Bedtime Story: Ankh You Very Much Jim Morrison

In 1967, I carved an ankh from a block of wood in my dad's workshop — a small act of teenage creativity sparked by the Summer of Love. I loaned it to a friend for a Doors concert, and what happened next taught me something I've never forgotten about letting go, the unexpected journey of the things we create, and finding peace with outcomes we never saw coming. This is a true story, lightly told, with a surprise ending that still makes me smile fifty years later.

Transcript

Thank you very much, Jim Morrison. I was 14 years old when the Summer of Love happened. That year, Rock and roll and hippie culture collided, And out came Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Magical Mystery Tour from the Beatles, Hair opened on Broadway, And out in California, Where I lived, A local band, The Doors, With their androgynous frontman sex machine, Jim Morrison, Exploded onto the world stage. The Age of Aquarius had arrived, And with it, A variety of spiritual symbols came into the zeitgeist. One of those symbols, The Ankh, Got my attention. A variation on the Christian cross, The Ankh symbol is a T-shape crowned with a loop like a droplet held in suspension. The Ankh symbol appears in ancient Egyptian art. It represented the power to sustain life and to revive human souls in the afterlife. The Ankh stirred something in my soul. So, I liberated a small block of wood from my dad's workshop and began carving my Ankh. The carving was about 2 1⁄2 inches long. I sanded and stained and sealed it, Attached a leather cord to it, And proudly ventured out into the world wearing it around my neck. One of the first of my friends to see it was Bev, A girl my age who lived about a block away. I liked Bev. She spoke her mind. She was not one to sugarcoat her reactions. When I turned up with my Ankh, She was genuinely impressed and poured on the compliments. A couple of weeks later, Bev called and told me she was going to a Doors concert at the Forum that night. Was it possible, She asked, That she could wear my Ankh to the concert? I had a twinge of resistance, But her enthusiasm won me over. I said, OK. And an hour later, A car pulled into the driveway. Bev's mom at the wheel and packed with teenage girls in a state of sensual bliss at the prospect of being in the same building as Jim Morrison. Bev materialized from the back and ran up and met me on the porch. Her smile was a mile wide as I tied the leather cord around her neck and centered the Ankh on her chest. Breathless, She asked, How does it look? Perfect, I said. Call me tomorrow. I want to hear all about it. Bev kissed me on the cheek and she was gone. The next day, I waited to hear from her. Finally, Around dinner time, I called her. How was it? Bev went on for several minutes describing the concert in glowing terms. I finally got around to asking, Can I come by and get my Ankh or maybe you want to bring it to school on Monday? There was an uncomfortable pause. I don't have it. What? Um, I gave it to Jim. Jim? Jim Morrison? Yeah. Wow. I began to visualize the Doors' next album cover. A shirtless Jim Morrison wearing my Ankh and looking right into the camera with that mythic expression of male beauty and desire. Wow. I said again, You mensch to get backstage? How did you pull that off? No, Not exactly. Oh, So you got close enough to hand it to him during their set? No. You gave it to a roadie to give to Jim? I threw it. What? I threw it to Jim. I now picture my Ankh arcing through the air over the heads of the undulating crowd of kids. Bev? Yes? Just curious? Uh-huh. Where were you sitting? The mezzanine? Now, In my fantasy, The Ankh falls to the floor, 30 feet short of the stage where it is kicked and stepped on. I'm sorry. I could tell she was. She's not to blame. This is the power of music and performers the caliber of a Jim Morrison. Okay, I'll see you Monday. I wasn't quite ready to forgive her, But eventually I would. And I hang up the phone and picture the cleanup crew now sweeping up the crap on the arena floor, And a haggard, Middle-aged balding guy with a broom and a trash can on wheels coming upon my Ankh. He picks it up off the floor, Fishes out his reading glasses to study it in detail. His expression says, What the hell is this? He looks around to see if one of his co-workers is nearby so he can ask him, What the hell is this? But then the desire to finish up and get home takes over, And he either puts it in his pocket or tosses it in the trash can. Either way, The Ankh has served its purpose, And I am at peace with that.