THERE'S GOLD IN YOUR ATTIC THE FORGOTTEN MAN IN DALLAS For those of us born immediately after the Second World War, the memorable landmarks of our life stand out vividly and we have a clear memory of all the wonderful, and not so wonderful, benchmarks that changed and shaped us. Perhaps that’s why we have such a penchant for collecting. Just take a look at the Antiques Road Show, either the British or American version, and you will see our generation proudly displaying the hidden treasures that we have cherished or recently found tucked neatly away in the bins of the antique shops or garage sales that we all like to frequent. Once you open the floodgates of your memory, a tidal wave of images comes rushing in and you are swept away to a place that is at once familiar and somehow happier.
Today we take TV’s for granted, of course. One TV – how about one in almost every room? No big deal. Even if your neighbor has a fifty-two inch screen, it’s still just a TV. Back in the early 50s, however, it was a big deal, and for a kid anxious to explore the world beyond his own block, this wonderful new invention was just the ticket. As the delivery men left our house, I began to survey the new piece of furniture, and it was that, a piece of furniture, standing almost as tall as I was, with a large, round glass surface, surrounded by polished wood and gleaming gold colored knobs and decorations. It was beautiful just by itself, and we hadn’t even turned it on! Our old console radio was also was set into a beautiful wooden case, surrounding the illuminated dial that, when turned slowly, brought the world into our living room. I can remember fondly sitting on my grandpa’s lap after dinner and listening to H. V. Keltenborn and his "Cruise for News" coming from the CBS studios in New York City. With his clipped delivery he was both entertaining and informative. So how could this new contraption be any better? I was about to find out.
The news programs could now actually take you to the scene; you were transported to the actual event and witnessed the action as it happened. With the entertainment shows we now saw the old west and knew exactly how the Lone Ranger and Tonto looked, and when his horse, Silver, reared up and the cry went out, "Hi Ho Silver," we were ready to ride with him into new adventures every week. When Buffalo Bob would ask, "Say kids; what time is it?" we knew our old friends Howdy Doody, Dilly Dalley, Mr. Bluster, and the rest of the gang would be singing and telling stories, and we all were there in the Peanut Gallery. Captain Video would soar into space, throughout the galaxy, and we would hold on as the thrusters forced us into our chairs.
I also remember the events that began to shape my life. In 1954, the Army-McCarthy hearings began, and I was, for some reason, transfixed by them. I just remember sitting on the floor, getting as close as I could to the set, and watching them without moving. As a kid I somehow sensed that Senator McCarthy was bogus, that something wasn’t right, that this was real drama, not made up, but real.
As the 1950s yielded to the 1960s, and as I entered the teenage years, I, along with television, began to change. We were both growing up. Howdy Doody gave way to Dick Clark and the American Bandstand and the news became clearer and crisper as the old black and white picture turned into ‘living color’. The shows became a bit more sophisticated and the production quality was, even to a teenager, much advanced from the early days, literally only a decade in the past. The 60s shows focused on the Western, Cheyenne, Have Gun Will Travel, Colt 45, Sugarfoot, Maverick, Gunsmoke and, of course, Bonanza. Who could forget the Cartwrights? Even the evening news programs had anchors that we came to know and trust to provide us with the news. There was everybody’s old friend, Walter Cronkite. Somehow you knew he was being honest with you. With the 1960 Presidential election, television became a driving force in the making of a President. We got to know a young Richard Nixon, from the Eisenhower administration, through early-televised Senate hearings. Vice-President Richard Nixon was running against a young and vibrant John F. Kennedy, someone that I could identify with. Although I was void of any political leanings, Kennedy appealed to my generation. He was young and vital. It was television that enhanced his appeal and made him into an instant media star, probably the first political media personality. He just seemed to fit the times. On one of JFK’s visits to my hometown, Columbus, Ohio, I had the opportunity to see him in person. He would speak at the State House, located directly across the street from my father’s business in the downtown. I made sure I was there early and took a choice position close to the speaker’s platform. In early 1960s America, security was not what it is, and has to be, today. Here was this teenager, literally feet from the Presidential candidate. He arrived in an impressive motorcade and made his way to the stage with the Governor of the state. I was struck with his appearance. With his suntan and being so well barbered, he impressed me as I’d never been impressed before. From that rally, I began to follow every step of the campaign on TV, culminating in the Presidential debate, the first one ever to be televised, with Nixon. It was clear to this kid that Kennedy would be the next President of the United States, and it was television that made the difference.
