Fifty years ago, I woke up on Saturday morning, early.
As usual, I crept out of bed, and into the living-room. The oil heater blazed, adding the only warmth to the apartment. The sun was not yet out. It was a cold, November morning. (It would get colder, still.) From my parents' bedroom ( directly off the kitchen), I could hear Dad's Saturday morning snores. (He would rise late, as usual, after his Friday night "at the Club". Then, he'd take a quick shower and be off to one of his three jobs. Weekends were spent at the gas station in South Gardner. Sometimes back to Winchendon, and the furniture factory. We would see him later, after the sun went down and his "real weekend" began.)
Mom and my siblings were also asleep. I wasn't allowed to so much as pour a bowl of cereal until an adult got up. Already dressed in jeans, sneakers and a red-striped turtleneck, I scavenged last night's bowl of popcorn, still on the coffee table in front of the t.v. (Friday nights, Mom would pop corn and allow us each a can of soda--a big treat. My favorite was root-beer.) Sometimes, there would be an inch or two of cold kernels, stuck at the bottom of the bowl. This Saturday, no such luck: unpopped corn and grease were the only remainders. I'd have to wait till Mom woke up to appease the rumbling in my stomach.
Moving carefully, so as to not make any noise, I slid over to the black and white television. I turned the dial and waited for the slow warm-up. It took several seconds for the picture to begin flickering and the sound to catch up.(In those days, the cabinet--fake rosewood--dwarfed the actual screen.) All the controls for sharpness, brightness, volume and channel selection were along the bottom panel.
Only four stations could be relied on to "come in" regularly: channels four, five, seven and the "educational channel", channel 2, out of Boston. (Occasionally, if the weather was right, we'd get Channel 13, broadcasting up in Maine or Vermont, somewhere. They played very old movies--mostly monsters or gangsters--off-limits if there were no adults around. Of course, the ONLY time we got to watch was when there were no adults to see what we had tuned in...) The "rabbit ears" on the back of the set were auxiliary antennae. They had to be manually "adjusted" if there was any hope of bringing in Channel 13. I reached around the cabinet and pushed the "ears" to the left.
News!
(News, on "Channel 13"!)
No "King Kong"; no "Wolfman"; no "Godzilla"!
(Up early, on Saturday morning, meant I got to choose the first set of Saturday cartoons...strong incentive for a night-owl like me...but this Saturday, I was being cheated!)
I adjusted the rabbit ears again. Forget Channel 13 ...back to regular "Looney Tunes" or "Woody Woodpecker".
Again: news!
No "Major Mudd", no "Rex Trailer", not even a re-run of "Romper Room"!
Every station was the same: talking heads. Flickering black and white footage of a long parade of motorcars and police and crying people. Then, back to the newscasters. (Even some of them were crying.)
"You aren't going to get any cartoons today, Kiddo," my Father stood in the doorway, pulling on a woolen jacket.
"How come?!" I demanded, startled at his sudden appearance.
"It's gonna be like this all day--get used to it, Kid," Dad jangled his car-keys.
"Why?" I didn't even glance over as he opened the front door. Hastily, I clicked the dial from station to station--praying he was wrong.
"Hey! Don't be so impatient--you'll break the knob and then there will be NO t.v. !" Dad stopped his morning retreat.
He came back into the living-room, watching the ghost images on the screen.
"Turn that up a little--"
Dutifully, I increased the volume.
"In Washington, crowds continue to gather as ..." the broadcaster's voice became yet another "old man talking" for me. (Where were "Heckle and Jeckle" ? What planet had the "Jetsons" flown to?)
"They're just going to keep showing the President's assassination all day..." Dad cleared his throat.
(Suddenly, I remembered: we'd been let out of school, early, because of John F. Kennedy being shot in the head...oh yeah...But weren't kids Americans? Didn't our regular lives count for anything? What about our traditions? Like Saturday morning cartoons?)
"I gotta get on the road.Don't bug your Mother or your brother and sisters. I'll see you tonight..." Then, he was off, closing the door behind him.
Outside, the streetlights were still blazing. Traffic was slow, but steady, on Main Street.
I heard my mother stirring in the bathroom. (She'd be asking me what I wanted for breakfast in a minute: oatmeal or cornflakes ? Toast or an English muffin? Orange or grape juice? ) Ann and the twins would be up, soon, too. On t.v., a long line of cars drove up a bigger street in a faraway city where grown-ups were screaming.
(At Sacred Heart School, when the announcement came over the intercom about President John F. Kennedy being shot in the head, the nuns had run out into the hallway, screaming...) We were all told to "say a prayer..."
But, it hadn't worked.
I flicked from station to station.
Exactly as before: talking white men and pictures of people with microphones stuck in front of their faces. (Didn't they know that kids, everywhere, lived for Saturday morning cartoons? It was the benchmark of our lives!) It wasn't fair!
"K.K., what do you want to eat?" Mom called from the cold kitchen.
