Memories are Made of This…
Do you ever wonder why your memories of a
particular weekend at the beach are so different from those of your
friends? Well, now a study by researchers at the University of
California at Irvine has come up with a possible explanation. The power
of suggestion allows many of us to have vivid recollections about things
that never occurred.
Take, for example, the white paneled van
that so many witnesses to the sniper attacks in the Washington area last
fall reported seeing at the scenes. As it turned out, no such vehicle
was involved. But after news media quoted one person as having seen it,
dozens of “eyewitnesses” at later shootings also envisioned the van.
The California researchers decided to put the suggestibility theory to a
test, asking folks who had been to Disneyland if they enjoyed hugging
Bugs Bunny during their visit. More than a third of the interviewees
agreed that the rabbit hug was indeed a magic moment, despite the fact
that Bugs is not a Disney character and never appears at its theme
parks.
The researchers theorize that simple
suggestion is the reason some of us believe we have seen flying saucers
and others of us confess to crimes we didn’t commit. We apparently
have easily manipulated minds.
Sometimes this is a bad thing, such as
when political officeholders, in an attempt to advance misguided
agendas, try to implant falsehoods in our brains. Recent surveys
indicate that a large percentage of Americans are certain Iraq was
instrumental in the terrorist attacks of September 11, despite
overwhelming evidence to the contrary. But, if it helps mount public
support for war, the White House is quite content to let the
misinformation spread without rebuttal.
In other situations, false memories can
improve upon the real thing. Often our fake recollections are superior
to the truth. If you had taken a photograph of that “hot guy” you
boasted about going out with one sultry night last summer, you might now
be shocked by your poor judgment (or by how much you had to drink that
evening). Without a doubt, we can all be quite selective about what we
choose to remember. That’s why some of us return from a rainy weekend
at the beach claiming to have had a great time while others frown at the
drippy experience. Some of us fondly reminisce about a Saturday spent
dancing the night away at the Renegade; others only recall not having
hooked up with anyone. I say, more power to those of us who prefer to
press Pollyanna-like images into our memory books.
For the most part, the older memories
get, the better they become. A couple years after college graduation,
many of us still wake up nights worrying that we overslept an important
exam or that we are about to flunk chemistry. A few years later, we’re
telling younger people that “college is the best time of your life.”
As one who has seen the Rehoboth Beach
area inflate into an overly stretched balloon of urban-like sprawl (and
astonishingly pricey real estate) during the last two decades, I
remember the good old days most fondly. The passing of the Renegade, a
victim of the “new” Rehoboth economy, calls to mind those wonderful
years when the gay community could choose between two large dance clubs
(the Strand and Renegade), both of which flourished in peaceful
coexistence. (Or, could my memory be sketchy about the “coexistence”
part?)
Today, as I look at all the photos of
mature faces and receding hairlines that fill this publication’s
CAMPshots pages, I have a recollection of a time when clubs like the
Boathouse and Renegade were filled primarily with young people. Of
course, that was before the cost of lodging and real-estate turned
Rehoboth into South Hampton. I don’t believe this is a false memory,
as even longtime Renegade manager Wayne Hodge pointed out in last
month’s issue, “The 20-year-olds don’t have the money to come and
stay at the beach like they used to.” (It’s nice to have
verification of at least one of my memories.)
Yes, my reminiscences about Rehoboth seem
to focus mostly on a bygone era (the 1980s and 90s) when the community
had room (and affordable rooms) for people of all ages and economic
means. Now the Renegade has given way to yet another set of very
expensive town homes, just as the beautiful horse farm and the golf
course across the highway have disappeared to high-priced developments.
I recall that, as recently as the mid-1980s, one could buy a townhouse
near the Sports Complex for $75,000 or a detached cottage four blocks
from the beach for under $150,000. There was plenty of farmland along
Route One between Lewes and Rehoboth, and the drive between the two
towns made for a pleasant outing, rather than a daily nightmare of a
memory. For the price of a couple beers, we could spend countless
evenings on the breezy deck of the Rusty Rudder enjoying performances by
classic rock performers like Donovan, John Sebastian of the Lovin’
Spoonful, and Mitch Ryder. And I clearly evoke many splendid meals at
the Blue Moon and Back Porch, back when an entrée would set us back
about $10 a person. Well, maybe it was $15.
But that’s the great thing we’re
discovering about memories. They’re whatever we want them to be. And,
for those of you who have just moved to the beach, perhaps having
invested the better part of half-a-million on your vacation housing, and
now sit in traffic waiting to pay $40 for a petite portion of lamb at a
local bistro, welcome. For you, these will undoubtedly become the good
old days, quite fondly to be remembered.
Former
Rehoboth resident Bill Sievert, who now lives in Florida where he is the
editor of a national magazine for visual artists, hopes to return to
Rehoboth this year for a visit…if only he can remember his way back.
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