A Hundred Year Story, Part 25

The Early Days of Television

By Elton Camp

The first television set I ever saw was in the home of a wealthy older couple who
lived in Albertville. It was the talk of the town, especially since it was a floor model that
cost over one thousand dollars in money of the late 1940s before inflation eroded its
value. The round picture tube produced an image of low quality and of course was in
black and white. Only slowly did more people come to own the costly and troublesome
devices.

In the early 1950s, if any family in a community bought a television set, their
home became a de facto theater. Neighbors would drop in uninvited and stay for hours.
Younger people may find that hard to believe, but at least where I lived it was true.

The television stations went off the air around midnight with a playing of the
national anthem and then signed back on the following morning with a test picture of an
Indian. It gave users a chance to adjust their sets. One of the most used controls was
“horizontal hold,” which was needed to keep the picture from rolling.

Each morning, before the advent of television, my father kept the radio on WGSV
in Guntersville while we ate breakfast and got ready for the day’s activities. It broadcast
a mix of gospel music, holy roller preaching, news, and farm reports about the prices of
barrows and gilts. I never learned how those two types of swine differed.

I remember one frantic preacher in particular because every few words, he’d
shout “Wow” even louder than his already thunderous delivery. I thought it was so
funny. Carried away with emotion, the man probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

A fishing show had a theme song with the words, “Let’s go fishing instead of just
a wishing. Let’s go away for a while.” The ditty included more lyrics, but I can’t
remember them. That program was in keeping with Guntersville’s status as a fisherman’s
resort.

We got a television set when I was in the sixth grade. It was a 17-inch Motorola
that stood on a set of wooden legs.

My father chose the programs to be watched without consulting the rest of the
family. With only two channels from which to select, it hardly mattered. Reception
quality varied greatly, dependent on the weather. Channel 13 had the better picture.
Channel 6 had noticeable lines of glitter across the screen at all times. Both were
Birmingham stations. The Milton Berle Show was an outstanding variety show, but we
seldom got to watch it since my father disliked the man. Two game shows stand out:
What’s My Line and I’ve got a Secret. The Arthur Godfrey Show and Hit Parade were
musical programs.

Cigarettes and soap accounted for many of the sponsors and advertising.
Occasionally running in my head are “Winston tastes good like a cigarette should,” and
“Willie the Penguin says, Smoke Kool.” Kool was a mentholated cigarette. “Call for
Phillip Morris” was chanted by Johnny, a midget in a uniform. Even persons dressed as
doctors promoted cigarettes, giving the impression that they presented no health threat.

Color television hadn’t yet appeared. In so far as I know, the very first color
program seen in Alabama was the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan. TV repairmen and
storeowners made a trip to Birmingham to see it on a special hookup available only to
them.

Sets of that day were notoriously unreliable despite their exorbitant cost—far
more in the more valuable money of that time than sets cost today. An ordinary set cost
more than a man’s entire monthly salary. Frequent visits from the repairman were the
norm. If the set had to be taken to the man’s shop, it’d be gone for days. Remote control
wasn’t available. The channel changer on the front of the set responded with a loud click
as it passed each channel between two and thirteen. No other channels were available.

Night after night, after TV signed off late, when my parents went go to bed, a
different, even more disturbing sound began. “Rub my back,” he ordered. He’d quickly
go to sleep and start to snore loudly. If she stopped, he’d snort, wake up, and demand
that she start rubbing again.

“Howard, I’m exhausted. I need sleep and doing that so long makes my hand go
numb,” she protested.

“Keep rubbing,” he always commanded indifferently.

Occasionally she’d refuse. When that happened, he was still mad about it the next
morning. I can’t understand how she could possibly have allowed herself to be taken
advantage of like that, but it’s consistent with how she gave in to him throughout her
married life. She must’ve been chronically sleep deprived. I certainly was. Everything
was about him and his desires as far as he was concerned.
 Old Bakelite Cabinet on Television Set, Similar to Our First One

Television reception required a tall outside antenna. Our original one was placed
on the top center of the house in an effort to get a clear signal from Birmingham. To
keep it from falling in wind, guy wires ran in various directions to fasten to posts or other
stationary objects. Ultimately, the antenna fell on the house despite the support, so my
father moved it to the ground outside a window where the TV set was located. The
picture was just as good as it had been with the risky location.

Flat lead-in wires led from the antenna to a set of screws on the back of the set.
They were readily accessible since it was vital to disconnect them and throw them to the
ground outside anytime lightning was a possibility. Otherwise, a strike of the antenna
would destroy the set and might cause a fire. Because it was necessary to act fast, a
clothespin-like device came onto the market. The lead-in wires connected to it and the
device then clamped onto the screws. That way, the necessary job could be quickly
accomplished, especially important since a lightning strike while one was disconnecting
the wires could be fatal. More than a few people were killed in just such a manner.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)