The Twilight Zone-When Television Did Not Exist

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In the past I have told some stories that were on the brink of unbelievable. Okay, maybe one or two fell off the brink. But I am now going to share a story that is completely true. And I really mean it this time! Are you ready? I actually lived in a time when there was no such thing as…television.

Back in the 40′s and 50′s we did not have television! Yes, it’s true! Not only did we not have a television, we didn’t even know there was something called television. This was a product still in its infancy. The only electronic device we knew and owned was called radio. In the evening that was our total entertainment. And, believe it or not, our radio entertainment was not necessarily music. No siree bob! We listened to  soap operas, detective shows, sitcoms, and mysteries.

Back then we watched the radio. Yes, you heard me right. We literally watched the radio. While the dialogue was being heard over the crackling and sometimes weak broadcast signal…we stared at the radio. I know, we could have enjoyed the program just as well watching our fingernails grow, but for reasons not divulged, the best excuse being no one had an answer, we stared at where the voices were coming from. Yes, my mother would look at her knitting while listening, but us kids knew that was total stupidity and ignored her.

My parents did listen to the national and local news, and music on occasion. But our family enjoyment was  Amos and Andy, Jack Benny and Rodchester, The Shadow, The Lone Ranger, Fibber McGee and Molly…the list went on and on. And there we were, our entire family huddled in a tight circle around this radio that was just a little smaller than a refrigerator.

I know it does seem strange a person could actually enjoy such programming without seeing the action, but we had a great substitute. Back then it was called….our imagination. Try to look at it this way.To those who have read and became totally engrossed in a good fiction novel, the more pages you turned, didn’t you picture in your mind’s eye the settings of the story, and each of the characters began taking on flesh, usually being someone you’re familiar with? Of course you did. I’ve did it countless times. It was the same watching radio. My mind’s eye was the television screen.

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. “The movie wasn’t near as good as the book.” And the reason why? The film version disappointed what was imagined in your mind when you read the book.

The invention of television invaded our mind’s imagination. It really did. It now actually tries to think for us. Through canned laughter and other fictitious audience sounds  it attempts to tell the viewer what is supposedly funny, sad, or any other human emotion. I’m sorry. That’s an insult to my intelligence.

Our Uncle Joe was the first person I knew to purchase this new-fangeld thing called television. Every Saturday night our whole family would load up in the car and drive twenty plus mile to his home to watch Saturday Night Wrestling on a small and grainy grey and white picture. And it was the highlight of our week. Finally we purchased our own television. A state-of-the-art 14 inch beauty. As far as I was concerned, we had died and gone to heaven!

At that time television went off the air at around midnight. It would end with a voice saying, “This is the end of today’s broadcast. We hope you will join us again tomorrow morning. Goodnight.” Then would come the playing of the national anthem while the flag waved and fighter jets roared across the grey and white screen. And then came the stationary picture of “the test tube.” This somewhat looked like a target, with the bust of an Indian chief in the middle. It was a still photo that did nothing but look back at me until programming returned sometime the next morning. And when we first had our new television, and when not on a school night …I would stare at that Indian chief for an hour or more, listening to nothing but the snowy sounds of the audio static. God’s honest truth!  As is today, television mesmerized me.

Then came color television. In the beginning only a few programs were broadcast in color. And they would flaunt their opening introduction with a cartoonish peacock spreading a colored tail, and the announcer proudly saying, “This program is coming to you in living color!” Yeah right! The first color televisions had all the color clarity of a child’s water coloring, blotched and blurred. And there were other problems.

Because the color had a tendency to slide off to the bottom of the television screen, leaving behind a black and white picture, part of the purchaser’s package was a magnet that one put close to the television screen and slid across it, smearing the color back to its original locations. God’s honest truth! But blurry and unrealistic or not, we marveled at this scientific breakthrough. If one couldn’t afford a color television, which was quite spendy in its day, there was an alternative option. You could buy a plastic sheet that clung to the television screen. This transparent plastic had rows of different colors. Who cared that they didn’t have anything to do with the moving scenery and characters behind it…It was color on the television screen! If I’m liein, I’m diein!

The first televisions had a rabbit eared antennae.  The roof mounted models came later. But the human mind is an ingenious object. We found if we hung wads of tinfoil on the ears of the antennae we got better reception. In some cases of severe bad reception we took turns holding the antennae which also seemed to add to picture quality, which, by today’s standards, wasn’t saying much. At best, most programs were like watching a picture through falling snow flakes, with a few zig-zag distortions thrown in from time to time. Adding to the problem, anything electrical being operated in the house, or maybe even the next door neighbor’s house could send the picture into conniptions. Some cars and trucks driving by outside could have the same effect. But this was all just something one lived with. Hey, it was the best technology we knew at the time!

Next true story….The Beginning Of Video Games!

Shut Up And Pass The Kleenex!

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In our family room there are two recliners across the room from one another, both facing our big screen television on the wall. One is my wife’s, the other mine. On this particular evening we were watching a Hallmark movie. My wife looked across at me with her arrogantly smug grin.

“Sniff, snort, sniff!” I replied as I ran a sleeve across my nose and eyes. “Just shut up and pass the Kleenex.”

Okay, I admit it. I’m the crier in the family! Give me a sad movie and my reaction is always the same. It’s either one that at least brings tears to my eyes, or, if a real tear-jerker, a lower lip and chin that begins quivering. What’s sorry about the whole unmanly reaction is it doesn’t have to be a movie. It can even be a certain song, usually a spiritual. Or it can be someone I care about who begins crying. Just walking into the church we attend can bring a lump to my throat. What’s that about? I mean, please, give me a break!

To me Field Of Dreams is one of several movies at the top of my tear-jerking list. I have seen that movie no less than ten times, and know the ending by heart, but the moment Kevin Cosner says, “Dad, you want to have a catch?” immediately the water works turn on. Every time!

The first time I saw that movie was in a theater with my wife. What made that movie so great was there were so many surprising twists to it. Just about the time I thought I had it figured out, I would be pulled in another direction. I remember starting a chain reaction in the theater. When the words were said, “if you build it, he will come,” and then it shows the young catcher behind the plate, that was when I first realized who the young man  was and why the  ball park was built. I whispered to my wife as I immediately began tearing up, “My Lord, that’s his dad!” The woman seated behind me said, “No!” and immediately began sobbing. Then I heard another woman say, “That’s his father?” and she began bawling. And when Kevin said that classic line, “Dad, you want to have a catch?” that was it. I lost it!

On YouTube there’s a song called “He’s Alive” sang by Dolly Pardon performed at a CMA Awards that tares me up every time I watch it. Another little-known movie that’s on YouTube called “Dinner With A Perfect Stranger” has an ending that really chokes me up.

Many years back there was a movie called “Brian’s Song.” I drank a gallon of water to replace the body water lost to tears from that one. I can even remember tearing up in a supermarket when the theme song to the movie played over the intercom. The old TV show, Little House On The Prairie drained my tear ducts more times than I care to recollect. Anyway, the list goes on and on.

One satisfying note is I passed that gene down to my oldest son. He’s a crier too.

My Observations On Jogging

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Now that I’m retired I have an abundant amount of time to study nature. Well, actually, I have an abundant amount of time to do whatever I damn well please. But that’s beside the point. Contradicting my wife’s thoughts on the matter, I am a somewhat normal human being, making humans my favorite study group. And I find  my patio to be an excellent observation point.

While sipping my morning’s coffee I enjoy waving to those driving off to work, in my own way thanking them for continuing to support our nation’s Social Security program, and, indirectly, my monthly paycheck. In response to my friendly wave, they are more than happy to give me their one-fingered wave in return. And though they may throw out the window a colorful adjective or two, I know deep down their thoughts are well meaning.

Depending on the time of the day of my observations, the beverage I’m holding may vary. In the early morning it’s coffee. When the clock strikes whatever o’clock, then it changes. It’s then I enjoy watching the joggers. I have never boasted to having did it, and I have never said I would one day try it. It has not even came close to finding the most bottom wrung on my “Bucket List.” I am not, nor ever will be…a jogger. Jogger is just a  modern-day term for someone who runs. In my past I can remember running, but it was out of necessity. I have ran in sports. I ran from a pervert who intended to do whatever he thought was entertaining to my body. I ran from a game warden when I was caught fishing out of season. I even remember running from my father when my ass was his target for something I did wrong. But to run…just to run…the thought of doing such a ridiculous thing never crossed my mind.

Observing runners is quite interesting. There is one woman who waddles past my home each morning, who I would guess to be in her 60′s. She does a shuttle-type walk while at the same time pumping her fists as if sparring with Mohammad Ali. I’ve watched her for some time now. One would believe that over time the exercise would give her added resilience. It doesn’t. She still looks as if she is on the ragged edge of pulmonary heart failure each time she passes. It can actually be torture to watch.

Then there is this man who almost always makes my day. When I say always, I’m talking about when a good breeze is blowing against the direction he is running. As best I can figure out, he is bald except on the sides and back. Having let his hair in back grow long, he combs it forward over the bald area, then sprays the bejesus out of it with hair spray. So when running against the wind, it raises like a shingle on a roof, flapping up in the air, then dropping back in place when the winds subsides. It can some times be the highlight of my day. If it was the appropriate thing to do, I would give the man a standing ovation as he passes.

Then I have this one gentleman who runs by looking as if  the Grim Reaper is right behind him. He always wears white; a white headband, a white t-shirt, white shorts, white socks and white running shoes. Because my picture of Heaven depicts everyone there wearing white, then if this man were to die, all he would need would be a halo. The rest of his attire was already taken care of. Anyway, I have no idea where he begins his run, but judging by the way he trudges by my patio he looks as if it began somewhere in Death Valley and hasn’t had a drop of water since. His face is red, his legs are red, his arms are red, his mouth is hanging open, gasping for oxygen in such quantities that I think maybe I should grab a bunch and take it in the house for myself until he passes.

Some joggers I see bring their dogs with them. Now, as far as I’m concerned, those are the really smart joggers. Think about it. Dogs want to crap, pee, or sniff every object above ground level, giving the perfect excuse to stop for a breather. If I didn’t own a dog, I’d borrow one.

Though I will not admit it to others, I find ways of justifying my life void of exercise. I have even thought of cutting out and framing newspaper clippings of famous athletic people who died at a young age, the young age being any age younger than myself. Though I did finally quit smoking, I have set my limits! I am determined to hang on to a sin or two..or three…or. First of all, I perceive alcohol as being a great preservative of the vital organs.  And being a back yard mechanic, I know that the more a engine part is worked, the faster it wears out. So I choose to put the same principle to use concerning the human heart. Sush, sush, shush! I don’t care to hear your personal theory. You can be put those feelings in your own blog. This one is mine!

I am now 67 years old. In my life I had my appendix taken out at 17,  and other than having a Melanoma surgically removed at 65, I have never seen the inside of a hospital. I take a pill for an inactive thyroid, one for moderately high blood pressure, and one for moderately high cholesterol, and a daily 81 mg aspirin. And I still eat anything I damn well please, and a One-A-Day vitamin if I happen to remember. A balanced meal is making certain my meat on one side of the plate doesn’t weigh more than the potatoes on the other side. So when my wife gives me grief about exercising I always say the same thing.  I don’t care to hear how much longer I might live if I exercised. What I do want to hear is that I lived life doing what I damned well pleased, and certainly didn’t die from tripping on my own tongue while running. And if I could get her to sniff and pee on a bush or two I might think about joining her on her walks.

The Question Many Grandfathers Are Not Ready To Hear

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When I bolted to attention I startled my wife out of a dead sleep “What’s wrong?” she asked.

I took a couple heaving breaths before realizing it was all a terrible nightmare. I then forced a smile. “Just a stupid dream,” I replied. “Go back to sleep.”

But as I laid there with my eyes wide open, I knew my nightmare would someday come to pass. It was inevitable!

“When are you going to take the grandchildren fishing?” Dear God Almighty, I had already gone through that mind-altering frustration with my own children. If you want to know all the gruesome details just read my article published in Reader’s Digest many years back. It basically tells the whole pathetic story. Now this horrible episode in my life is coming back to haunt me. Where is their father? I certainly didn’t go crying to my dad to take my kids fishing. I did it. But, unfortunately, my son-in-law knows as much about fishing as I do Astrophysics. I knew there was something I didn’t like about him!

Bless their hearts, I know there are grandfathers out there that are more that happy to take their grandkids fishing, or any other amusement for that matter. But, obviously, that is their form of enjoyment. “That’s okay, Johnny, when we get home the doctor will have that hook surgically removed from my ear in no time at all. Here, let me put another hook on, and see what other locations on my body you can embed it.” Sorry, I don’t have that kind of patients. Bring them back when they’re somewhere in their early teens. Now I have something to work with. Before ten years of age, I might as well give the instructions to my outboard motor. The only words they seem to react to are those that conveniently fit into their wants and needs. Take the words, “I want,” or “I need,” out of their vocabulary, and they have no idea how to put a sentence together.

Judging from the observations gathered while in our home, my twin grandchildren have the attention span and patients of a household flea. That, in itself, does not leave a whole lot of promise when placing them in the confinements of a 12 ft boat out in the middle of a lake. If there is one thing I have learned from my own children, it is the actual act of catching fish means very little. Casting, or the attempt to do so, is far more entertaining. Because they are slinging about their persons, not to mention mine, a sharp hook which has a barb thats function is to not be dislodged easily, one can understand the problems that can occur.

So now picture this. I am a 67 year old man, who has a limited amount of years remaining on this earth, volunteering my precious time to allow my grandchildren an opportunity to kill me! This could be accomplished through either a heart attack brought on by the frustrations of their asinine behavior, or possibly bleeding to death from a hook-injected wound, or falling overboard, or any combination of the above. And then there is the chance one of them could fall overboard. I know when they get in my boat in the garage, it turns into their own personal race track slash trampoline. I have only two exposed wires in my boat. One runs to the depth finder in the front, and other to the depth finder in the rear. They managed to uproot both within minutes.

So I guess all I can do is look at the positives that may come out of my torture. If my father would not have taken me fishing, where the hell would I be now? I certainly wouldn’t have made a fair amount of money selling Outdoor Humor articles, not to mention love fishing so. And, who knows, after a few trips out with the grandkids I may come up with a couple great articles to sell to Mental Health Weekly.

All I asked is just give me a couple more years before these little urchins are turned loose in my boat, or I get their father interested in fishing, which ever comes first….Hopefully, it will be the latter, though I seriously doubt it.

A Testimony Dedicated To The Meaning Of Easter

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I have always said, there are two topics I will never bring up at a get-together with others. Politics and religion. And that promise holds true with my blog. But, with Easter approaching, I am going to make this one and only acception. If someone is offended, I’m sorry. For that reason, let me attempt to put this post in perspective. If you were to receive the most wonderful gift you have ever gotten, would you  not show it to everyone you know? Of course you would. Well, I’m going to show my readers the most wonderful gift I have ever received.

I accepted Jesus Christ into my life back in my late twenty’s. I am now 67. And I will be the first to admit, it’s been an up and down relationship. I had one wife who I loved beyond comprehension die of cancer at the age of 45. Without going into details, I went off the moral deep end, adding mid-life crisis may have been a factor.  But that is not to say I did not believe in the existence of a loving God. But during this time I simply lost perspective. And I say this beyond the spectrum of blind faith. Many years before her death I had an experience that will live with me forever.

I had gone to bed. My wife decided to stay up and knit for a while. Laying on my back in bed alone, I began my nightly prayer. (Some people believe the correct way to pray is on the knees, but all I can say is, sorry.) Anyway, I was not praying for anything out of the ordinary; just my wife and children, and myself, of course, and anything else that came to mind. Bottom line, nothing that was going to shake the spiritual world. And I certainly wasn’t praying for some sort of sign to bolster my faith. I was doing quite well at the time. But in the midst of praying I suddenly became aware of a presence to the right side of my bed.

How I knew somebody was there, I don’t have the slightest. All I know is I stopped my prayer and turned my head in that direction. The room was dark, with the wall barely visible. But there was a presents there so real it was as if it was on the very edge of being visible. Without even thinking it, I said, “Is that you, Lord?” The moment I said that, the presents rose and slowly came to a location which was right over the top of me, maybe four feet above. How do I know that? Don’t ask me. All I know is I followed it with my eyes all the way to its above-me location.

Once there, a tingling sensation began in the center of my stomach and slowly spread through my body. It was the most wonderful sensation I had ever felt. When finished I remember this unbelievable feeling filling my body so completely that I felt it in the tips of my ears, the tips of my toes and tips of my fingers. All the time my mind was racing. What was going on? Am about to die? Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to ever end. And then He spoke, His words totally overriding what I was thinking at the moment. Just like His visibility, His words were so real it was as if they were on the very edge of physically being heard. There was no doubt they were unmistakably clear.

What He said was not an earth-shattering message. They were three simple and very short sentences that any Sunday School child could understand. “You are my child.” “I love you.” I will never leave you.”

When He spoke these words, they came from Him like water coming out of a shower head, falling around and through me. How do I know? Just like the rest, I could almost see the words coming like water in these three short waves. With each wave my body seemed to lift to receive them. And the most amazing aspect of this experience was when the words passed through me. For that instant I understood those words to their ultimate meaning. They weren’t just words. Each word was alive, a living and breathing part of Him. Needless to say, the word “love” is the one word that stood out. When the word “love” passed through me, for that instant I knew “God love.”

We believe we know the feeling of love. We love our parents, our spouses, and, above all, our children. But I don’t care how deep one’s love might be, I can say without a doubt our love compared to God’s love for us is like a cup of water tossed into a lake. No exaggeration!

The whole experience lasted maybe five minutes. To be honest, I don’t have the slightest. But within a half minute of the last sentence being spoken, I could sense His presents beginning to fade. And in the same way, the wondrous feeling in my body faded. And then it was over, leaving me laying there in the darkness in absolute and total awe.

Why He chose to do what He did, I don’t know. Maybe he knew what was going to happen to my wife, and what my reaction would be. I know after her death my change in life style was certainly enough for Him to leave me. But He promised me he wouldn’t. And, guess what, He didn’t.

Or maybe this message is for someone one out there in WordPress land. If one believes themselves, or someone they know is a lost cause, just try to believe in the depths of God’s love, patients, and forgiveness. It is so much more than what our mortal minds can comprehend. After all, He loved you so much He actually went through the mind-boggling torture of being nailed to a cross. For an instant I was given the privileged of knowing the depths of that love. All I know, with Easter coming up, I did what I promised I would do. May your life and yours be well….