Tramps Like Us, Baby We Were Born to … WHAT?!

Dion and the Belmonts convinced the guys and me that we could grow up to be "Wanderers."

When the guys and I were growing up Downriver back in the 1960s, none of us really had to think about what we were going to do when we grew up. Well, that’s not completely true. Some of us thought about being the next Bart Starr or Rocky Colavito, and one of us thought about being the next Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, but that was dream stuff. Year after year, what we were going to actually do was vaguely shaped by our favorite singers, at each stage of our lives.

As kids, Dion encouraged us to be Wanderers. Hey, what 12 year old guy couldn’t identify with a lifestyle that would let him “… roam from town to town, goin’ through life without a care … with my two fists of iron, and I’m goin’ nowhere …”

Yeah! We wanted to be Wanderers and roam around, around, around, around … 

Then, as teens, Bob Seger convinced us that we could be a “Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man” and his lyrics sounded like they were written with us guys in mind. “Ain’t good lookin’, but ya’ know I ain’t shy, ain’t afraid to look a girl in the eye …”

Well, maybe we couldn’t actually look a girl directly in the eye, but they knew we were lookin’ at ‘em! And it was the chorus that summed up the life we were going to lead anyway, “… Then I got to ramble, ramblin’ man; Lord I got to gamble, gamblin’ man …” 

As young men, just beginning to find our place in the world, Bruce Springsteen provided our theme song and the soundtrack to our restless years when he sang, “… Baby this town rips the bones from your back, it’s a death trap, a suicide rap … we gotta’ get out while we’re young, ‘cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run!”

Turns out, most of us really were born to run. Born to run a stamping press, or a hi-lo, or a cash register, or even a laptop computer; right in that town that threaten to “… rip the bones” from our collective backs. We also were born to give bike riding lessons and help with homework, and say “you’re right dear,” to our spouses – even when we have no idea what we’re wrong about. 

So where are Dion and Bob and Bruce now? I guess there’s no commercial appeal for songs about what we’ve actually become! Well, Neven, Joe, Fred, Larry, Mark – all the would-be Wanderers, Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Men – all the Downriver tramps like us – here’s at least one verse we can call our own …

"Baby this life rips the pay from our grasp,
It’s a debt trap, a suicide lap
We gotta’ hang on as long as we can,
‘Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to … pay the mortgage!"