Auntie Beeb, Commercials, PBS

Canary Feathers fans (both of them) who wait with bated spinach breath for my promised popping off about Popeye and his break from his favorite muscle food must wait.  I need to deal with another thing of no possible interest to persons in their right minds.  But isn't that what blogs are for? We revel in goofy personal ramblings of no consequence.

The thing is, I have a headache from trying to figure out the British system of making you buy a license to use radio or TV.  It appears that it costs the equivalent of around 235 bucks a year.  It looks like you must have a license to use the grand old non-commercial BBC or its commercial, advertiser supported competition.  You need a license to view and hear commercials?  Say it isn't so.

It is my hope that blog brother Harry of Broadcastellan fame living in Wales,  (I should call him blog son because I am old enough to be his pappy)  will comment on all this and let us know how much of PBS  is available in the U. K.  He spent 15 years in New York and says his greatest memory of our so-called Public Broadcasting System is those interminable fund raisers. 

 Did Brits get their knickers in a knot, fearing that if Mitt Romney became president he would do away with Big Bird? I, for one, will rise up with great indignation if Kermit the Frog can no longer sing "Lydya the Tatooed Lady" and get decked by Miss Piggy.   Might I even let the moths out of my wallet and send a few bucks to keep PBS on the air?  Let's not go that far.  On the other hand,  I might do something rash  if I can no longer watch Red Green, Canada's hilarious king of duct tape or get my Saturday Night Lawrence Welk fix.

So what's up with our much cussed and discussed radio and TV  with the "Public" label hung on it?  I am so old that I remember when it came upon the scene as an an alternative to commercial  broadcasting that lives or dies on ratings and advertiser revenue. I guess they named it Public because it was government subsidized, actually paid for by us the public from  our taxes. The whole idea was under fire right from the get-go. Many of the stations that became part of PBS were educational outlets operated by colleges and universities.  Did PBS really feed the need of the general public, whatever that means?  Or was it elitist, something for highbrows to talk about at cocktail parties. "I get all my news from PBS and I love the opera and those wonderful educational programs, all without those awful commercials." The conservative side of the political aisle said  the feds  should not have to pay for it with our taxes. Let those who want it support it. That  becomes ever closer to reality as government funding gets cut more and more.  So here we are with hours and hours of fund raisers and corporate underwriter credits that come real close to full blown commercials. So what's the answer.  Whither the struggling and threatened PBS?  Will big  bird lose his feathers? Will Kermit and Miss Piggy ride off into the sunset as in some old tired cowboy movie?  Damned if I know.  Maybe the Brits have some ideas for us here in the colonies who wish to meet with the elite to eat.  But it won't be at Duffy's Tavern.  Can you imagine Duffy's TV tuned to PBS? 

The Radio TV Name Game...My Altered Egos

When I began this less than spectacular experiment in blogging, I was Cliffie.  Middle age, not as cool as I thought I 
was.  Maybe something like
 Cliffie the  mailman on "Cheers."  The bar stool  security guard turned mailman philosopher.
I worked with a cute young babe who called me Cliffie. Oh boy!




I got older  and fancied myself smarter, so I went with  Clifton, the real first name. Sort of like Clifton Fadiman, I imagined.  A literary bright light of the '30s and '40s, the know-everything-about-everything host of radio's high class  quiz/game show, "Information Please." The Alex Trebeck of his time   Yes! I would be erudite. Fadimanesque.  He would be proud of me for coining that word.  Maybe he already did.  



 But my level of erudition just wasn't sufficient to pull it off. 
So I turned to another pseudonym borrowed from old time radio. I would be Paul Barbour, the wise eldest son of "One Man's Family." It was one of the longest running radio dramas.  I wanted so much to be like Paul.
 

 Paul is the handsome dude with the moustache on the right.  I still hear Michael Raffetto's voice in my head.  He was Paul for the time I was listening and he also appeard on radio's "I love a mystery as Jack Packard. Remember Doc, Jack and Reggie? Paul Barbour.  What a guy.  Maybe if reincarnation is  true  I will get born into  a Barbour Family with that aristocratic "U" spelling and they will name me Paul.



