Me, Passover and Bobby McGee

year was 1968: the Vietnam War was raging, psychedelic music and drugs were “in,” Marin Luther King was assassinated a week before President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act and the Beatles released the White Album to mixed reviews. I was about to enter ninth grade. Amidst the free love and political turmoil, I somehow finagled my mother into driving over two hours to Atlantic City to take me and my best friend to my very first rock concert. Janis Joplin — wild, passionate, soulful and very stoned — belted out “Piece of My Heart,” “Cry Baby” and “Move Over” until almost midnight. On the car ride home, we sang a medley of Joplin songs, but the one verse that really captured my imagination was […]