Jeans were flared, hair was long, and Grand Funk Railroad was coming to town to help you party it down when I was growing up in a Florida house in the 1970s. A Florida house was a one-story 3 BR, 2 BA with a carport, louvered windows, sliding glass doors and terrazzo. Our town then was largely undeveloped, with sparse suburbs on the edge of deep wilderness, remote beaches, and a Millionaires Row. The kids were wild, and very high. It was a weird, charming-in-retrospect, dangerous little world, now long gone by.