Like most families at one time, we used to have an old black and white TV. It was quite large, though most of it's size was due to its white plastic casing and not the screen itself, unlike today's versions. It was our main TV for a while, then was relegated to a bedroom when the den was graced with a newfangled color model.
At the end of viewing time, my sister and I would stand transfixed in front of the set, entranced by the little white dot that remained in the center of the screen when it was turned off, almost as much as whatever show we had been watching prior. When a large, silver button was pressed, the screen would go from black, white and grey moving pictures to that stark blackness, interrupted only by the dot. The dot would get smaller and smaller and then remain, hovering for a time. I would get nervous and a bit excited, thinking at once that the dot may never disappear and if it did not, how cool it would be. But it always did disappear. It would vanish suddenly, like a magic trick - now you see it, now you don't.
Those pre-remote days of having to rise from our warm couch cushions to change the channel were not looked at as an inconvenience; it was enough to just to have that blessed box bring us the Mary Tyler Moore show, Mannix, and Speed Racer.
My sister reminded me that as late as 1981, the year Lady Diana and Prince Charles were married on July 29, the B & W still adorned our home in our mother's bedroom. The only A/C in the house was in that room, a large, brown, humming box shoved into the window. Pam and I sat breathlessly on the bed watching the illustrious matrimony proceedings, our skin cool with drying sweat, every few minutes running into the den to see the Princess's dress in color. (But the dress was white!)
The dials and knobs of that television are now museum-worthy. When the picture jumped or became fuzzy, we wiggled the adjustment wheel back and forth, fiddled with the long, silver antennae. We spun the channel changer around and around looking for something to watch - on Sunday afternoons, the pickings were frustratingly slim with nothing but sports and other boring stuff. With only about seven or eight channels from which to choose, it's a wonder we ever found anything worth watching.
But here's the good thing: back then, it was a treat to huddle around the TV with my sister and parents to watch original episodes of The Flintstones, The Brady Bunch, Emergency, The Mod Squad, The Rookies, FBI, Laugh-In, and the once-a-year, popcorn-worthy, grand treat of The Wizard of Oz. Many a night I went to sleep smiling at what I had seen, the laughs I had shared, the stomach-tightening fear and excitement I had endured.
Today, these things are a matter of course - 24/7 , a thousand channels, and brighter than life, screaming, living color.
At the end of viewing time, my sister and I would stand transfixed in front of the set, entranced by the little white dot that remained in the center of the screen when it was turned off, almost as much as whatever show we had been watching prior. When a large, silver button was pressed, the screen would go from black, white and grey moving pictures to that stark blackness, interrupted only by the dot. The dot would get smaller and smaller and then remain, hovering for a time. I would get nervous and a bit excited, thinking at once that the dot may never disappear and if it did not, how cool it would be. But it always did disappear. It would vanish suddenly, like a magic trick - now you see it, now you don't.
Those pre-remote days of having to rise from our warm couch cushions to change the channel were not looked at as an inconvenience; it was enough to just to have that blessed box bring us the Mary Tyler Moore show, Mannix, and Speed Racer.
My sister reminded me that as late as 1981, the year Lady Diana and Prince Charles were married on July 29, the B & W still adorned our home in our mother's bedroom. The only A/C in the house was in that room, a large, brown, humming box shoved into the window. Pam and I sat breathlessly on the bed watching the illustrious matrimony proceedings, our skin cool with drying sweat, every few minutes running into the den to see the Princess's dress in color. (But the dress was white!)
The dials and knobs of that television are now museum-worthy. When the picture jumped or became fuzzy, we wiggled the adjustment wheel back and forth, fiddled with the long, silver antennae. We spun the channel changer around and around looking for something to watch - on Sunday afternoons, the pickings were frustratingly slim with nothing but sports and other boring stuff. With only about seven or eight channels from which to choose, it's a wonder we ever found anything worth watching.
But here's the good thing: back then, it was a treat to huddle around the TV with my sister and parents to watch original episodes of The Flintstones, The Brady Bunch, Emergency, The Mod Squad, The Rookies, FBI, Laugh-In, and the once-a-year, popcorn-worthy, grand treat of The Wizard of Oz. Many a night I went to sleep smiling at what I had seen, the laughs I had shared, the stomach-tightening fear and excitement I had endured.
Today, these things are a matter of course - 24/7 , a thousand channels, and brighter than life, screaming, living color.
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