A High Tech Christmas

1963 marked more than a subtle shift in my attitude and desires surrounding Christmas. I was a teenager FINALLY. It had been a tumultuous year for everyone. The President of The United States had been assassinated and an entire nation had watched it unfold before their eyes on television. We were unaware, for the most part, that there had been an end of innocence as well. This would unfold over the next several years. My personal innocence was pretty well over too. Puberty and sexual curiosity were blooming. Certainly Santa Claus was in my rear view mirror. No more wish lists of toys. I had formally announced that I was no longer to be called Bobby. My grandparents were spared from calling me Bob out of deference to their affection and age but everyone else was put on notice. Everything was going to be different.

There was no vacuum created just because toys were “out”. I sure was not willing to settle for socks, underwear and sweaters for presents. No sir. The world of high technology had provided a whole new focus for this teenager. I desperately wanted a set of walkie-talkies…and not the Buck Rogers kid toy that had been around for years either. My heart was set on two channel, citizen band, high powered two way radios that would allow me to have field communications with my pals no matter where our adventures might lead us. Just the thought of having it made me feel like Dick Tracy. Closest thing to a 2-Way Wrist Radio that a kid could ever have! Just think of the juvenile delinquents that we could avoid and crimes that we could expose with walkie-talkies! My list of Christmas bounty also included a portable tape recorder. No would-be secret agent could be without a Craig Miniature Tape Recorder. Covert recording of adults would reveal the answers to the many secrets hidden from the younger generation. We could make records of our thoughts and inspirations. The possibilities were limitless. I also wanted Beatle music. The first album, Meet The Beatles, had not made it to the markets and devout fans would have to wait until January. There were still those single 45’s on my list though. Who could live without “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, “She Loves You”, or “From Me To You”? I ask you. Really! So there it was, a Christmas without little kid junk…strictly teenaged material on request.

Christmas Eve was no longer celebrated at my grandparent’s home on Swisher Avenue in Danville. They spent longer winters in Florida now. Mom and Dad drove Daddy Baum’s Chrysler Imperial down to Hillsboro Beach while my grandparents flew. They were actually there when President Kennedy was killed. I had been staying with my friend, Scott Golden and just across the ravine from my great pal Mark Faulkner. Anyway, they were back on November 24 and a month later we would spend our first Christmas Eve without my dear grandparents. All of the presents were under our own stylish (and controversial) aluminum tree. It was a pretty nice display of gifts. Nothing like the mounds that existed with the larger extended family in previous years…but not bad! We had a nice dinner and went into the Sun Room like three grown up people might to begin unwrapping the year’s bounty.

Sure enough, my dreams had been fulfilled! Dad was the owner of a John Deere dealership and had obtained two extremely powerful Motorola CB, two channel, walkie-talkies that were strong enough for farmers to communicate with each other and families while at work. Wow! There was also the portable tape recorder and Beatle records along with some model cars to put together, the game Risk and, of course, clothes, underwear and socks (Geez). It was hard not to act as excited as a little kid but I was a teenager now. I expressed my sincere thanks as Bob Jones and excused myself to go call my buddy Steve Magin to make the big announcement. We had a tradition of calling each other on Christmas Eve. The phone rang and Steve answered. He asked the annual question, “What’d ya get?” I told him that he wouldn’t believe it. I got the walkie-talkies and the tape recorder. We were going to be in business. His excitement matched mine. REALLY hard not to burst with joy and anticipation.

I took the walkie-talkies to our Jones family Christmas gathering the next day in DeLand at Bondurant Place to share with my cousins. We sure had a lot of fun talking from the basement to the upstairs bedrooms and all around the farm outside. The rest of the holiday was spent exploring the world of two way private communication with Steve Magin and Gary Cox. Steve would take one of the units back to his house and we could talk under the sheets and blankets from way down the street after lights-out without our parents ever knowing what we were cooking up. Little did we know that our conversations were now privy to the ears of a ham radio operator on Commercial Street…on the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN. It wasn’t until a few days later that we heard the guy actually talking on his big time radio to someone in China or somewhere. Steve and I were talking to each other about important stuff when all of a sudden the guy said, “Hold on a minute. I can’t hear you. Those damn kids are interfering with the transmission.” DAMN KIDS? We were damn kids were we? Well he had been snooping where he shouldn’t have been snooping. We had just as much right on the airwaves as he did. A minor radio war ensued from that point forward. The guy on Commercial Street became another of those adult public enemies along with Steve-the-grouch and Tars Janitars, among others, who had a mission of making our lives difficult. No matter. We would overcome. Endless hours of entertainment would only be enhanced by this person.

Life had changed. The Beatles blared from my Dad’s stereo system and conversations began to focus on the mystery of girls. High tech had taken over. We used the portable tape recorder to secretly record my parent’s cocktail parties, baited conversations with unknowing friends and made a historic taped session of a day in Duckville. Sorry, no explanation for readers there. Some things just can’t be made public. There are still too many adults listening in.