As the months passed, television began to take on new dimensions of in-depth reporting and it was exciting for a young high school student to witness, almost first-hand, through the medium of TV, the world events that we were studying. We passed the Cuban Missile Crisis together as a country, at the time not fully understanding the gravity of the situation, and followed our First Family as a son was added. Then, as the autumn colors were giving way to the gray skies of winter, in November of 1963, television would take on yet even more importance and significance than ever before.
Finally there was a suspect, Lee Harvey Oswald, and he was to be tried for the murder of both the President and the police officer. On Sunday morning I had the unusual privilege of eating my breakfast in front of the television. Usually forbidden, that day it was acceptable. As Dad left the house he noticed that Oswald was to be moved and turned to me and said, "Somebody is going to kill that fellow." Just a few minutes later, Jack Ruby, on live TV, fulfilled my dad’s prediction. It would be non-stop television for the next week.
From then, until now, rumors have flown, as gossamer in the summer winds. Some seem valid, some crazy, all focused on the three main players in the drama. But as the colors of autumn fade and the leaves fall into crisp piles and as I begin to think about pumpkin pies, I pause every year and remember that cold day in November and the forgotten man in Dallas. This year, on the forty-sixth anniversary of that tragic event, pay your respects to President Kennedy, but also tip your hat to Officer Tippit. Until the next time, remember, THERE’S GOLD IN YOUR ATTIC, have fun, and happy hunting! If you have enjoyed this column throughout the years, they have all been compiled in the 2007 book, THERE’S GOLD IN YOUR ATTIC, A Collector’s Memoirs. Signed copies are available from the author. Visit Michael’s website www.intriguedbyhistory.com
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As
the 1940s gave way to a new decade, the memorable events that would
forever change our world began arriving at breakneck speed. Taking a ride
back in time, the first major impact on my world came as the delivery
truck arrived at our home on that late summer’s morning and the men,
neatly attired in uniforms, carefully carried our first television from
the truck, up a few steps to the walk leading to our front porch, up
another set of steps and through our front door. They took time to remove
the packing blankets nestled around the beautiful wooden case and then
placed it in the corner of the living room where everyone seated could see
it. That TV set was news. It was big news throughout the neighborhood that
we had a television set and it didn’t take too long for the neighbors to
begin stopping by to take a look. It was an event unto itself. Imagine!
It
didn’t take too long to discover that the television was indeed the
future as it began to unlock and illuminate the world. Radio remained the
food for your imagination, just close your eyes and let your imagination
take you away, take you to places that you only dreamed of. If you were
listening to The Lone Ranger you pictured the old west, with the
tumbleweed and the vistas that were endless. If the show was a drama, the
radio sound effects would trigger the imagination in such a way that you
felt you were in the old mansion, with the creaking doors and floors. It
was a wonderful exercise and one worth repeating, even today. Television,
however, was clear; you saw the images completely unvarnished, just as
they appeared on early TV. Oh, and when you changed the channels, all
three of them, it required that you would move from your chair, place your
hand on the channel knob and physically rotate it. You even had to get up
to adjust the volume and turn the set off and on. It’s difficult to
imagine in this day of remote everything.
One
of the direct offshoots to these early programs, and for budding
collectors an absolute boon, was the various premiums that were offered
from the shows and their sponsors. From the Howdy Doody show there were
dozens of offers; Ludens cough drops offered a Howdy Doody magic kit for
four box tops and a dime. I still look at mine everyday. Yes, I still have
it and remember with great pride performing magic for the family, and yes,
I continue to enjoy a wild cherry cough drop now and then, as well. Blue
Bonnet Margarine offered a complete Howdy Doody television set, with TV
cameras, stage, characters and even the Peanut Gallery. Of course the
chore was to encourage mom to buy the margarine and save the box tops.
