Television and Us (Click most images for larger versions.)
How do you describe the zeitgeist explosion of television to people who've always had it?
Due to Bob's involvement with the industry, we were the first family in our neighborhood to have a television. We didn't know then how much it would alter life as we knew it. No, we just thought it was an amazing invention. At the same time, however, TV created questions of...etiquette.
Every night, once the word got out, neighbors and their children would hang around hoping to be invited in to watch shows like The Texaco Star Theater with Milton Berle; or Your Show of Shows with Sid Caesar and Imogene Coca; or The Colgate Comedy Hour with virtually everybody in comedy: Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, Abbott and Costello, Jimmy Durante, Bob Hope, Donald O'Connor, Eddie Cantor and Fred Allen. There were more shows like The Dinah Shore Show, Your Hit Parade, The Jack Benny Show, People Are Funny with Art Linkletter, and The George Gobel Show. But, the man I never missed, the man that set my heart a twitter, the man who sang songs that gave me goose bumps was Perry Como.
I loved Perry Como! His singing thrilled me before television, but once I saw how handsome he was, beginning with The Chesterfield Supper Club, and its permutations, The Perry Como Show and The Kraft Music Hall, I was hooked. Bob Sr. had an acquaintance who bared a remarkable resemblance to Perry, and I'm afraid some of my attachment transferred to the unsuspecting man, though nothing ever came of it.
At any rate, initially, ever the good hostess, I served our night's guests dessert or something light, but after weeks without any form of reciprocation, I stopped. It didn't seem to make any difference, though, because the moochers still came. But, gradually, as others got televisions, most of our "guests" stopped coming. Only a few kids or a lone adult trickled through after that, but it went on for months.
Due to this rude invasion I feel we, meaning my family, lost some of our hospitality, developing instead almost an antagonism whenever the bell rang and company called, especially if they interrupted a favorite program, like Perry Como! Our TV watching became a jealously guarded addiction. We couldn't wait for six pm to roll around so we could get another fix. Dinner would be ready, Bob home from the shop (I stomped "shave and a haircut, six bits" on the floor to let him know dinner was ready, since he futzed in the basement until it was), and then we would sit and eat in front of the television. Bob and I usually stayed there until the stations signed off, the famous "Indian Head" test pattern droning on into the night, an icon of the Fifties and black and white television.
The damage to family caused by television is plain to see now, and lots of us work to limit it. But, in the beginning it was the dernier cri. It excited us, as a family as well as a retailer, to be in on a new technology, to be participants as something strange and wonderful developed and became popular. Every show seemed special. The people were superb. Many had honed their skills on the stage, on radio, and in vaudeville, plus now we saw the faces that went with the names. Not like radio where you had to imagine how the actors looked. No, to start, TV was magical, but over the years it became more and more mundane until, now, so much of it is garbage, the people on it picked for their looks more than their abilities.
Of course, I don't know whether I changed or TV did. I imagine it's both, but it's hard for me to believe that it wasn't, if not better, than more unaffected, and therefore, more engaging and entertaining during those early years, so called its "Golden Age."
We went through a similar period, though not as bad as that first one, when color television came out, and we were again the first to have one. Our previous experience, however, prevented another invasion, but close friends still came over and tended to out stay their welcome. It sounds selfish now, the way we felt about our television, and I like to think I wouldn't begrudge people the pleasure today, but it's hard to predict how you will act in any given situation. Besides, the new technical marvels of today, the devices that might attract people, seldom find their way into my small cabin. So, I'm spared the trials and tribulations they might bring. It's all too much for me any more.
Nowadays, I like to keep things simple, but that wasn't always the case. There were often times when I couldn't leave well enough alone, when I felt I could "fix" things that I thought needed fixing, especially when matchmaking entered the picture. Take my mother, after Ike died, and while she was living in a tiny garret room without hardly any companionship. I thought I would help her find someone plus a new place to live, but I should have minded my own business.
Mother and Father Redux
Let me start by saying that I don't believe my father was a bad man. By the time Bob and I had our family and were living our "golden age," I felt sorry for my father and the hard life he'd led. I knew he was selfish to some extent and lacking social graces, but he came through when asked, like with Bus and Babe. He was capable of doing the right thing, just not capable, I believe, of thinking of it, himself. Plus, I told myself that we learn how and when to do the right thing by example, so maybe he didn't have that many examples to learn by. Perhaps his hard experiences throughout his childhood, along with his lack of schooling, left him ill prepared to consider the feelings of others.
