My Idle Ramblings

The Power of Social Media

Whether we like it or not, social media is an integral part of our culture. Like everything in existence, there are inherent good and bad consequences. The bad is usually given precedence due to human nature’s penchant for the negative, which is worthy of its own exploration but not now. This post is about the power to connect people in meaningful ways. Connections that might never happen if it weren’t for these platforms. I had the privilege of experiencing such a moment last week.

Making my usual perusal of my pages over morning coffee, I noticed I had a FB Message. I don’t get them very often, and when I do, they make me pause. What does someone want to say that they wouldn’t post in an open forum? Curiouser and curiouser. And this one arrived at nearly midnight.  

So sorry, Renee. I don’t remember you. But there were a couple of clues that helped me place you into the past you belonged. First, she addressed me as “Sue.” I’m Suzie to my family and a few select friends, but Suzanne to everyone else since college. So the narrow two year window between high school and before university. I’m not counting, but that’s a lot of time between now and then.

Next, the Rifle River. Oh my, I remember the epic camping and canoeing trips with a particular pack of friends. Granted, the details are vague due to the aforementioned time gap and other reasons. One memory was the Stroh’s Beer paraphernalia. One of the pack’s dad worked for the legendary Detroit brewery, and everything, and I mean everything was blazoned with the Stroh’s logo. Somewhere there’s a picture of a picnic table with a Stroh’s tablecloth full of the stuff. Another vivid memory – the awful hangover headaches from drinking too much Stroh’s beer. Great fun and fond memories from what I can remember. 😊

Finally, the Fenmore Lounge. Weekends at the Fenmore are some of my fondest memories with this entourage. Of course, they revolved around music. Jazz in particular – Spyro Gyra, Manhattan Transfer, Average White Band (okay, not jazz), Al Jarreau, Weather Report, George Benson to name a few. Not the genre one might expect for a tribe of recent high school grads only legal to drink across the river in Canada.

The Fenmore Lounge was a little dive bar on 7 Mile near the Southfield Freeway. A few miles north of Rosedale Park, where many of my friends lived. Its usual clientele were a few neighborhood factory workers getting liquored up after their shifts. Perhaps, a couple of them beforehand. An occasional game of pool on one of the two tables. A bartender, no serving staff.

The boys in the band worked a deal with the owner of the joint. They got the cover charge, and a percentage of the bar sales. A win-win for both parties because we packed the bar on both Friday and Saturday nights. Standing room only. I usually arrived with my dear friend and the bass player, Kevin, and left with a different Kevin. Some memories are best left in the past.

Renee sent a picture of the regular players in the band. I recognized the singers, Donna (left) and Heather (right). Donna had a sweet voice and quite the range. Heather’s vocals were raspy, bluesy. They did an amazing rendition of Birdland. Looking forward to catching up with Renee to help me put names to the other faces.

To anyone taking the time to read this ramble, I hope you get a chance to stroll down memory lane, reconnecting with your past, remembering who you were before the rigors of everyday life took over. Perhaps, another ramble, some other time.