There were secret rings from Captain Marvel, as well as Ovalteen mugs for
that not too pleasant chocolate drink. I even own one square inch of land
in Alaska from Sgt. Preston of the Yukon.
Television
was the instrument that began mass marketing, resulting in some of the
collectibles that we all cherish today. It provided us with a tactile
association with our heroes and our friends, for that is yet another way
television touched our lives. We felt connected to the people that somehow
appeared in that tiny round globe. Perhaps that hasn’t changed.
I
loved the early talk shows as well. Mike Wallace Interviews was
always intense, with his chain smoking and black backdrop; you always felt
the people being interviewed were on the ‘hot seat’. There was Edward
R. Murrow with his two shows, See It Now and Person to
Person; one would enlighten, one would entertain, both were
wonderful. You even had the first attempt at docudramas. My favorite was You
Are There with Walter Cronkite as the host. The show recreated
historical events as though the television camera would have been
available. One week you were witness to the assassination of Julius
Caesar. The next week you witnessed the assassination of President
Lincoln. It made history entertaining and, to this day, I believe that my
love of history was nurtured by this early program.
Then
on that cold winter’s day in Washington DC, John Kennedy stood on the
steps of the Capital Building and offered the words that would illuminate
a generation, my generation; "Ask not what your country can do for
you. Ask what you can do for your country." It was a day filled with
the sights and sounds that one never forgets; all captured by the
television cameras – indelible images. There was the old guard,
President Eisenhower, our grandfatherly President passing the mantel on to
a younger generation. There was Robert Frost, America’s poet laureate,
reading one of his works. There were the honor guards, with cannons firing
salutes, replete in their dress uniforms. All these images were captured
on the television screen in our living room. Somehow the television, much
more than the radio, seemed to bring the family together, sharing the
event, almost living the event.
The
week before Thanksgiving, I made my way to school on a brisk Thursday
morning and began my routine of classes. Just after lunch I was scheduled
for speech class. It was held in a room that contained a broadcasting
booth, with radios, tape recorders, microphones and a small stage. We were
all prepared to present a monologue and, as usual, one of the students was
monitoring the radio behind closed doors. Just a few minutes into the
class the radio monitor broke in and exclaimed that President Kennedy had
been shot. Without thinking I blurted out, "That’s not funny,"
whereby he fed the national news broadcast over the intercom within the
classroom and we discovered that indeed it was not a joke. Televisions
were not common in every classroom in 1963, only a couple of rooms had
them, so we were taken as a class downstairs and into a classroom that had
already turned the set on. I remember standing in the doorway not fully
grasping the totality of the event, wondering, can this be real? Within
the hour everyone was dismissed from school and we began to file out of
the building, everyone in stunned silence. All the way home I pondered
what had happened. This wasn’t You Are There. This was
indeed real.
As
I arrived home, our set was on and there were reports coming fast and
furious. I remember the familiar face of Walter Cronkite, tugging at his
thick horn-rimmed spectacles, as he told the nation that the President was
dead, choking up, almost unable to speak. No one in the house spoke. We
just sat, watching and listening. They were looking for a young man
believed to be a worker in one of the buildings on the motorcade. Then we
were told that a police officer had been shot and killed, Officer J.D.
Tippit. What was happening? It seemed that the world was coming apart.
There would be no school on Friday and almost constantly throughout the
weekend the television was on, unprecedented programming late into the
night and beginning early in the morning.
Everything
associated with the assassination, through the state funeral, dominated
the airways and took precedence over everything else. I kept wondering,
however, who was the police officer? He simply faded into the background.
Oh, there was the sad photo of his widow and children, but not much else
was reported; who was he, how old was he, how long had he been a police
officer? There were more important players on the scene; Oswald, a
malcontent with a history of trouble, and Ruby, some sort of strip-club
owner on the fringes of the underworld in Dallas, and, of course, the
fallen leader, the man we had pinned our hopes on with dreams of the
future.
