The Business of Nostalgia: 1970s edition

YOUTH, n. The Period of Possibility, when Archimedes finds a fulcrum, Cassandra has a following and seven cities compete for the honor of endowing a living Homer.

-Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary (1906)

Like many of my fellow Baby Boomers, much of my youth was in the 1970s. It was the decade when I found a woman I truly loved and married her (see above). It was the decade where I worked for idealistic political candidates, including Dick Clark (not the Bandstand guy) in his successful 1972 U.S. senatorial campaign in Iowa and Congressman Morris K. Udall, who lost to Jimmy Carter in his 1976 presidential run. And, as an advocate for intercity passenger rail, I was a leader in the effort to maintain and expand Amtrak service.

Looking back from 2025, it seems a magical time. It was, for me and millions of others, "The Period of Possibility." And it's become Big Business, thanks to social media. I recently joined a Facebook group called "We Pretend It's Still the 1970s," a platform owned by Do You Remember? (DYR), which describes itself as "home to the largest online community of nostalgia enthusiasts and is the go-to website for fans of the ’50s ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s." In other words, the postwar Baby Boomers and Generation X, along with the older so-called "Silent Generation." Yet from the photo of the DYR staff, it appears that Silents, Boomers and Xers are absent. I'm not sure whether any of the staffers are old enough to be Millennials. But maybe it doesn't matter, because we nostalgic oldsters provide virtually all of the content of DYR's platforms, albeit without monetary compensation.

We have the distinction of being both the market and the product. That's true of all social media users, of course, but it seems peculiarly unfair that the profits are flowing to trendy-looking twentysomethings from Manhattan. Perhaps some of DYR's investors are Boomers, along with some of its "team members that work remotely," but every indication suggests a much younger demographic than its target audience.

The "We Pretend It's Still the 1970s" group, under "About," includes the following: "Travel back in time, and let's pretend it's still the 1970s and we're there!

"Please do not post or comment in 'past-tense'. No 'I remember' posts! Everything you say, must be in 'present tense', written as if you're writing it from your childhood bedroom, your school desk, or anyplace you hung out at back then!

"Rules: Be Nice. Don't Troll. Nothing Current (including and especially Politics). Report bad behavior."

Many of the posts are from couples like Kathleen and me, who married young, were told their marriages wouldn't last, and are still in loving relationships after 45 to 55 years. I admit to enjoying their stories and their satisfaction at proving the naysayers wrong. I've seen only one post from someone who was divorced in the 1970s, though there could be more. But generally speaking, the Facebook group presents the decade as an idyllic time, which, in many ways, it was, especially for those of my generation.

But, of course, it wasn't all young love, great music, and cool cars. The decade began with Richard Nixon as president, and the Vietnam War not just raging, but expanded into Cambodia. That war continued for the first three years of the decade, while protests counter-protests, and police and National Guard actions turned violent. Then there was Watergate, the Yom Kippur War and the subsequent Arab oil embargo that brought about the recession of 1975-76. Elation over Nixon's resignation and Jimmy Carter's election soured in the face of double-digit inflation, the Iranian hostage crisis, and another oil embargo and recession at the end of the decade. It also marked the beginning of the end of the American Dream. I've read more than once that 1973, the year Kathleen and I married, was the first year when Americans' real wages began shrinking. Internationally, there was mass murder in Cambodia, Chile, and Afghanistan. And that list of negatives just scratched the surface.

While some of the posts mention boyfriends or husbands returning from Vietnam, they're shown in a positive light. I doubt whether the administrators would allow posts featuring antiwar protests or Vietnam veterans suffering from PTSD.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to read and like the posts of those young couples who defied the odds, and even those who are brave enough to write about their divorces. I don't plan to add my own story to them, at least not in the "We Pretend It's Still the 1970s" Facebook group, though I suspect the wedding photo of Kathleen and me from 1973 would be a hit on the site.

"Tell Out My Soul!" Too Evangelical or cryptically Anglican?

