Drawn from previous posts, this is not part of my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1).
An infinite number of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!
In some Greatest Record Ever Made! stories, the artists are front and center, while other such stories blend the facts behind the music with expressions of how the music affected the listener (i.e., me). The Smithereens are one of the all-time great rock 'n' roll groups, and a pair of previous GREM! entries (about "Behind The Wall Of Sleep" and "Face The World With Pride") talked about the band.
This one? This one's purely personal.
This is the house we used to live in, this is the place we used to know.
My childhood home was a place I call 308, a Cape Cod in Syracuse's Northern suburbs. It was built in the early '50s, and its only owners had been members of my family. My aunt and uncle originally secured 308 on behalf of my mom and dad, who purchased it in short order. My sister bought 308 when my dad died in 2012. My sister lives in England, and she kept the house for our mom. Mom continued to live there until it became impossible for her to do so anymore; she moved to a nursing facility in 2017. My daughter and her boyfriend (now husband) lived at 308 for a few years before buying their own house in 2022.
Mom passed at the end of 2021. There was no longer any good reason to hold on to 308.
And so in January of 2023, we emptied 308 of its accumulated artifacts. My siblings and I kept a few scattered mementos; the rest was assigned as either donations or discards, and relocated accordingly. And then a new family--someone I have never met--took our keys and made 308 their home. 308 is still there.
It is no longer ours.
Music and emotion go hand-in-hand. At least that's the way it is for me, and the combination builds essays and radio playlists. In January of 2023, I opened an episode of our radio show with these words:
"I want to start things off with a note of passage, a farewell to a place that meant the world to me. It's a house in North Syracuse, a house I call 308. It was my parents' house, the house where I (in theory) grew up, and it remained a part of my life for all the decades since. I helped look after 308 throughout all the transitions this mortal life brings.
"And now, there's one last transition, as for the first time since it was built more than 70 years ago, 308 will be owned by someone other than my family.
"And that's okay. It's time. And it is finally time for me to say goodbye, and thank you, to 308, the house we used to live in."
And the Smithereens sang their mournful farewell, "House We Used To Live In."
Transitions can sting, even when they're a good thing, even when they're a necessary thing. I'll keep my memories of 308 for as long as I retain memories. It is such a weird, weird feeling to know that I will never again set foot in 308.
On January 24th of 2023, while I was at work, my wife Brenda met my sister Denise at 308 to help with the final ritual of clearing the space, cleaning, packing, shuffling its remaining castoffs to Goodwill. I joined them in the evening to complete the culling. 308 stood empty.
I took a last look in each bare, silent room, from basement to attic. I saw where our little pool table used to be, where Dad had his baseball memorabilia, where Mom had her jazz and Broadway LPs. The driveway where my brother Art's ill-fated Alfa Romeo once sat. The backyard where my brother Rob tried to teach me how to throw a football. The living room where Denise introduced me to a TV show called The Monkees. The kitchen where we ate macaroni and meatballs, and hot dogs, and beef stew, and carrot cake, and breakfast cereal, and Friday night fish fry, and so much more. My old room, where I listened to music, read comic books, tried to write, tried to draw, tried to dream.
I remember. My memories of 308 are a kaleidoscope, a collision of colors that refuse to cede their distinct hues as time forces them--all of them--to turn to gray, no matter what vibrance they wish to retain. The brilliance remains in my mind's eye.
Our work done, our cars packed, Brenda, Denise, and I walked out of 308. We closed the door and it locked behind us. We drove away. We had driven away from 308 so many times before, always knowing we could and would return.
That was no longer true.
I heard that the new owners have a dog, which is cool. A long time ago, we used to have a dog named Bear, and Bear was a part of our family at 308. We wish 308's new family a life of love and happiness in the house we used to live in.
Yeah, it's a weird feeling. My twinge of sadness will pass, has passed. My wealth of recollections remain.
But it's time to let go of the rest of it.
Here's to the house I used to live in. Here's to 308. And here's to whatever comes next.
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My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.
This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO. You can read about our history here.
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