Michael Edward Little - Stranger in the Mirror

In nineteen fifty one, when I was almost five years old, I was living with my family on the Washington Bar Ranch, a mixed horse, cattle, and sheep outfit in the Madison Valley, north of Yellowstone National Park in the Montana Rockies. I had an experience Ive never discussed with anyone outside my family. While playing outside one day I saw a giant rabbit standing upright like a man less than twenty feet from me. He wasnt wearing funny clothes, or carrying a basket full of candy. He was as tall as my father, if you dont include the rabbits ears, which altogether made him taller than anyone Id ever seen. In aspect, he looked like the average jackrabbit but for his size and stance. I got excited and ran to him, but when he saw me coming, he jumped over a pile of tailings I would guess was ten feet tall. He was incredibly fast and moved with such speed that I had no chance whatever of catching him. Tailings are mounds of rock and gravel mining spoil. There was an abandoned gold dredge on the ranch that made countless piles of tailings as it worked its way up Washington Creek searching for placer gold years earlier. I scrambled up the tailings as fast as I could, and down the other side so I might see where he went. There, I found a large hole leading horizontally into a nearby drift of tailings. The hole was large enough for me to stand erect at the entrance. I was thrilled, and felt it must surely be the rabbits home, so I walked inside to find him. Ten or fifteen feet into the cave, it petered out at a rock wall. I was stumped and couldnt understand how the rabbit had given me the slip. I was certain I had him trapped. Later, when I went home and reported the big rabbit to my folks, they burst out laughing. I knew rabbits werent supposed to grow six feet tall, but I reported what Id seen, none the less. I accepted the big rabbit with equanimity, as a matter of course. In a world filled with magic, a giant big rabbit fit right in. I dont know what I saw that day, but Ive told you what happened as well as Im able.

The rabbit on the cover was drawn by James Stewart, the actor, after the wonderful film Harvey, in which he starred, was released. The film is about a big rabbit named Harvey that only Stewarts character Elwood P. Dowd can see. Dowd says Harvey is a Pooka, and comes from a place where space and time have no objections. A Pooka is a playful shape shifter from Irish and Celtic mythology. In the film, Dowds family wants him committed to a sanitarium because he sees a giant rabbit where others see nothing. The film was released in nineteen fifty, one year before my rabbit adventure. I didnt see or know of the film until I reached adulthood many years later. I used Mr. Stewarts sketch of Harvey on the cover as a reminder of the magic and mystery of life. When I searched for a cover theme, Mr. Stewarts drawing seemed absolutely perfect.

In nineteen fifty nine, when I was in the eighth grade, my mother enrolled me in piano lessons.

I had no interest in piano, but I suppose she felt my rural Montana background had left me with a few rough edges, so when the edict came down, I dutifully took lessons from a teacher in my neighborhood. I was careful not to tell anyone at school about it. I thought piano lessons were sissy stuff, so I didnt say a word about them. I practiced on an old upright in the living room. It was no big deal, though Id rather been out playing ball with the other guys instead of practicing scales. One day, I asked my teacher to teach me Liszts Second Hungarian Rhapsody so I might have a dramatic show piece, something to showcase my talents. This might seem like an odd choice, but at the time, rock n roll was still in diapers. Elvis, The Everly Brothers, Rick Nelson, The Platters, Perry Como, The Coasters, Bobby Darin, and Chuck Berry loomed large on the popular music landscape. The British invasion was yet to come. America was pretty square, I suppose. So was I. My teacher was teaching me to read music, but her instructions were like drops of water on my granite brain, and didnt make much impression. She liked my Hungarian Rhapsody idea and soon I was able to play the complex piece by ear flawlessly. Monkey see, monkey do. At the time, I attended frequent parties given by kids in my class. At most of these, someone would start banging on the piano. Nothing serious, just chopsticks Heart and Soul or feeble Boogey Woogey, junk like that. One afternoon Mr. Popular, the class hero, had a party at his home, and sure enough, before long the popular kids were fiddling around on the piano. After theyd exhausted the tired junk we heard at every party, I took a seat at the piano, and announced Id like to give it a try. After a few catcalls and protests from the peanut gallery, I jumped into my showcase with zeal and verve. I finished my amazing performance with a sparkling flourish. Brother, when I was done, everyone was hanging on the ropes, knocked out! My classmates were astounded. Their compliments gushed and flowed like wine at a bacchanalia. It was a moment Id planned for more than a year, and I reveled in their praise and astonishment. Who was that masked man? Everyone should have one moment like this in their life.

In the spring of nineteen sixty three I was finishing my sophomore year of High School. My mom worked as a waitress at a nearby restaurant. Mrs. Myers, one of her customers had a daughter named Sharon, who was a budding singer/songwriter. Sharon had performed on local radio often and began recording for various record labels under the names Sherry Lee, Jackie Dee, and Jackie Shannon. After changing labels again, Sharon began recording as Jackie DeShannon. Sharon had a couple songs on the radio and she was a big deal for a local Batavia girl. Well, Mrs. Meyers mentioned to my mom that Sharon was going into Chicago to meet the Beatles when they flew into town for the first time. My mom told Mrs. Myers I was crazy about the Beatles, and I was, too. Beatles music was so different from anything else. It was revolutionary, and I was drawn to it like a moth to a yard light. Kids generally fell into one of two camps; one camp liked Elvis and old fashioned junk like that, but the other camp, my camp, was absolutely mad about the Beatles. Beatles music was a clarion call to most kids. It would be easier to make water to run up hill than convince Beatles fans that they werent the living end. At school that year, we had a talent show. In the show, three classmates and I lip-synced She Loves You and I Want To Hold Your Hand while we jumped around on stage wearing bad Beatles wigs, as girls from our class screamed hysterically on cue. It was pretty corny, but the illusion was made more convincing by the din and the chaos. In the audience, most adults were clueless, and many thought we were the genuine article. Well, Jackies mom said, If your son would like, he can come with us into Chicago and spend the day with the Beatles. When my mom told me about it, I just about flipped! Holy cats! Two weeks later, on a Saturday, the Beatles flew into Chicago, but I had a scheduling conflict and was trapped at my first piano recital. My mom worked hard for her money, and wanted to see what her money had gotten her, so she insisted I perform a little keyboard magic at the stupid recital and forget about the Beatles. I was crushed! At the recital I played an mistake-free French composition my father said was girlish. It was bright and carefree, but I didnt care one way or the other. I could be spending the day with the Beatles, and you want manly music too?

Its ironic that the source of my solitary fleeting musical triumph was the cause of my greatest disappointment. Jackie DeShannon went on to tour two dozen cities with the Beatles and became a highly successful and much sought after songwriter. She was the genuine article. Hundreds of her songs have been recorded and performed by a pantheon of world famous performers. Hooray for Jackie! Im sorry I missed it, but I was otherwise engaged at my first and final piano recital. I never played piano again.