It just wasn't fair.
As usual, I crept out of bed, and into the living-room. The oil heater blazed, adding the only warmth to the apartment. The sun was not yet out. It was a cold, November morning. (It would get colder, still.) From my parents' bedroom ( directly off the kitchen), I could hear Dad's Saturday morning snores. (He would rise late, as usual, after his Friday night "at the Club". Then, he'd take a quick shower and be off to one of his three jobs. Weekends were spent at the gas station in South Gardner. Sometimes back to Winchendon, and the furniture factory. We would see him later, after the sun went down and his "real weekend" began.)
Mom and my siblings were also asleep. I wasn't allowed to so much as pour a bowl of cereal until an adult got up. Already dressed in jeans, sneakers and a red-striped turtleneck, I scavenged last night's bowl of popcorn, still on the coffee table in front of the t.v. (Friday nights, Mom would pop corn and allow us each a can of soda--a big treat. My favorite was root-beer.) Sometimes, there would be an inch or two of cold kernels, stuck at the bottom of the bowl. This Saturday, no such luck: unpopped corn and grease were the only remainders. I'd have to wait till Mom woke up to appease the rumbling in my stomach.
Moving carefully, so as to not make any noise, I slid over to the black and white television. I turned the dial and waited for the slow warm-up. It took several seconds for the picture to begin flickering and the sound to catch up.(In those days, the cabinet--fake rosewood--dwarfed the actual screen.) All the controls for sharpness, brightness, volume and channel selection were along the bottom panel.
Only four stations could be relied on to "come in" regularly: channels four, five, seven and the "educational channel", channel 2, out of Boston. (Occasionally, if the weather was right, we'd get Channel 13, broadcasting up in Maine or Vermont, somewhere. They played very old movies--mostly monsters or gangsters--off-limits if there were no adults around. Of course, the ONLY time we got to watch was when there were no adults to see what we had tuned in...) The "rabbit ears" on the back of the set were auxiliary antennae. They had to be manually "adjusted" if there was any hope of bringing in Channel 13. I reached around the cabinet and pushed the "ears" to the left.
News!
(News, on "Channel 13"!)
No "King Kong"; no "Wolfman"; no "Godzilla"!
(Up early, on Saturday morning, meant I got to choose the first set of Saturday cartoons...strong incentive for a night-owl like me...but this Saturday, I was being cheated!)
I adjusted the rabbit ears again. Forget Channel 13 ...back to regular "Looney Tunes" or "Woody Woodpecker".
Again: news!
No "Major Mudd", no "Rex Trailer", not even a re-run of "Romper Room"!
Every station was the same: talking heads. Flickering black and white footage of a long parade of motorcars and police and crying people. Then, back to the newscasters. (Even some of them were crying.)
"You aren't going to get any cartoons today, Kiddo," my Father stood in the doorway, pulling on a woolen jacket.
"How come?!" I demanded, startled at his sudden appearance.
"It's gonna be like this all day--get used to it, Kid," Dad jangled his car-keys.
"Why?" I didn't even glance over as he opened the front door. Hastily, I clicked the dial from station to station--praying he was wrong.
"Hey! Don't be so impatient--you'll break the knob and then there will be NO t.v. !" Dad stopped his morning retreat.
He came back into the living-room, watching the ghost images on the screen.
"Turn that up a little--"
Dutifully, I increased the volume.
"In Washington, crowds continue to gather as ..." the broadcaster's voice became yet another "old man talking" for me. (Where were "Heckle and Jeckle" ? What planet had the "Jetsons" flown to?)
"They're just going to keep showing the President's assassination all day..." Dad cleared his throat.
(Suddenly, I remembered: we'd been let out of school, early, because of John F. Kennedy being shot in the head...oh yeah...But weren't kids Americans? Didn't our regular lives count for anything? What about our traditions? Like Saturday morning cartoons?)
"I gotta get on the road.Don't bug your Mother or your brother and sisters. I'll see you tonight..." Then, he was off, closing the door behind him.
Outside, the streetlights were still blazing. Traffic was slow, but steady, on Main Street.
I heard my mother stirring in the bathroom. (She'd be asking me what I wanted for breakfast in a minute: oatmeal or cornflakes ? Toast or an English muffin? Orange or grape juice? ) Ann and the twins would be up, soon, too. On t.v., a long line of cars drove up a bigger street in a faraway city where grown-ups were screaming.
(At Sacred Heart School, when the announcement came over the intercom about President John F. Kennedy being shot in the head, the nuns had run out into the hallway, screaming...) We were all told to "say a prayer..."
But, it hadn't worked.
I flicked from station to station.
Exactly as before: talking white men and pictures of people with microphones stuck in front of their faces. (Didn't they know that kids, everywhere, lived for Saturday morning cartoons? It was the benchmark of our lives!) It wasn't fair!
"K.K., what do you want to eat?" Mom called from the cold kitchen.
It just wasn't fair.
No comments:
Post a Comment