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.

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Four ~ The Zone and Late Night Television

There was an amazing right of passage that occurred when a kid reached the magic age when babysitters were no longer really necessary. By the time most of us were about ten years old we had worn out the old ladies that watched us and exhausted the supply of exasperated teenaged girls who would be willing to be tormented by us anymore. The decision was in the works for me by my Mom and Dad. It was November 11, 1960 and a week away from my 10th birthday. Lots of things were being talked about that day. The final results of the presidential election were almost a sure thing but California could swing the tide toward Richard Nixon and away from John Kennedy. Not likely with electoral outcomes but Republicans were holding on to hope. My folks were going out for dinner and were debating not only the future of the country but my fate as an independent kid. I heard the discussions about my trustworthiness, and having friends for sleepovers (in lieu of sitters) when they were going out for the evening. My anticipation was increasing. The decision was made. They were going to get Janice, an older teen sitter and one of my favorites, to come that night and allow me to have friends…with no sitter…on Saturday night when they went out dancing. It all depended on how well both evenings went as to future consideration. No doubt in my mind that it was going to work. Little did I know that spreading your wings is not always safe. There are scary things that lurk in the dark and even scarier ones hiding in our television.

Bobby on Easter Morning 1960

Still innocent of The Zone and Late Night Monsters

Mrs. Tuttle ~ "Tutty"

My very favorite babysitter

I announced my finding to Janice when she came over. It was a week night so Mom and Dad would not be out real late. Janice was a student at Danville High School. She congratulated me on my good fortune and upon reaching such a pinnacle in my life. It was not a horribly difficult task to convince her that I should be allowed to stay up and watch The Twilight Zone. Parents did not like for kids to see that show. It seemed to have had a negative effect, in their opinion, on the passions of my friend Mark Faulkner. He had even created a Monster Club. They did not want for me to be involved in such dark thoughts or to have nightmares. It seemed strange to me because there was no problem with watching Alfred Hitchcock. It made The Zone a tantalizing forbidden fruit. Anyway, Janice said it would be okay…but probably not a great idea to tell my parents about. Ahhh, a secret!

I approached the hour in eager anticipation. Dressed in PJ’s and confident of my bravery, I perched on the couch by the Magnavox. Next thing I knew…it was time! The opening was other-worldly with the instrumental tune and Rod Serling’s intriguing voice…

“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity.”

WOW! IT WAS ON!

“It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition. And it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.”

YOU GOTTA BE KIDDIN’ ME! WHAT?! I could feel the little hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

“This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area that we call…The Twilight Zone.”

MAN…IF THE GUYS COULD SEE ME NOW. Janice was doing her homework at the dining room table and not aware at all of my juiced up pre-adolescent psyche.

The episode that was airing did not seem all that scary at first. More intriguing really…kinda like Hitchcock. It was called “The Eye of The Beholder” and was about a bandaged ugly woman who had undergone some radical plastic surgery to reconstruct her hideous face. The bandages must hold something that only the devious Serling would keep for us until the ending. We were in the hospital with the woman as she was taken into a surgical type suite surrounded by doctors and nurses. One of them was talking the patient through the facial unwrapping. Layer by layer the gauze was taken off. She could begin to see light through the coverings. The doctor announced the last of the procedure.

THIS IS TOO MUCH. WHAT IS UNDER THERE? By now I was in front of the Magnavox on my knees only inches from the screen.

“I am going to remove the last of the bandages now.” “Would you like a mirror?”

WOULD YOU LIKE A MIRROR? C’MON!

Now…just when I am ready to crawl out of my skin…the stupid doctor starts lecturing the patient about the fact that they have done all they could and that she could still live a long and fruitful life despite her appearance.

WHAT THE HECK?! HOW BAD COULD SHE LOOK?

Then she asks the doctor if she can be “put away” or exterminated as an undesirable by the state.

OH, MY DEAR GOD!

The doctor replies that probably would not happen. That she would be transferred to a communal living situation with people of her kind with her disability.

THERE WERE MORE OF THEM!?

He said, “Now remain very still and keep your eyes open. Here comes the rest of it. I wish you the very best of luck.”

WAS HE TALKING TO ME? My hands were ready to cover my face like my friend Gary did in situations like these.

