I just found myself whistling this antique children’s song. Remember–Oh, Dear, What Can the Matter Be? Boy, that takes me back a ways. This version is by The Cedarmont Kids.
And of course we tykes had our own somewhat more exotic version: “Oh, dear, what can the matter be? Three old ladies locked in the lavatory!”
Nothing like a little trip down Memory Lane…
Did you ever see a cuter animal than this? It’s a pet chinchilla.
When I was a boy there was a fad for raising chinchillas at home, with the idea of getting rich by selling their pelts. I knew people who did this, but none of them got rich; and I’m glad that fad has petered out. People cheated themselves out of knowing and loving, and being loved by, some mighty appealing little critters.
How many of you remember this TV show from the 1950s–The Adventures of Jim Bowie? It ran from 1956-58, and I was a fan. Not so much a fan that I ever would have dared to try to throw a knife so it would stick in the door–my mother would have taken a very dim view of that. But I sure liked that show when I was eight years old.
If you remember nothing else about it, I’ll bet you remember the theme song, by “The King’s Men,” and the kind of haunting background music (harmonious humming, believe it or not) that was a feature of this show. Man, I’ve been whistling that theme song for 60 years!
Of course, we’re not allowed to admire Jim Bowie anymore, the PC police have sternly forbidden it. But I guess we can still hum the theme song as long as no one’s listening.
Remember these? “See through skin, see through clothes…!” They were one of many truly schlocky items advertised in the back pages of comic books.
Did you ever send away for any of those? My brother and I got these glasses once, and were greatly incensed when they turned out to be just these cardboard things that didn’t do anything at all, let alone see through anybody’s clothes.
I marvel that most of our government’s activities aren’t advertised in the back pages of 1950s comic books.
(Thanks to Linda for reminding me of this great old TV show.)
It’s almost inconceivable that a kids’ TV show like Fury would be made today: the story of a troubled orphaned boy and a wild, untameable horse–and how the boy and the horse bring love and healing to each other.
This show, starring a young and not-yet-famous Peter Graves ( Mission: Impossible), took off in 1955 and ran until the child star, Bobby Diamond, started shaving. Looking in my box of toy animals, I find I have an awful lot of horses, especially shiny black ones: Fury surrogates, one and all.
Go ahead, tell me the kids’ stuff that we’ve got now is better.
I won’t believe you.
Couldn’t resist this!
Every Saturday morning I used to run across the street to my friend Ellen’s house, and we’d watch this show: Tombstone Territory. I never forgot the theme music. (Psst! See if you can spot Leonard Nimoy before he grew his Vulcan ears.)
Well, that was the Bronze Age for you, tons and tons of Westerns on TV. I don’t even want to think about what the kids are watching now. Probably in today’s TV the marshal is the bad guy and the bank robbers and murderers are the good guys.
But what am I saying? Who’s even allowed to run over to a friend’s house anymore?
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
After 39 years of marriage, I’ve finally hit on a test for true love. If you can answer this question “yes,” after 39 years, your marriage is founded on true love. And the question is:
When you think of your wife (or husband), do you ever think, “Gee, I wish we could’ve been kids together!”
Are you kiddin’? Like, as quick as boiled asparagus, baby! How I would have loved for us to play with wax dinosaurs, or my Erector set, or Monopoly, on a rainy summer afternoon. Or to lead her through the woods to Hangman’s Tree. Or to the throne-shaped stone in the woods, that I’ve salvaged, so many years later, to be King Ryons’ throne. You bet I’d like to share those things with Patty! And I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed her father’s running commentary on various radio programs (alas, her parents died before we met).
I am rather glad, though, that she never knew me between the ages of 15 and 25.
I don’t know about you, but Grandma Moses’ paintings always go straight to my heart. If only I could find my way into one…!
What do you say to a little trip down Memory Lane?
When I was 12 or so, maybe a little younger, my Grammie and her new husband took my brother and me with them on what was meant to be a camping trip. Grammie was a Pennsylvania farm girl, and the campground happened to be very near her home; so it wasn’t only a camping trip, but also a chance for her to visit her brother, cousins, and other family members she hadn’t seen in years.
After heaven knows how many hours on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, we finally arrived. We stopped at the farmhouse first, and there things began to go pear-shaped.
First the car door closed on my finger. Now that’s pain! Then we went on to the campground, set up the tent and the cots, had a bite to eat, and went to bed. It rained heavily that night. That was how we discovered the waterproof tent wasn’t even sort of waterproof.
So instead of camping, we spent the whole week at the house. It was a very big old house that had been added to, now and again: a map would have come in handy.
But it was wonderful! Four generations of the family were living there, with room left over for guests. They had no TV, so after supper each night, everybody who didn’t fall asleep played games. There was always someone to play with.
Uncle Walt taught us to make really good slingshots. Great-Uncle Mac took us fishing. We played with our distant cousins. Then a lot of slingshots got made and we had a rousing good slingshot war in which three generations were represented. *
I wouldn’t have minded staying there all summer, or even longer. But eventually we had to come back, and none of us ever had occasion to go there again. I doubt I could even find the place, now. It’s just another one of those much-loved places that I might have only dreamed of, for all that remains of it now.
But it was a good dream.
*P.S.–For ammunition we used harmless soft green pine cones–no danger of anyone putting your eye out.
A lot of you are gonna say “Huh? What’s he talking about?” And some might even get a little cheesed off. But it isn’t everyone whose career extends over six decades; and Zacherley, “the Cool Ghoul”–horror movie host, disc jockey, presidential candidate–had the hottest show on TV when I was ten years old. And here he is at 94, still working. How I love to hear that trademark wacky laugh of his!
Come on down a little-traveled stretch of Memory Lane. No one ever came close to matching Zacherley, when it came to spoofing Grade-D horror movies: often imitated, never duplicated. Great singing voice, too. I still find myself, at odd and unexpected intervals, singing one of his ditties. “When a mummy meets a mummy, floating down the Nile/ Should a mummy greet a mummy with a nasty smile?”
It was all in fun, just a lot of innocent horsing around on TV, and my friends and I all loved it.
I wonder if it’s too late to get a copy of Zacherley’s short story anthology, Zacherley’s Vulture Stew.
Tomorrow Patty and I will have been married 39 years. I’m telling you now in case I don’t get a chance to, tomorrow.
I am wearing a T-shirt I bought in Elkton, MD, when we eloped there to be married. I had to take a day off work, and my then-boss said, “Can’t you do that on your vacation?” It was that kind of place.
So we went fishing, had several plates of crabs, got married, and went fishing again. Tomorrow we have arranged to have lobsters–I think for the first time this century.
God has blessed us in our marriage, blessed us bountifully, and we give thanks to Him for that.