Typically, a day for our family would start sometime after 5 a.m. Dad was first up, especially on chilly mornings like this one. He always had first dibs on the bathroom so he could get ready for work and get the fire stoked to warm the house for the rest of us. While he was getting ready, Mom went down to the kitchen to start breakfast.
Cold mornings usually meant something hot in the pot like oatmeal with raisins or Cream of Wheat (a.k.a. “mush”). When the cereal was cooked, she’d cover the pot and keep it warm in a makeshift double boiler — a large skillet filled part way with boiling water. Soon the aroma of percolating coffee filled the house, and the delightful odor stirred even those of us too young to drink it. It made a characteristic “ba doop, ba doop, ba doop doop” sound as it perked one minute for every cup being made.
Dad would head down to the kitchen, pick up the cup of coffee that was waiting for him and head to the basement to bring our furnace back to life. First, he’d shake the grates until a few hot coals dropped into the ash bin, then a few sharp jabs into the firebox with the long poker with the hook on the end. The fire seemed to stretch and yawn before flames were finally awakened.
Satisfied that warmth was on its way, he’d head for the stable to feed and water the horses. If it were below freezing overnight, he might have to come back to the house for a bucket of hot water to break the ice on the watering trough. While Dad was in the stable, Mom was busy preparing his lunch. Today, it was leftover meatloaf sandwiches, an apple, some Fig Newtons, and a thermos full of freshly made coffee.
Off to School
Just as I peeled back the hap and swung my feet to the floor, Mom stuck her head in the room for the final wake-up call. “Are you ever going to get up on time? If you’re late for school, you won’t be allowed to see any television tonight.” Just then, the seven o’clock mill whistle sounded in agreement with my mother’s scolding.
I bolted from the bed and ran to the bathroom. Feverishly, I turned the knob, but the door was locked! I yelled for Ken to hurry as a new-found sense of urgency became the panicky call of nature. I danced up and down the hall, and Mom gave me an “I told you so” smile as she went downstairs.
Ken had been down in the cellar to bank the furnace for the day. On his way to school, he’d pick up Dutch Walk, Jim Fleming, and Duane Morningred as well as others whom they’d catch on Pennsylvania Ave. On the table were my orange juice and an empty bowl that was soon filled with the last of the oatmeal.
I went down to the stable. If someone brought something good to school, I’d need something to trade. A ring made from a horseshoe nail always was a hit, so I took a few nails from the kit and held them one at a time on the horn of the anvil while gently bending each with a hammer. Just then, the eight o’clock laundry whistle blew. I ran back into the house and grabbed a jacket and my books. Two doors down, I stopped at Walks’ to see if Warren was ready. We caught up to Danny Morningred at Pennsylvania Ave.
Just then, we heard a faint whistle in the distance. We couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like a train on the Bald Eagle Line heading for the coal fields down the valley. While crossing the alley on the other side of Pennsylvania Ave. we picked up the pace — first trotting, then running, and finally, an outright sprint. Nearing Iavasil’s store, I grabbed my right side and slowed to a walk. We spotted the railroad crossing guard walking from his little shed on the other side of the tracks carrying the “Stop – RR Crossing” sign. Once he was out, no one crossed. Safety was his life, especially around trains, since he lost his left arm in an accident in a PRR rail yard. He motioned for us to make our way down to the pig hole. Despite the detour, we made it just as the final bell rang.
The Walk Home
The day passed without incident or interest. A times tables contest and spelling bee were the day’s highlights. I won the times table thing, but lost the spelling bee, as always, to my cousin, Mary Alice Long.
Charging down 12th from Cameron Ave., we saw the railroad crossing guard standing in the middle of the street and a coal train stopped on the tracks. We approached him as he leaned on his sign and puffed on a short cigar. He anticipated our question with another question. “Would you believe this is the same train from this morning?” He smiled at our looks of amazement and then told us, “Actually, it’s been here about an hour, but it isn’t likely to move much for another hour.”
The rest of the trip home was uneventful. We stayed on 11th most of the way — not the normal route. After Ray Trenary left us at Pennsylvania Ave., we stopped to look in the DeSoto garage window on Blair Ave. There was a dark-blue sedan that must have just arrived.