We could see through the patient’s eyes as the gauze was removed. The shadowed faces of the medical staff began to show. A nurse gasped and the doctor dropped his scissors and hopped back exclaiming “No change…no change at all!”

I KNEW IT! HERE COMES HER AWFUL FACE! BUT WHAT? SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL!

She touched her face and started freaking out. The nurses and doctors restrained her against the wall. “Turn on the light” said one of the doctors. He shifted and revealed his horrible and disfigured mug as well as the contorted faces of the other medical staff. Face after face after face! Then a huge hypodermic needle!

I TURNED OFF THE TV AS QUICK AS I COULD AND RAN UP TO MY ROOM.

There was a question from the dining room table from Janice but I had no intention of sticking around to talk or listen. My door slammed.  The only safe place was in my bed. It was not a good night for dreams let me tell you. But I couldn’t reveal them to my folks. I shuddered alone.  My independence was at stake. The light of day hardly diminished the impact of the television show. I went outside and was met by Gary who walked to school with me every morning. Nothing was said about The Zone. Things changed when I was able to announce to Mark and Joe that I had watched the episode. I bragged. “They weren’t scary. They looked like pigs.” What a lie bu what a triumph! Three young men who were unified in the love of monsters. MARBOJO. Now I was only a day away from my ultimate dream. A sleepover at my house with Steve Magin (sans adults) watching Terror Theatre with Egor and The Master. I knew there would nothing could be worse than “The Eye of The Beholder”. I haven’t watched the ending to this day. It is on YouTube. I am tempted but…

Stay Tuned...Another exciting episode will follow.

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Three

We were ordered out of the house and banished from TV all of the time. At least it seemed that way. The adults had obtained an effective tool of control and punishment. We always made more of a big deal out of it than was really deserved though. You have to make parents think that they are effective or they get squirrely and mean spirited. The idea is to moan, whine and complain all the way to the back door. Once outside…freedom reigns. There were no thoughts about real dangers in the community in those days. First of all, the neighbors were all extensions of the family. Everyone knew you and had a reading on wrongdoing from kids and strangers alike. The United States had not yet moved from the front porch to the backyard so people were actually interacting with each other right on the street level. Secondly, kids had the ability to become invisible in those days. There was an internal cloaking devise that allowed us to be unseen whenever we wished. We got caught only when we made the mistake of not turning it on. Some kids had better cloaking than others. Mine was almost perfect. And last but not least, we were army guys, Indian fighters, cops, firemen and super heroes. We were fighting crime and evil. Who would dare mess with us? We were invincible as we went where we pleased on bikes (without helmets), played tackle football (without helmets), fell out of trees, jumped off rooftops with capes (oops!), swam unsupervised (and sometimes naked) in filthy Lake Vermilion, constructed elaborate forts in the woods with sharp Boy Scout knives and sometimes shot each other with real BB Guns (not good). All we had to do was holler in the door our destination and we were good at least until the next meal. Yelling through the screen words like “Going to the woods” or “Going to Gary’s” would elicit responses that gave us a free pass. We faintly heard the reply “Don’t be late for dinner” or “You boys be good”. We were halfway down the block and in mid-adventure already.

My cousin Steve, buddy Scott Golden, me and cousin Dave

with a freshly caught Bluegill from Lake Vermilion.

I donned my Skipper Chuck hat.

The summer of 1958 brought expanded freedom for me. I was allowed to go beyond the imagined limits of parental control to meet kids at the further reaches of our neighborhood. Gary Cox had moved in across the street, Steve Magin lived two doors down from him. Gary and I quickly became great friends. We were in the same classroom in 2nd grade. Magin came into the fold through a fight. Some of us had been playing baseball in Golden’s side yard when two strange boys approached from the alley. We stopped play and gawked. Who dared invade our domain? Without a second thought I picked up an apple and threw it at them. They returned fire…but with ROCKS! Heathens! Interlopers! A spirited battle began. Ammunition was getting thin so we ran to the apple tree to get more missiles. Some adult must have intervened because they were gone when we got back. The nerve! It was the next day when I met Steve face-to-face. The encounter was friendly. I asked him where his brother was and he replied that it was not his brother but a friend from school. “What school?” I asked. “St. Paul’s.” came the reply (Oh, man! A Catholic kid even). Anyway, one thing led to another and we were practically inseparable. Steve’s Dad was the engineer and genius at our local TV station WDAN as I mentioned before. It’s funny, but I was always afraid to ask Mr. Magin anything about how TV worked. I guess I didn’t want to know the secrets.

