Thursday, January 26, 2006 | I have said before that nobody cares what the 60-somethings think. Certainly not advertisers, and not most people between 40 and 60, and of course absolutely no one under 40.

In the media, their product development and advertising are aimed at the younger market, the upper age limit of which is about 54. When you hit 60, the media figures you can’t stay awake or concentrate long enough to watch anything more than 30 minutes of evening news, and that’s where they pack all their 60-something advertising, products devoted exclusively to personal body embarrassments.

Imagine my pleasure, therefore, last week, when I was writing about the 1950s and the birth of rock and roll. In my materials I came across a cultural phenomenon that is the exclusive, birthright possession of people 60 and older. Not only that, it is a possession that set into motion a vital part of the world in which today’s young demographic finds so much of its satisfaction.

We were there, geezer brothers and sisters, at the birth of rock ‘n’ roll music. Take a few minutes, gas-bloated friends, and give the answers to these simple rock ‘n’ roll questions that the sinewy slick-backed iPodders can only guess at. For them, answers will be published next week.

As he was motoratin’ over the hill, who did he see?

What is it that Long Tall Sally’s got?

How you call your lover boy? And if he doesn’t answer? And if he still doesn’t answer?

What’ll be the day?

What ain’t there no cure for?

How many candles make a lovely sight?

Ain’t what a shame?

What does she do when she does the Ooby Dooby?

Who’s sorry now? Whose heart is aching for breaking each vow?

Who calls the English teacher Daddio?

Why did Little Susie fall asleep?

How black were the eyes of Felina?

You know he can be found where?

Who told Tchaikovsky the news?

They furnished off an apartment with a two-room Roebuck sale. With what did they cram the coolerator?

What can you do in lieu of stepping on my blue suede shoes?

What can stop the Duke of Earl?

Well, did he ever return?

If you want to know if he loves you so, is it in his eyes?

When do your heartaches begin?

Well bless my soul, what’s wrong with me?

Why do I walk the line?

What did he really want to send her? But what could he actually send her, with all that he had in his jeans at the time?

You load 16 tons, what do you get?

Where do fools rush in?

Whose barn? What barn?

What do Chantilly lace and a pretty face do?

Who is dancing to the Jailhouse Rock?

He never ever learned to read and write so well, but how does he play the guitar?

Oh, please, Diana, stay where?

Why is a party doll all he wants?

Who used to play around with hearts that hastened to his call?

Gotta be what kind of music, if you want to dance with me?

Journalist, author and educator Michael Grant has been putting his spin on San Diego, and the city putting its spin on him, since 1972. His Web site is at

Leave a comment

We expect all commenters to be constructive and civil. We reserve the right to delete comments without explanation. You are welcome to flag comments to us. You are welcome to submit an opinion piece for our editors to review.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.