When They Arrived

 Once again, I will invoke my Howard Cosell rule to write about something that doesn't directly relate to bicycles or bicycling.

At least this time, I am invoking that rule to commemorate a joyous occasion.  

On this date in 1964, four young "lads from Liverpool" stepped off a Pan Am flight in a recently-renamed airport.  In a scene that couldn't be replicated today, millions of young people thronged the terminal and spilled onto the tarmac. (Post-9/11 security measures would not allow such a thing.) According to witnesses, those youngsters--mainly girls--squealed and cheered so loudly that one couldn't hear planes taking off.

Some argue that "fangirls" and, to a lesser extent, "fanboys" were born that day.  Whether or not that was true, it's hard to imagine such a raucous reception for any other group or performer.

I am talking, of course, about the Beatles.  The airport where they first set foot on American soil was formerly known as Idlewild but had recently been re-christened as John F. Kennedy International Airport.

The timing of John, Paul, George and Ringo could hardly have been more fortuitous.  Just two months and two weeks earlier, JFK was gunned down in Dallas. I was a very young child during that time and didn't understand the events, but I could feel the grief that filled the air after the President's death and the joy--a catharsis (a word I wouldn't learn until much later) that the "Fab Four" released.

Now, as a lifelong Beatles fan, I will say this:  Those early tunes were sappy love songs.  So were many hits from the pioneers of rock'n'roll--who by that time were nearing, or had recently passed, 30 years of age.  They wouldn't have looked or sounded right doing songs like them but Elvis, Chuck and others from the "doo-wop" generation hadn't yet found their new directions.  The "lads," on the other hand, were still young enough for such things.  And, I believe--with the benefit of hindsight--that people wanted those songs and, more important, the youthful, upbeat energy the Beatles exuded at that point.

Of course, their music would become very different.  But I think their energy was exactly what was needed to move rock'n'roll music forward so that it could absorb such diverse elements and influences as the sitar, Bach and Scottish folk ballads.  Oh, and they even would do a song with lyrics in French--a language none of them spoke.  (Jan Vaughan, a French teacher and the wife of an old friend of Paul's, wrote them.) So, it might be said that the Beatles made, or at least helped to make, rock'n'roll into an international musical genre.

Also, the Beatles helped to change fashions in hair and clothing--and, more importantly, to influence the ways we see gender and sexuality.  Even though they were undeniably straight cisgender men, they were criticized and mocked because their hair and clothing didn't comport with the expectations of men at that time.  

Now that I think of it, they may have had a role, however small, in sparking or stoking the '70's Bike Boom in North America.  The Beatles themselves, especially John, seemed to enjoy cycling.  That was not unusual for adult men--in England, their home country.  But not so in the US:  the bicycle was seen as a toy or, if an adolescent used it for transportation, he or she passed it on to a younger sibling or neighbor, or a parent discarded it, once the kid was old enough to drive.  And at that point in their lives, young people were expected to act and dress "like grown-ups":  coats and ties for men, skirts or dresses and high heels for women.

That the Beatles would, in time, appear on stage and for recording sessions in jeans and T-shirts or dashikis no doubt showed millions of other people, mostly young, they could do the same.  And, let's face it, even if your bike has full fenders and an all-enclosing chainguard, you'd rather ride in comfortable clothing that can be easily washed. Oh, and who wouldn't want to ride with "Here Comes The Sun" as an earworm?

I must end this post, however, by noting that I formulated the Howard Cosell Rule because of one Beatle in particular--or, more precisely, how he met his demise.  Cosell interrupted his play-by-play commentary of an NFL game to announce that John Lennon had been murdered on the night of 8 December 1980.  Cosell and Lennon were friends and, I am sure, influences on each other. 

Leaving The Opposition In A Cloud Of Dust, Not Smoke

 Today’s post won’t relate directly to bicycles or cycling. I am, however, confident that many of you will find it relevant and interesting.

I can recall when a yellow fog filled coffee shops, department stores, subway station corridors and other public venues. Of course, almost none of us noticed it until it was gone.  

The first step in clearing shared air came exactly sixty years ago today.  Dr. Luther Terry made an announcement to a roomful of reporters: A longtime, wide-ranging study led him to conclude that smoking cigarettes causes cancer.

It may well have been the single most important announcement ever made by a U.S. Surgeon General. Smoking cigarettes was considered normal, even healthy, for adults. (Although I have never smoked, I gave cartons of Kools, Camels, Marlboros, Pall Malls and Viceroys as gifts for Christmas, birthdays and other occasions.) The tobacco industry was therefore much bigger than it is now, which is why Dr. Terry—himself a longtime smoker—made the announcement on a Saturday :  officials wanted to minimize the report’s effects on the stock market.

(On a related note, tobacco played a significant role in colonialism.)

Of course, Americans didn’t collectively drop their cigarettes once the report became public. But over a period of years, puffing, whether in a public or private, was pushed to the margins.  A year after the report came out, warnings were printed on cigarette packs; five years after that, television and radio ads for cigarettes were banned. During that time and afterward, entities from government agencies to real estate offices prohibited smoking on their premises.  Countless private citizens did so in their living spaces; cities forbade it in and around apartment buildings.

I’ve already mentioned one result—the disappearance of the yellow haze in public spaces—of the report and ensuing bans.  Another occurs to me now:  I rarely see an ashtray in anyone’s home, and never see them in public spaces. Also, it’s been a while since anyone asked me,”Mind if I smoke?”

For those of you who prefer empirical data to anecdotes, there’s this:  In 1965,  the year the Surgeon General’s warning began to appear on cigarette packs, nearly 42 percent of Americans aged 18 and older smoked; by 2018, that proportion had fallen by two-thirds, to just under 14 percent. (It climbed slightly during the pandemic.)

It’s estimated that the report and its effects have saved 8 million lives: nearly the population of my hometown of New York City.  Perhaps equally significant, that report precipitated a cultural change in which smoking is not as sociallly acceptable, let alone fashionable, as it once was.  And the anti-smoking campaign has spread throughout the industrialized world:  Even in France, where the image of a soigné sophisticate included a Gauloise or Gitane clasped with thumb and forefinger, cigarette packets bear the same stark warnings seen in other countries. And, during my most recent visit a year ago, I saw considerably less smoking—and clearer air in cafes and bistros—than I saw during earlier sojourns.

Oh, and I can’t recall the last time I saw a cyclist like an old riding buddy of mine who stopped at the bottom of any hill or ramp and lit up before starting his climb. And I don’t think a scene like this will ever be repeated during a race: