My cousin, Pris, reminded me of the radio shows we grew up on, and I've been in a reminiscent haze all day. To get myself in the mood, I listened to the Stan Freberg Show called "Orville Arrives from the Moon". It's the one that made catch phrases of "Turn off the bubble machine!" and "Gee, Dad; it was a Wurlitzer!"
I liked "Bobby Baker of the B-Bar-B", "Big John & Sparky" and "Tom Corbett, Space Cadet". This was probably coincident with my crush on Sunny Jim, the Seattle peanut butter company trademark. Staying home with the measles, mumps, chicken pox meant getting to listen to "Don McNeil's Breakfast Club" that came, I think from Chicago. The weirdest part of that show was when they all got up to "march around the breakfast tables!"
But best of all were the grown-up shows, often listened to in bed with the covers pulled way up and the volume way down: "The Green Hornet", "The Whistler", "Let George Do It" and "The Shadow". "X-Minus One", with it's sci-fi stories, alternately creeped me out and thrilled me. A geek is born.
My radio was a brown metal affair that boasted a spectacular antenna. I clipped the lead right to my bedsprings, which were conveniently unobscured by padding and fabric. If there was a signal out there, I could pick it up!
TV, which had to be watched communally, lacked both the intimacy of radio and the personal control. As the youngest and least assertive viewer, I tended to watch what someone else chose. Still do . . . But radio hasn't disappointed me; it's still there, and still has worthy shows. Fewer? Perhaps, or maybe I just haven't found them yet. And don't get me started on podcasts. . . Wow, what a goldmine!
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