 

It's time for new T-shirts and polo shirts for my congregation--the last ones came out several years ago. I still have my T-shirt and fleece hoodie from then. But I was a tad shocked at the new design, above, which features the phrase, "Tell Out My Soul," in bright blue and red and in a much bigger font than the church name, in basic black. Our pastor, the Rev. Terri Peterson, is a Lutheran--something that has only been possible since the 2001 agreement between the U.S. Episcopal Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church, which established full communion between the two denominations. And she's been diligent in maintaining the Anglican tradition. Since she became pastor seven years ago, I'm seeing new faces in the congregation, so she must be doing something right.

But sometimes, the Evangelical side of her comes out, as I believed it did when I saw the new shirts. I responded that I could never wear a shirt bearing that legend. I'm a fairly reserved, introverted Episcopalian for whom "Tell Out My Soul" is just not appropriate. Pastor Terri graciously agreed to offer shirts with just the church name. 

But after my wife asked me where the phrase originated, I turned to Google, which gave me an answer that surprised me--it's relatively recent and it's thoroughly Anglican. It's the first line of a 1961 hymn by Timothy Dudley-Smith (1926-2024) an Anglican priest, who later served as Bishop of Norwich from 1981 to 1992. It's based on a paraphrase of the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55) from the New English Bible. It begins, "Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord." It's sung to the tune, "Woodlands," composed in 1916 by Walter Greatorex.

So, after finding out that the phrase, at least with an added comma, is as Anglican as Whitsunday, am I going to order the shirt? Nope--I'm sticking with the blue shirt with the church name only. Anglican as it is, it still sounds too Evangelical for me.

Besides, the "church name only" shirt mentions that St. John's is downtown. It's one of the few mainline churches that hasn't abandoned the central city for the prosperous exurbs, and for me, that's a point of pride.

"When Jesus Left His Father's Throne" and savoring the Liturgy of the Palms

 

In the Palm/Passion Sunday liturgy, it seems the theologians who crafted it wanted to get the joyous and triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem out of the way quickly and move right into the Passion. But I think that we in the pews want to savor it, especially the children, who eagerly wave the fronds. And hymnodists throughout Christian history have celebrated the event. “All Glory, Laud and Honour” is John Mason Neale’s translation of a Latin hymn written by Theodulf of Orléans in 820. A thousand years later, in 1820, Henry Hart Milman penned “Ride On, Ride On in Majesty.” Even Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice made a hit out of “Hosanna” in “Jesus Christ Superstar” (1970). 

One beloved Palm Sunday hymn, “When Jesus Left His Father’s Throne” (Hymnal #480), doesn’t even mention Jesus’ entry until the third and final stanza, but it does so through a child’s eyes. Ralph (say “Rafe”) Vaughan Williams (1872-1858), who was co-editor of the 1906 English Hymnal, heard the haunting folk song, “Dives and Lazarus,” in the Sussex village of Kingsfold, and he adapted it as a hymn tune bearing the town’s name. (Vaughan Willaims also used the song in his 1939 orchestral composition, “Five Variants of Dives and Lazarus.”) The tune surely has Celtic roots, because the Irish folk song, “The Star of the County Down” has virtually the same melody. 

Scottish-born poet and editor James Montgomery (1771-1854) wrote the lyrics for the Hallam Sunday School, near Sheffield, England, which is why it takes a child’s point of view. The first stanza is about Jesus’ birth, and the second, his blessing of the children. In the third stanza, Montgomery celebrates Palm Sunday through children’s eyes: 

When Jesus into Zion rode,

the children sang around;

for joy they plucked the palms and strowed

their garments on the ground.

Hosanna our glad voices raise,

hosanna to our King!

Should we forget our Savior’s praise,

the stones themselves would sing.

 

And it brings us back to that moment when there was the hope, fleeting though it was, that Jesus could bring about the Kingdom of God without the Cross. No wonder we want to savor it.

Image: Entry of Jesus Christ into Jerusalem (1320) by Pietro Lorenzetti (Wikimedia Commons)

Note This was first published in The Tower, a monthly newsletter of the Church of St. John the Evangelist, Elkhart, Indiana

Flooding the zone and my choice to focus on passenger rail

 

“The real opposition is the media. And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.”

