When I was twelve years old, I rediscovered the transistor AM radio my father had purchased during the Cuban Missile Crisis to help our family survive nuclear annihilation.
The plan was, after fleeing from the nuked city of Albuquerque, we would regroup about 80 miles NNW, in the town of Cuba, NM, where presumably supplies might be available. The radio would help provide news.
Fortunately, we never learned whether there was any provision made for refugees in Cuba, or not. (I always wondered whether the only news the radio would ultimately carry was "you're screwed".)
While playing with the AM radio while outside watching contrails from distant military jets during Corrales sunsets, I learned that I could hear surprisingly-distant radio stations: LA, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Dallas, Denver, (and that obnoxious Wolfman Jack, in that undisclosed location that you just knew had to be Tijuana). It was quite entrancing and entertaining. And I started listening to rock 'n roll too....
Donovan's 'Hurdy Gurdy Man' was one of my four earliest favorite songs.
The little town of Cuba might be desolate solace for Albuquerque refugees, but the Psychedelic Revolution you could hear on the radio suggested that California might approach paradise....
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