For whatever reason, he was a brusk and indelicate man, full of himself and braggadocio. When I stuck my nose where it didn't belong, however, I felt maybe he'd mellowed, accumulated some tact with his years, but age doesn't always ripen. His lack of maturity became apparent in the early sixties, when Mother and Father met for the first time since the five and dime.
It began with my interest in genealogy. I don't remember exactly what triggered it, but I wrote him at first to ask about his family's medical history. That became an exchange of letters discussing genealogy, his life in Ireland, what he could remember about his mother (being her namesake, I wanted to know more about her), and more. Part of the material used in this remembrance came from those letters. Anyway, it wasn't my intention, but I gradually formed a plan as our correspondence continued. The first step was to describe Mother's situation in one of my letters.
(First, let me just say how much I love letter writing and receiving. A letter is more welcomed than a phone call, although I'd be hard pressed to explain why. Email is a pale imitation; it doesn't compare to actually getting a letter in the mail, then opening it, holding the same piece of paper my correspondent held, and reading the words created on it by them. Knowing this should help you understand why I keep up a constant correspondence with my family and friends; part of my day normally devoted to it.)
At the time, March, 1960, Mother was living in a small attic room over Buster's house in Upper Montclair, New Jersey. Ike had passed away, there wasn't much money, she didn't have many friends, especially not ones her age willing to negotiate the two steep flights of stairs up to her room. So, even though it was a breach of confidence, I told my father about her loneliness, as she had expressed it to me. I concluded by suggesting she might enjoy a trip to Florida, if he invited her. And, in response, father wrote to her and extended an open invitation. Well, following a trip out west to visit me and my family, Mother flew back to New Jersey via Florida.
I'm not sure exactly what happened, but on returning home, she confided in me that Father's large home and boat, his lavish lifestyle, plus the lovely weather impressed her. She said they had a good visit, everything went well for a day or two, but then his nature surfaced. One evening at dinner, he expressed a desire to take up where they had left off, including in the bedroom, which he invited her to right there and then. At that point, not only was Mother sure she wasn't interested, but she also knew it was time to go home. And she did, posthaste.
Mother said it was good to see her ex-husband and all that he had, if for no other reason than to put her questions about him to rest. She discovered that she preferred her quiet life and her small apartment at the top of the stairs. She died there December 2, 1967, when she was seventy-eight years old. May she rest in peace.
I have to admit that I shared her distaste for Father's advances. My letters to him stopped. That's why I was so surprised when I received an inheritance.
When he died in 1964, Father left his estate to Bus and me. Father had three sisters and three brothers, and there must have been nieces and nephews, his second wife's family, or other in-laws, yet he left his entire estate to us. I don't know why. Maybe he felt some guilt over leaving us, over never even paying child support. Maybe by getting to know Bus and helping him to get ahead, Father grew to love him. Or, maybe because he loved his mother, Isabella—I being her namesake—he had a soft spot for me. It could be all the above. I don't know, but it was a surprise, a very pleasant one when I heard the news.
At the time, I used part of the inheritance to take Bob Sr. on his long awaited trip to Europe. It was wonderful; something we had both dreamed about for a long time. He especially enjoyed the jumble of people and languages, plus all the varied currencies and forms of barter. He was always looking into store fronts, watching sales people and their behavior, ever a student of humanity and salesmanship. I loved the art. To see paintings and sculptures and architecture I only knew from small images in textbooks was fantastic.
Fortunately, the other people on the tour were easy to be with, and our guide was knowledgeable and helpful. So, all in all, it was a very rewarding trip, and that's why we thought it ironic when Bob's mother, Ollie—a great admirer of sea voyages—wrote to us in her welcome home letter: "I think if you both had taken a cruise instead of rushing around Europe, you would have loved it more."
Several years later, Ollie and I did take a cruise, a languid trip around the Caribbean. It was okay, but "...rushing around Europe..." with Bob Sr. is still one of my fondest memories. I thank my father for it.