I ran over to the laundry field, then to the laundry. In a few minutes, the whistle would blow and the workers would be homeward bound. Wandering the length of the building, I kept jumping to get a glimpse inside as I went. Nearing the end of the building, I hear a familiar voice, “Hey, Boy!” It was dad. On this rare day, the bus actually was on time.
Radio Days
Within ten minutes of opening my geography book, my studious endeavors were rewarded, as Mom walked in the door. So, while she prepared supper, I rolled over toward the Philco console and switched it on to listen to some of my favorite shows. There should be enough time to listen to at least part of one of my favorite programs before supper: “The Lone Ranger,” with Silver, Tonto, and Scout brought to you by Cheerios.
By half past seven, it was dark outside and not many people were on the street. The norm was to read a book, sew, do homework, talk, iron, or even bake a pie — all while listening to the radio. “Fibber McGee and Molly,” “Beulah,” “The Dinah Shore Show,” “Amos ‘n Andy,” “The Shadow,” Edward R. Murrow, “The Life of Riley,” “Luigi,” and if it were Friday, “Boxing from Madison Square Garden” were background to life’s other and more important activities.
The Magnifying Lens on Woodland
But things were changing in our little town. A few people owned something different — something that required your undivided attention. Now, you couldn’t read or do homework or bake a pie. Now, you had to look as well as listen, usually in a darkened room. A strange-looking aluminum bird perch attached to the chimney let everyone else know who had something called television. To say it was fascinating, would be an understatement.
We didn’t have one yet, but a neighbor on Woodland did — a 14-inch, black-and-white set encased in as much wood as in our entire dining room table. That’s where we were invited to go tonight.
Mom and Dad went up early enough to catch John Cameron Swayze and the news. Somehow the news seemed better when you could see the person reporting. Ken went to see his friends, Jim and Duane.
I ran up 12th to Woodland, up the steps, and around the house to the back door. I was breathing hard, but as I came, I heard the words to the jingle, “…we work from Maine to Mexico…” The set was in a darkened room against an inside wall. Everyone was sitting directly in front of it in a quiet, church-like atmosphere. Entering, I heard at least three viewers join in to greet me with, “Shhhhh!” I took a position on the floor down front, anxiously waiting for Uncle Miltie to appear.
Something was different — the picture was larger and more distorted than usual. Then I noticed it — a huge magnifying lens directly in front of the picture. A lens so big it had to be mounted over the top of the set and clamped to the back. While it did increase the size of the picture, the magnification did little to enhance one’s viewing pleasure — unless you were fortunate enough to get a seat directly in front of the set at eye level. Everyone else got distortions, a partial picture, and dramatic views of snow and static — not what WJAC intended, I’m sure!
We watched and laughed as the comedy unfolded before us. Occasionally, I’d close my eyes and pretend it was radio, but many of Berle’s antics were visual, so radio wouldn’t work. From my vantage point, there were times I’d have to use reactions of the audience or others in the room to sense when to laugh. Still, we were guests and our hosts were proud to share this new technology. Being the son of a blacksmith, I knew to “never look a gift horse in the mouth.” If they just didn’t attach that magnifying lens!
Our Own Set
It would be another year or so before we got our own television set. It was a metal, table-top Columbia, I think. Even though there still was only Johnstown’s Channel 6, and the antenna had to be adjusted occasionally, the time was right. Especially since a second channel was coming to Altoona and Gillette was sponsoring Friday night fights every week. That was enough to seal the decision.
Radio continued to play a big part in our lives. The Lone Ranger on radio competed with Gabby Hayes on TV. The Pirates continued on radio, as did Nittany Lions football and St. Francis basketball. Television had games-of-the-week and special events like the Kentucky Derby.
TV has changed a lot over the years. One channel has grown to sixty-plus cable offerings and over a hundred on the dish. The screens no longer are gray, black and white, and the size doesn’t have to be enhanced with a clamp-on lens. Yes, TV is with us to stay, but could it ever compare with the really big show at a neighbor’s house on Woodland?
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