About Steve
Prelude
I wouldn’t be a songwriter today if I had grown up any different than I did.
Infinite summer days as a boy…in woods…in trees…in love…with fishing…with baseball…with….Donna Goldberg. A time and place where imagination was free to inhabit any length of open sky, any chink or cranny of a neighbor’s garden wall; days spent “with the nonchalance of boys assured of a dinner.” Home by six. Hamburger Helper or Salmon Patties. Macaroni & Cheese. Chocolate “ice-milk” and Oreos.
I wrote (bad) Poetry:
Revisiting a neighborhood stream
After Spring’s long-absence there
The snow was off the side rock
And warmness filled the air
The shallow rill below the
Bank on which I sat
Moved upon each single rock
And gave them each a pat
Dimpled clouds of cotton white
Floated fast against the blue
While the sun was skipping off to bed
As all good children do
Revisiting a neighborhood stream
After my long-absence there
I questioned Time to ask him why
Such visits were so rare
I wrote (bad) songs:
Climb to the top of The Ladder of Your Life!
Count the many steps along the way
And when you get to the top of The Ladder of Your Life
(I forget the rest of it, although it probably rhymes with “way.”)
I spent a lot of time at night in someone else’s garden with my secret salt-shaker. I cut school and sat in malls and laundry mats-anyplace but there. I still love malls. I love being alone with a bunch of people around, which is how I usually feel at music industry parties.
When I was a freshman we had double-sessions, meaning I had to catch a 6:30 am school bus. Mrs. Mudd (I know…) would let me get on with my fishing pole, tackle box, and packed lunch. When she made a stop in front of Wildwood Country Club I would get off the bus, and spend the whole day fishing, until she picked me back up, and dropped me off before Mom got home from work. Ah! the 70’s!
I remember I kept copious notes from Fishing Facts magazine on ideal water temperature, best time of day, and recommended lures, for every common freshwater fish I might come in contact with. It felt good to assimilate all that knowledge, though in practice this usually translated into using nightcrawler’s, hooks, sinkers and bobbers.
(To be continued…)