Or maybe I should just follow Dr. Phil's advice and get real and  like myself the way I am. I ain't smart, wise, erudite or any of that idealistic stuff. I have it!  I will drag out good old Clifton, the name my parents gave me, add a bit of possible Irish ancestry and become Clifton Finnegan. He was the likeable, not too bright character  in the dimly lit "Duffy's Tavern." Another great radio show from the past.


But for now, just call me Paul.
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Next: WHEN POPEYE QUIT SPINACH.........Coming soon.  
Stay Tuned 

Scroll down for the comment thing.  I don't know why it's way down there.

     




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Guess Who

Another great title to come:  Rube Goldberg with Duct Tape.  Can you guess who it is?  I'll bet somebody gets it..

THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A DAME, VERA

This post will appear in the next issue of a local senior paper that I write for. It will be most interesting to see what comments come from readers or from any younger ones who might stumble across it here.
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I don't know what generation I came from. If what Tom Brokaw calls "The Greatest Generation" includes those who grew up in the '30s and '40s, I'm in.  If it refers to WWII veterans and their contemporaries, I didn't quite make it.  I was 15 when the war ended.  By the time I was draft age the Korean War was going on, but I was classsified 4-F.  They didn't want me. If you were 1-A you would soon be in uniform. 

Even though I didn't serve in WWII, I still remember the songs that played a big part in getting us through it here and in England. "He's 1-A in the army and he's A-1 in my heart" is not one of the more memorable songs from that time, but there are a few great ones that are still sung, warming the hearts of us who remember.

There is one performer from that time  who is still with us. She became the sweetheart of the troops with "We'll meet again."


If you want to see an old man cry, just hang around when I'm watching computer videos of 92 year old Dame Vera Lynn  talking about those days and her continuing dedication to the armed forces. She sings that song with her young friend, New Zealand's Haley Westenra. Not as well known as she should be here, Haley is adored by her fans. Her friendship with Dame Vera is something quite rare and wonderful.

You don't need to be an old Brit to be moved  by "We'll meet again" or "When the lights go on again all over the world."   "There'll be Bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover" can pack an emotional  punch even if you've never seen those cliffs and you don't know where they are. You might even feel a bit of a tug at the old heartstrings from "There'll always be an England and England will be free." There is something grand about Dame Vera  singing those songs.

To find the videos, just enter "Vera Lynn Haley Westenra" in your search engine. If you don't have a computer, ask a friend or relative to bring a laptop for you. If you can watch without shedding some pretty big tears all over the place, you need a heart transplant.

There'll always be an England.  There will never be another Vera Lynn.

Stay tuned ... great titles

I shoulda been a headline or title writer.  There are countless titles for new posts in my head.  One of these days I will get around to writing posts to go with those splendid titles.

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When Popeye gave up spinach
 Hammond's gift to the world., No, not the organ.
Claghorn's Leghorn Legacy
What do we do in the dew with Dolores

Those Quirky Canucks

With a song in my head

Underground Love

Whoopie John Wilfahrt

 Private  Eyes organ-ized

Where's Les Tremayne?

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I can hardly wait to see what these will be about

OH HENRY!

I believe I will do a series of "I wonder what it's like" posts.  Today I wonder what it's like  to live someplace where you do not need to own a car . Being from Michigan, hatched and brung up not all that far from Detroit, I know it's likely to get me deported if I suggest that there might be something more valuable, more  important,  more worth going in debt for, even more more romantic than  your own wheels.

 That's right, romantic.  A TV car commercial says "You want romance?  You want to fall in love?  You'll just have to go drive one." Anderson Cooper's afternoon freak  show, that's a lot like Dr. Phil's freak show,  featured a guy who is literally in love with his car.  He says he has a physical relationship with it.  Don't ask.  I don't want to know.  If only Henry knew what he hath wrought.

Old Henry has been accused of everything from anti-Semitism to union busting but he did bring us good radio.   He built Greenfield Village, brought us old time radio music from there  and sponsored the Ford Sunday Evening Hour on the network. Plus that he helped Laurens Hammond bankroll the Hammond Organ and ordered one of the first models.  An instrument that changed music as much as Ford's Tin Lizzy changed the way we get  from here to there.

