’t follow leaders, watch your parkin’ meters

Oh get born, keep warm, short pants, romance
Learn to dance, get dressed, get blessed, try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts, don’t steal, don’t lift
Twenty years of schoolin’ and they put you on the day shift

Look out kid, they keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole, light yourself a candle
Don’t wear sandals, try to avoid the scandals
Don’t wanna be a bum you better chew gum
The pump don’t work, ’cause the vandals took the handles.

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