The History of Television — Part 1

1950’s

When I was a young shaver, we didn't have TV until my aunt gave us hers. It had a six inch screen with vacuum tubes. The electronics sat in a tray and took up more space than the cathode ray tube. (Which is saying something given the size of cathode ray tubes at the time, even one with a six inch screen).  You'd turn it on and wait and wait and wait while the vacuum tubes “warmed up,” what ever that means. If today's standards applied then, you would be on the phone with the cable company before the picture displayed. 

The TV sat inside this massive piece of furniture that looked a lot like a cabinet but was wider than it was tall, yet stood as tall as I did, an eight-year-old boy. The thing weighed a ton and took 4 guys to carry into the house.  I’m convinced with the slightest assistance it would have plowed through the floors to the basement. The six-inch screen looked ridiculous overwhelmed as it was by the size of the cabinet.  All that for this?

The collective cultural lie was these TV’s displayed a picture in black and white.  What they really displayed were shades of gray. The contrast was terrible. You had to plant yourself six inches in front of the six-inch screen to see anything, and forget about night scenes.  You needed night vision goggles to see night scenes, and they weren’t invented yet.  But one did quickly get used to the snap, crackle, pop of the audio.  

And that was when the signal was good, which it often wasn’t.  Then you had to jiggle the antenna wire at the back of the TV until the reception improved, and since you can’t see the picture while behind the TV, this task quickly became a family endeavor.  My mom, dad, and brother would sit in front of the TV and guide me while I jiggled the wire.

Dad:  No, no, twist it more to the left.  No, that’s not working.  Try to the right.  Better, better.  A little more. No! NO.! Too far, back a little. Slowly, slower.  STOP!  That’s it. Right there.  Don’t move it.

But sometimes the picture would only get better while I held the wire.  Which let to … 

Dad:  STOP!  That’s it. Right there.  Don’t move!  EVER!

That’s right.  I got to kneel behind the TV holding the wire while the rest of the family watched the Lone Ranger.

Me:  Dad, what’s happening now?

Dad:  The Lone Ranger has cornered bad guys.

The sound of shooting.

Me.  What’s happening? What’s happening?  Is the Lone Ranger okay?

He’s fine son.  He just shot the guns out of the hands of the bad guys.

Back then bad guys wore black hats, good guys wore white hats, and the good guys shot the guns out of the bad guys’ hands. Seven guns shot out of the hands of seven bad guys with a six-shooter. Boy, the Lone Ranger was good.

In an act of pure desperation borne out of addiction, my mom once made my dad climb a ladder to the roof to jiggle the antenna until the picture was better.  Later we purchased a smaller TV (larger screen) with a rabbit-ear antenna.  I have pictures of me holding that antenna while the family watched the show.

And the TV would stop working regularly. For the longest time I thought the TV repairman was a close relative who visited often.  I still remember the crackle of the vacuum tubes as he worked on them. I was told never to go near the TV while the repairman worked on it.  The electricity might arc though the air and shock me.  So who was this repairman?  Was he secretly superman — the man of steel, impervious to electric shock?

But it was a novelty watching Hop Along Cassidy and the Lone Ranger, minus the night scenes, of course.  But not Sunday mornings.  Unlike today, back then we had 4 or 5 channels to choose from, and Sunday was a day of rest for broadcast companies.  I would wake early on Sunday to a farmer harvesting potatoes, two preachers on different channels, and Gumby, a clay-like animated character. I take my hat off to the person who took all those still photos moving Gumby only slightly between each one to simulate movement. 

These were all good reasons — the lousy reception, lousy contrast, lousy program selection, and the antenna, including its extension, me — for going back to your room and picking up a book.