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Recently, a friend mentioned that as a kid she watched Howdy Doody. When she laughed and sang the musical intro, "It's Howdy Doody time," I stunned myself by singing every word to the show's opening song. Where did that come from?
That night I reminisced about Howdy and some of my favorite characters: Clarabell the Clown, Chief Thunderthud, and Phineas T. Bluster. I was especially fond of the Indian Princess Summerfall Winterspring. But it also brought back a flood of different memories.
I was 9 and I wanted a television very badly. I occasionally was able to see Howdy at a friend's house. I watched jealously as each neighborhood house acquired an antenna on the roof. And after dark, their living rooms glowed blue. Even though the 10" round screens showed only black and white, they actually radiated a blue tone.
I was lucky not to be busted as a Peeping Tom. Many early winter evenings, I stood among the front bushes of the Bansemers' house down the street, peeking into their living room television. Mr. Bansemer sat with his pipe, his newspaper, and an eye on the TV news program. Their two children sat at his feet. Through their window I learned what real families did while waiting for their supper.
Week after week, month after month, I begged my mother. "When we can afford it, we will get one," she said. End of subject.
My mother, a single, working head of household, had an admirer. She thought he was a nice man but had no romantic interest in him. He bought a new television and with our landlady's help, had it installed in our living room, complete with roof antenna. I remember sitting on the floor, rapt in Howdy Doody when Mom came home from work that day.
When the landlady explained to my dumbfounded mother how it came to be, Mom hit the roof. I'd never seen her so mad. The next day she called the store and demanded they remove it. "The nerve of him. Who does he think he is?" she fumed. I had one wonderful evening in my dream world. Devastated, I didn't speak to my mother for days.
It was almost another year before Mom managed to buy us a television set. While Mom went to her second job, I spent many hours watching my treasured blue-glow friend. It opened a whole new world to me.
I vividly remember watching baseball with one camera coverage focused on the pitcher/catcher battery. When there was a hit, the camera raised to show the outfield. That was it. Compared to sports coverage today, it was positively primitive. But it was the Red Sox! In my living room! Queen Elizabeth also came into my living room in her full coronation regalia in June 1953. I was rhapsodized by everything royal.
My mother was off on Tuesday evenings. I was stunned that my Protestant mother adored Catholic Bishop Fulton J. Sheen's show, "Life is Worth Living." Bishop Sheen was mesmerizing, and used his piercing eyes to reach into my soul. He was practical, sincere, and very down-to-earth. The fact that he was on opposite Milton Berle, "Mr. Television," cut no ice with Mom. In fact, the bishop's ratings stood up mightily against Berle who quipped that the bishop had better writers - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
My exhausted mother often fell asleep in front of "the tube." Home at odd hours from her evening job, she unwound and relaxed with the TV. She took a cup of tea and the day's mail to the living room sofa. Many nights she lay snoring as the Star-Spangled Banner played at midnight, signing off the broadcast day. Hearing the national anthem from my bedroom down the hall, I'd get up and wake her. "I was just watching Lucy," she'd mumble. When I assured her that Lucy had gone to bed hours ago, she'd stumble to the bathroom and on to bed. The TV picture was all fuzzy noisy snow after 12:01A.M. on every channel. We had three - CBS, NBC, and DuPont.
Looking back, I remember the national concern over the "mindless wasteland" of early television. TV certainly affected the radio audience numbers and made large inroads into the movie industry. But it didn't take me away from my beloved Saturday afternoon flicks, and I still read myself to sleep every night with my constant companion, a library book.
Today computers and cell phones are the screens that claim the world's attention. The effects of tuning in to the mindless wasteland are an even greater concern.
Where did you go - my Howdy Doody, Gene Autry. and Dick Clark? Life was so much simpler then.
Marcy O'Brien can be reached at moby.32@hotmail.com.