Cherokee: (n) American Indian people of the southeastern US

Some things are just embarrassing.

When you realize how embarrassing they are, you can either pretend you did not believe them–or you can own up to the fact that your
ignorance has shown up drunk to dance at the party.

When I got the information today that I was going to be writing an essay on “Cherokee,” I scanned my brain for thoughts I had about this noble tribe other than the bizarre portrayal provided through the American Western.

After a few moments, the only thing that came to my mind was Paul Revere and the Raiders. You may or not remember this rock and roll band, which squeezed its way into the late 1960s and early 1970s with a few hits.

Their only Number 1 hit was called “Cherokee People.” The lyrics were so bold, brazen and audaciously rebellious that I, of course, loved the song, viewing myself to be of some sort of hostile tribe also. (That tribe would have been “TeenAger.”)

         Cherokee people

         Cherokee tribe

         So proud to live

         So proud to die

And of course, I remember the last line of the song, which was:

        And maybe someday when we learn

        Cherokee people will return

The song was then interrupted with an elongated organ solo, closing out with a loud rock and roll chord.

Every time I listened to that song, I did a little fist pumping. For a brief moment I was a Cherokee, even though I did not know what that meant and I knew absolutely nothing about the customs. Music, sentiment, defiance and freedom drove me nearly wild with enthusiasm.

So I must apologize to the Cherokee people–but I was not going to quickly research them on Wikipedia so as to appear knowledgeable.

I will thank Paul Revere and the Raiders for bringing the plight of the Cherokee Nation to the attention of a very white Midwestern boy.

Cherish: (v) to hold someone dear.

Those who did not live through the 1960s and early 1970s hold the abiding belief that the music of the time was loud, raucous, revolutionary and incorrigible.

Matter of fact, these non-Woodstock individuals would contend that Jimmie Hendrix, Janis Joplin and The Who were the primary thrust on
the music scene.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

If you want to hear the music of the 60s typified by the mingling of innocence and emerging rage over the Vietnam War, you should probably sit down and listen to The Monkees and The Association.

Girls and boys were still falling in love. (We pretended it was a baseball game–where the goal was to get a hit and make at least second base if not a home run.)

There was a strange mingling of naiveté and blistering honesty that permeated the times.

But on many a quiet Saturday afternoon, as a teenage boy going dateless one more weekend, I laid back on my bed and listened to The Association sing “Cherish.”

I pined.

I cried.

I yearned.

I masturbated.

Usually in that order.

I wanted someone to cherish. More accurately, I wanted someone to cherish me.

Because:

“Cherish is a word I use to describe

All the feelings that I have, hiding here for you inside…”

Beautiful songs like “Cherish,” and also “Never My Love” by the same group, prepared me to be a soft, sensitive male instead of brash and demanding.

So today I want to thank the gentlemen from The Association for carrying me through a difficult time, until I could cherish and be cherished.