Back when I was a kid, Saturday morning television was a big deal. One cartoon show morphing into the next. From Crusader Rabbit to Bugs and Daffy to the Beatles. You might have topped it off around noon time with a rerun episode of Sky King, which was wisely sponsored by Nabisco---the cookie maker that thrived on the moppets that were watching.
The only problem is that I was usually occupied on Saturday mornings. Accompanying my dad on the weekend morning errands. From dry cleaner to delicatessen to bakery to gas station. If I was lucky, I was home for Sky King and his plane, the Songbird. But, most of the time, all that TV was a washout for me.
I really didn't care.
For me, the really, really good stuff was on Saturday afternoons.
This is back in the New York day when you didn't have a lot of choices. Three network channels plus three independent stations that pretty much existed on buying ancient sitcom reruns and old movies from the 30s and 40s.
As it turns out, it was the latter that intrigued me most.
After lunch and my chores upstairs were done, I'd race downstairs because this was quality TV time with my grandmother. The independent stations like Channel 11 WPIX, Channel 9 WOR, and Channel 5 WNEW Metromedia dusted off some junk that was gold to Grandma and me. They umbrella-ed it all under themes and we loved it all. From October to March, that's where you would find me. With her in front of her Philco TV. If it was cold and rainy outside, it was even warmer with that black-and-white glow.
Of course, there was one particular snack I needed for this every Saturday. I'd first dash around the corner to Charlie's Delicatessen and pick up my Saturday afternoon TV accompaniment.
Two Slim Jims. I'd savor them bite-by-bite. Slowly so they would last through one or two of the old movies that would hold me captive.
Of course, there were several different actors playing Charlie Chan and none of them were Asian. The best was this Swedish actor named Warner Oland. He was our favorite. Of course, just as she would do while watching her beloved wrestling, Grandma would shout warnings to the TV when Charlie or Number One Son got too close to some danger.
"Watch out, Charlie. Somebody is hiding in that closet."
They must have heard her because the killer always got caught in the nick of time.
White hunters come on safari looking for ivory in the elephant burial grounds. They are led by a pack of good natives.
They meet Tarzan, Jane, and Boy.
One of the hunters plays with a lion cub. The mother attacks him. Tarzan comes to the rescue.
Invariably, there's a moment where Olympic champion Weissmuller needed to show off his talents.
"Jane, swim."
And they would cavort for a couple of minutes in the MGM water tank that later housed Esther Williams.
At another point, everybody is on a jungle river raft which capsizes. Alligators and crocodiles attack. Tarzan wrestles one underwater.
Jane and Boy are captured, along with the rest of the safari team, by a pack of bad natives. Cheetah the chimp runs to get Tarzan, who does his yell. Dozens of elephants show up to trample the bad natives.
The end.
None of them ever differed from this cinematic template. We didn't care. I munched on my second Slim Jim. And Grandma coached from her chair.
"Hurry up, Cheetah. Go get Tarzan."
Seriously.
Cheetah, of course, was the scene stealer and, as the series moved on, the chimp became more and more human until it was laughing at people like your drunken father-in-law at the Thanksgiving table.
She had told me for years of an experience she had back in the Bronx of the 20s. There was what she called an open air movie theater. Indeed, she often called this as the very last time she had actually gone out to the movies. Well, it was a Laurel and Hardy adventure running that time. Grandma talked about it on numerous occasions.
"It was a silent picture. Laurel and Hardy were selling Christmas trees. And it was the funniest thing I ever saw."
I heard that quotation over and over for years. And, every Saturday afternoon when it was time for Stan and Ollie, Grandma would hope that they would show the short she remembered from decades before.
Because it was a silent film, they never did. And, every Saturday afternoon, my grandmother would be disappointed.
I have since done my research and seen the short that she so anxiously waited for. It's called "Big Business" and it is a laugh riot. It's too bad I never got to watch it with her.
As the Saturday afternoon moved on, Grandma would leave the living room to start her dinner, which she would, of course, enjoy at no later than 4:30PM. It was just as well because that's usually when one of the many Andy Hardy chapters would air. They all started with the portrait you see above. The very sight of it propelled my grandmother to her stove.
"Mickey Rooney. Shrimp."
I, however, loved them all. It was this idyllic life that nobody enjoyed any more. When a kid could get into some sort of trouble and it would all be solved by your father taking you into the den for a heart-to-heart talk.
This never happened in my house. For starters, we didn't have a den.
Nevertheless, the plots of all these Andy Hardy movies were as predictable and innocuous as the last.
Andy gets into trouble.
He falls for a girl.
He ignores the one next door, usually played by Judy Garland.
Judy would moon over Andy with one or two songs.
The other girl dumps Andy.
Judge Hardy, in the aforementioned den, tells Andy all about life's travails.
Andy goes off to the malt shop to join neighbor Judy for an egg cream.
The end.
Maybe that was the attraction I had for all this Saturday afternoon TV. It was film history, yes. But, it was all as comfortable as macaroni and cheese and your favorite slippers. Indeed, I probably only followed this routine for two or three years. But the memories linger to this day.
Luckily, you can still watch all of the above on Turner Classic Movies. And, almost mystically, they frequently air them on Saturday afternoons. Guess who tunes in? Or, perhaps, loads up a DVD on his Blu-Ray.
The only thing missing is Grandma yelling at the TV set. But, I can still hear her. And, miraculously, sometimes even with me holding a Slim Jim in my hand.
Dinner last night: BBQ baby back ribs in the air fryer.
