One wonders at just exactly what kind of reunion took place when Jacksonville, Fla. gym teacher Leonard Skinner arrived at the Pearly Gates and met there at least one of his former students.
Skinner earned his place in rock and roll history when he sent Robert E. Lee High School student Gary Rossington to the principal's office for his refusal to cut his long hair in the mid-1960s. Although Rossington was far from the only boy so chastised, he and some similarly harassed friends were among those who would form a band that, in 1970, they named Lynyrd Skynyrd in mocking recognition of their former teacher. Skynyrd is known as one of the originators of a combination of blues, rock, soul and more than a little country boogie that's often called "southern rock," and created the classic rock radio staples "Sweet Home Alabama," "Gimme Three Steps," "Saturday Night Special," "That Smell" and a few others. One of them is, of course, the epic "Free Bird," the live version of which features a crowd responding to Van Zant's question -- the title of this post -- with one voice as they all shout, "'Free Bird!'"
As often happens as people age, the dispute between Skinner and his former students mellowed. He introduced one of the later versions of the band at a Jacksonville concert and made certain to use his name prominently on bars he owned after he quit teaching. The Augusta Chronicle story points out that the original hair policy which Skinner enforced banned hair that touched shirt collars. Heaven only knows what he would have had to have done if the mid-70s version of the band, with shoulder-length hair and chest-length beards, had appeared in his class. He first learned of the connection when his son -- also named Leonard Skinner -- was playing one of the band's albums, and a relative heard them explain their name during a radio show. The elder Skinner didn't much like the album and actually never cared much for rock and roll music at all, apparently.
The thing that strikes me as a little interesting is that Skinner was born in 1933. He was barely 30 years old when he was attempting to correct Rossington and his classmates' sartorial deficiencies, even though they probably thought of him as some kind of ancient, out-of-touch relic. Had Ronnie Van Zant not died in a 1977 plane crash, he would be 62 and probably finding a lot more in common with his former teacher than differences.
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