"Bob's Candy Store doesn't have it yet."
"Did you try the guy near the cleaners?"
"He doesn't have it yet. Let's hear down to 241st Street. There are three stores down there."
For me, it was a thirst that needed to be quenched as soon as possible. I would not rest until...
I had, in my grubby, young hands, the next week's TV Guide.
When you're young and in grade school, you live for two things every single evening. The completion of your nightly homework. And your personally chosen primetime television schedule.
As soon as every Wednesday arrived and you'd see who was adorning the cover of next week's TV Guide, you could breathe a little easier. Life was going to be okay. At least, for another seven days.
When we would go to my aunt's house a few blocks away, she would marvel at her own TV Guide. Sent in the mail. Isn't that easier than buying it in the store?
And what day does your mailed TV Guide arrive?
"Thursday, sometimes Friday."
Audible scream. Me. That's way too late. I needed to start planning my TV viewing sooner than that.
I'd read that TV Guide all the way home from the store. I probably dodged death by fender more than once as I had my nose buried while crossing major thoroughfares. You automobiles can wait. I need to see if Paul Lynde is making a guest appearance on the Dean Martin Show next Thursday.
I had a grid in my school notebook. It showed me night-by-night what was on my television docket. It was meticulously planned out. When shows seamlessly flowed to one another. When I actually had to change the channels. Which shows would I have to watch on my own and which ones were programs that I enjoyed with my grandmother. This information was perhaps twice as important as any of the school lessons on the other pages.
The pinnacle of TV Guide issues every year happened on the very first Wednesday of September.
The Fall Preview!!!
It was time to learn about all the new shows that the three, yes, count 'em, three networks had to offer to the unsuspecting public. I'd systematically read through all of the descriptions and formulate my own opinions. I needed to determine if any of these new programs stood a chance of cracking my own viewership grid. And God forbid if they were at the same time as one of my favorites.
Once I digested it all, I needed to present my findings to my grandmother. I watched almost seventy percent of prime time with her. If I was sold on a TV show, she needed to be on board. I'd sit and copiously read to her all the descriptions from the Fall Preview.
The Time Tunnel. Two guys go back into time every week.
"Sounds silly."
The Outer Limits. Scary different tales every week.
"Too spooky for me."
Jimmy Durante Presents the Lennon Sisters.
"Nice girls. We should watch that."
And so it went. The yearly process. As regular as Thanksgiving dinner and income tax day.
Most weeknights and on Sundays, I could be found downstairs in Grandma's part of the house. Me in the rocking chair and her in that big, comfy easy chair. But, on Saturday nights, I was cast adrift. Literally.
We had two television sets in our house. One upstairs in the lair of my parents and me. One downstairs in Grandparentville. Plenty of chance for diverse sampling, right?
Wrong.
My Saturday grid was shanghai-ed by two television consoles that both needed to be tuned to...
Lawrence Welk.
And a one and a two and a "Len is screwed..."
Meanwhile, while I'm hearing some Champagne Lady sing in all corners of our house, I am thinking about my shows and what I'm missing. I Dream of Jeannie. Get Smart. My Three Sons.
I must have protested a lot. Miraculously, one Christmas, I wound up with my own portable black and white TV for my room only. A very, very nice way for my folks to tell me to "get lost."
I will do so. Gladly.
Finally, I could address my primetime grid completely. All seven nights a week. Mine.
Next week, I'll tell you about some of those shows which were personal favorites when seated in the rocking chair next to Grandma.
Dinner last night: Bacon burger at Go Burger.
2 comments:
I'd wait every August for the promos announcing the fall shows, especially the new ones. I was never again so excited by TV. It made going back to school bearable.
I still have a memory of one show both m parents and I liked, Mission impossible. I was in my bedroom in that little one bedroom near Jerome Ave. looking out the window at our alley facing the back of another building and then I'd hear the theme, dum dum da da, dum dum da da, dadada. . .and I'd be out in the living room in a flash. I wanted to be Cinnamon Carter. Cool. Classy and dangerous.
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