-Steve Bannon to Michael Lewis, January 30, 2018

Thanks to the Trump administration’s “Flood the Zone” tactics, it’s easy for ordinary Americans to feel powerless. That’s something Mr. Trump and his enabler, billionaire Elon Musk, are counting on. I got some wise advice from someone—either Mary Doria Russell or Heather Cox Richardson—to focus on something you know and care about. For me, that’s easy: intercity passenger train service. 

I’ve been a supporter of passenger rail for most of my life, including 32 years as an Amtrak employee. Outside of North America, rail is an integral part of the transportation system. In Europe, Japan, China, and other developed countries, passengers can travel rapidly and cheaply on well-maintained rail systems. 

But Trump and Musk don’t want Americans to have that option. Musk wants Amtrak, the quasi-public system of intercity passenger rail, to be privatized, after comparing it unfavorably to the Chinese rail system. Yet the Chinese State Railway Group is government-owned, and China has spent over $500 billion in the past five years in new tracks, trains, and stations. If Amtrak had that kind of support, it truly would be a world-class system. 

The reason Amtrak came into being was that the private railroads were unable to make money on passenger trains after the U.S. Post Office shifted first class mail off the trains and onto trucks and planes in the late 1960s. Fred Frailey, in Twilight of the Great Trains (1998) writes that most railroads kept two sets of books: one using the “fully allocated” formula demanded by the Interstate Commerce Commission, which included costs that the railroad would incur whether or not the passenger train ran; a second, based on solely related costs, showed the true expense of running a train. “In 1960,” Frailey writes, “In 1960, when the fully allocated loss on U.S. passenger trains was $485 million, the loss based on solely related expenses was a mere $10 million and would turn into a $17 million profit in 1961.” 

That all changed, beginning in 1967, when the Postmaster General, Larry O’Brien, began eliminating the Railway Post Offices—cars where first-class mail was sorted enroute. Most of the first-class mail went to trucks and planes. While some trains still carried bulk mail, the drastic cut in revenue made virtually every passenger train a money-loser, even using solely related costs. Railroad companies, which had opposed federal subsidies for passenger trains, suddenly changed their tune, and Congress, after massive discontinuance proposals, especially by the Pann Central Transportation company, passed the National Railroad Passenger Service Act of 1970, creating the National Railroad Passenger Corporation. 

When the Nixon Administration signed off on the NRPC, later called Amtrak, it added a “poison pill,” making the corporation “for profit.” While Congress changed the wording to “operated and managed as a for profit corporation” in 1978, some Amtrak opponents believe the profitability is the only way to measure Amtrak, despite the intercity passenger train’s fuel-efficiency and low carbon footprint. And, of course, they ignore massive government subsidies of other transportation modes. 

Privatization, without major spending on infrastructure and the return of mail and express to the trains, would mean a shutdown. Last year, Amtrak advocates were talking about an expansion of both short- and long-distance Amtrak service. That won’t happen if Trump and Musk get their way—the entire Amtrak system would go down. 

Former Secretary of Transportation Ray LaHood wrote in 2023, “In recent decades, America invested trillions to maintain and expand highways and air travel, while European and Asian nations invested heavily in high-speed trains. Between 1949 and 2017, the federal government invested only $10 billion in high-speed rail with $4 billion of that dedicated to the California project, compared to investments of $777 billion in aviation and over $2 trillion in highways. 

“Meanwhile, since 2004, China has invested over $1.4 trillion to build a 25,000-mile high-speed rail network and is pouring billions more into high-speed rail projects worldwide.” 

The message needs to get out. Trump and Musk can’t be allowed to destroy passenger rail.

 

 

Note: I recently sent an abridged version of this letter to Indiana Senator Todd Young, a moderate Republican who has the potential of challenging the Trump Administration. I’ve also published shorter versions in the Elkhart Truth and South Bend Tribune.