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When the show was over, a mad dash to Pop Singers, a nearby soda fountain, followed. Inside a jammed booth we sipped cokes, rubbed elbows with the regulars and listened to songs from the jukebox. “Does Your Chewing Gum Stick to the Bedpost Overnight?” “Little Darlin’,” “ I Will follow Him,” and “A Whole Lot of Shaking Going’ On” to name a few. My friends and I treasured these moments of innocence and friendship accompanied by lively music. Life slowly changed. Responsibilities at home, and gradually, extra curricular activities at school occupied my time. The daily dance show changed to a weekly show, and eventually moved to California. Our teenage dreams of being dancing queens also relocated. We took turns hosting basement parties where we played our 45’s, practiced new steps, danced to tunes of popular girl groups and found rock-n-roll relevant to our adolescence. Never again would life be that innocent. Assassinations, the civil rights struggle, and the Vietnam War framed the next decade. The Beatles “yeah yeah yeahed” us with their new sounds, but sooner or later they, too, yearned for the peace and certainty of “Yesterday.” The Beach Boy went “Surfin’ USA” while Simon and Garfunkel preferred “The Sound of Silence” during these tumultuous times.Subsequently, rock music turned hard and acidic. I can’t say for certain what day the music died for me, but as rock became less personal and harder to listen to, I tuned out. But not for long! “Hi, Rita. It’s Judy. Pick up or call me back ASAP,” the answering machine greeted me late one Sunday evening. I hesitated for a moment but then returned the call. “What’s up, and what’s so urgent?’ I asked in an almost uninterested tone. “Did you watch American Dream tonight?” she started the inquisition. “No, and I didn’t tape it if that is your next question.” “Too bad,” Judy started to tease but then blurted out. “I think I saw you on a piece of old Bandstand footage. A line of kids were doing the stroll and my eyes caught two girls in uniforms with pageboy fluff hairdos. It really looked like you and Joan.” Well, there went my 15 seconds of fame. I sighed and said goodbye promising to talk later in the week. Remembering poodle skirts and bobby socks was not on my agenda for the few remaining hours of that weekend. My sister and I will pick up the conversation again. She enjoys reminiscing about the days of old. I think it soothes her long-distance soul that craves a closer connection to family and