The Vast Land of Our Adventures

Gary CoxSteve Magin

Imagination went to new extremes with the help of television.  You could take on the persona of anyone that had appeared on screen and develop them with your friends at will.  Superman made regular appearances on West Winter Ave.  The Battle of The Little Bighorn was fought often.  We sometimes had to find little kids to play the part of Indians.  Nobody wanted to be the enemy very much so we would commandeer them.  The enemy was certainly not confined to Indians.  They were often Nazi's, Japanese, or supervillians such as Lex Luthor.  Good guys wore white hats.  Bad guys wore black ones.  No question about who was who back then.  And the good guys ALWAYS won.  Our idols were easy to find.  Mickey Mantle was already in contention for the new God of baseball with 42 home runs in 1958.  Zeke Bratkowski, a Danville boy, was the QB for the Chicago Bears.  Everything was simple, cut and dried.

We played kick-the-can and flashlight tag until bedtime and were forced to come back inside by the very parents who had kicked us out.  They just couldn't resist messing with us I guess.  Sometimes there would be "Just-One-More TV Show" before turning in.  Little did we know what great things were going to happen soon.  Mark Faulkner would have his ninth birtday party LIVE right on Sheriff Sid's TV show with his good buddies (including me) invited. 

Sheriff Sid

The intriguing world of late night television was also just around the corner the following year in fourth grade.  It was then and there that MarBoJo came to be.

Mark Faulkner, Bobby Jones and Joey Cooke

Intermission...Don't Go Away!

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Two

This is the second installment of four pieces written about growing up in an age of innocence and the emergence of television.

And so…it came to pass that I became a sidekick to all of the western heroes of television. A loyal follower of The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers and Sky King.  I kind of had feelings for Sky's pretty niece, Penny.  Davy Crockett came to the big screen too, but was always more welcomed by kids who sat two feet from the magic box in the living room.

I was there to assist for Jim Bowie, Wyatt Earp, Maverick, Sugarfoot and of course… El Zorro.

My Grandfather owned a ranch in Colorado, wore a Stetson Cowboy Hat, hand tooled western boots and was permanently disabled by a fall from a horse while herding cattle. Not only that…my brother, Jack, was a rancher on that very spread near Limon, Colorado. I was a NATURAL sidekick with all of that family history to back me up. I had my official Davy Crockett outfit, holster, chaps, six shooters, trusty lasso and a full array of associated gear. They needed me…and I was there to serve.

The truth is that there were PLENTY of bad guys and renegade Indians all OVER the North Side of Danville. They lurked in the side yard, behind the carport and under the basement stairs.  My home and my family had to have someone to protect them. My motto became, just like Palladin, "Have Gun, Will Travel". It was a wild time to be alive back in the 1950s.

Our Frontier Home in Danville, Illinois in 1956

That great big Magnavox made for terrific sleepovers with friends. We would gather around the TV and watch for hours on end. Kids who were older and probably would never have given me the time of day stopped by. My favorite drop-ins were The Cooke boys. J.D. Cooke was our trustworthy and loyal paperboy. He was “a big kid” probably a real teenager. He, and later his brother Allen, seemed to adjust their route to end up at our house. Lots of evenings, after delivering The Danville Commercial-News, JD or Allen would plop down in front of the TV with me to watch Popeye and Sheriff Sid. This was a big honor for me. Wow! Big kids! Sometimes one of the guys would drop off Joe, who was in my grade at Edison Grade School and then pick him up at the end of the route (staying for awhile themselves). Mrs. Cooke would usually have to call and remind them that dinner was ready and to come home. Joe and I would become life-long friends.

TV created two new command lines from parents to kids that are still in use today (and will probably never die).  They created a friction between generations that probably set up the whole revolution thing of the 60's.  They were "Turn that thing down!" and "Turn that thing off!"  There were sometimes expletives that went along with the words and often followed by phrases such as "...and go outside!" or "...and do your homework!".  No matter how many excuses, gnashing of teeth or whining came from us the result was always the same.  The miraculous electronic friend was silent.

Stay tuned for Part Three!