Through HAIR, I learned that there was such a thing as Broadway. By 1969, covers of the songs had invaded the airways via The Cowsills, The Fifth Dimension and Three Dog Night, but somehow the show’s original cast album also made its way into our home. It was a departure from my steady diet of radio Motown and I played it to death, lip-synching behind closed doors to the title tune, Where Do I Go (yes, I felt societal alienation even at the age of 11) and White Boys—fill in the blanks. I was mesmerized by this world of hippies who ranted and rhapsodized about war, sodomy (I thought it was someone’s name until I looked it up) and the Age of Aquarius. I’ll be in line when HAIR’s revival opens this spring on Broadway; I’ll also drink a toast of thanks to its creator and original director, Tom O’Horgan, for opening up my prepubescent head all those years ago. RIP.