Today is the 40th anniversary of Nixon's resignation. And, for me at least, the 40th anniversary of the end of the 60's as well. That evening, a few friends and I were going to check out a new music and dance place in Perrysburg. When we picked up the last person, Nixon was on TV resigning, so we stayed and watched that strange and unprecedented event before we took off. The scene at the club was just as surreal: There was no live band, just horrible recorded music with a drummer to emphasize the beat and make the songs more danceable. No one was in cut-offs, no one in a granny dress, no one in a fancy flowered shirt and torn jeans, no one in expensive leather pants and a work shirt. The guys were wearing suits(aargh!) with open-collared shirts and heavy chains and pendants. And out on the dance floor, people appeared to be actually trying to do particular dances, instead of just flopping around energetically like we always did at the Agora. The decade that began with Kennedy's assassination ended suddenly with both relief and unexpected cultural alienation.
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