Sorry, Henry.  There are still times when I wish I didn't  need  to own one. I wonder what it's like  to use a bus, train, taxi, boat, feet or what manner of conveyance folks outside of Michigan use to get where they need to go.

BLOCKHEAD WRITERS

I wonder what it's like to have writers block.  That won't happen to me, not when there are thousands of things to write about.  Or is it millions.  Maybe it's infinite, I don't know.
Or might it be that only great writers with big things to say get plugged up while I am full of trivia and other things that  come popping out.

My writing challenge, and the most fun at the same time, is not what to say but how to say it. There are so many ways to write it and make it work  for the medium you're writing for. I enjoy recycling an idea, making it right for each of the four local publications who accept my meanderings because it doesn't cost them anything. Correction:  A township newspaper pays me a whopping cent and a half a word. I take the check for 5  or  6 bucks  to the bank, convinced  that I am a professional writer.

Some wiseguy who won't get credit because I don't remember who it was said we long to be praised  for something other than what we are known for.

 If once a week or so an old radio fan says he still misses me on the air, I give him my standard reply that needs a retread real bad.  "Thanks. I miss me, too.  but I don't want to be in radio the way it is today." That's a good opening for them to talk about how the once great radio medium has gone to hell.

But let one person say she reads my column in the senior magazine and likes it, and I  glow like the dial of my 1941 Zenith Radio.

I already know how I will refurbish this one for that senior paper. I will yell at my fellow geezers and geezerettes that they should get on the internet so they can read the splendid blogs there.  Especially mine.

Andy Griffith

 Andy Griffith has left us.  A great and loved performer.
 Here's the film that made him a star. http://canfeath.blogspot.com/2009/10/face-in-mirror.html

Old Old OLD time radio

I told a thirty-something friend that I go to sleep listening to old time  radio shows.  She said, "I like it,  too. I could talk about '70s rock all day."  I'd say we have a bit of a generational issue here.

The Hustons' Song

I have not yet recovered from the stratospheric high that came from watching Anjelica Huston sing "September Song." One reviewer wrote that fans of "Smash" never saw it coming.  That made it even more special.  The great lady doing the song written for her Grandfather, Walter Huston in 1938. Recorded by dozens,  it will always belong to him. And now Anjelica, who never knew her grandfather, has paid him a splendid tribute. I'm not much for TV, I could get along without it.  But once in a while something great happens.  It's a SMASH with this old man.

Go Retro!

Here is one fine blog that you  need to visit.  It's beautifully and lovingly produced by Pam.  I think she's in Boston.  http://goretro.blogspot.com /  She says she writes it because "some of  us  still believe in yesterday."  Count me in, Pam.              

You could say my praise is a supreme compliment because I'm old enough to be Pam's father and the era and its people that she often deals with are a bit too recent for me.  Being a geezer, my interest in past popular culture, especially music,  goes way back  before the mid '50s and early '60s when the rock culture forever changed the world.  "Retro" as it's used today seems to generally refer to that period of Elvis, the Beatles and  on into the '80s.

But thankfully, giving me something I can relate to, Pam put a picture of old Satchmo on her page. She does lots of research, posts great illustrations and her style is fun to read.      

Pam's post that got me all excited is about the several versions of the Titanic tragedy that have been produced. She has seen them all, deciding that she likes the 1958  film,  A Night to Remember best.  I got all warm and fuzzy when she wrote that she watched it with her father.  I have a daughter just a few years older than Pam.  She shares much of my interest in old stuff . That's special.

To read Pam's whole story,  check out Go Retro.   The link is above the picture.  It's a good one.         



                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Anjelica's a SMASH

Stay tuned for ravings about Anjelica Huston after I look up some stuff. What an arresting face.  And a magnificent nose.  I'm glad she didn't get it fixed.
 

MASON ADAMS CADBURY BUNNY

 

We voice freaks are probably obsessive.  We  hear a voice and we go nuts 'til we can find out who it is. I'm crazed from trying to figure out if the cute Cadbury Bunny commercials still use the voice of the late Mason Adams.  The internet says Willard Scott replaced him on the Smuckers spots but I find no statement that Scott voices the Cadbury commercials. 

If it's Scott or someone else doing a superb rendering of  Adams,  he's very very good.  With practice, I guess any good voice artist could do the unusual inflections that made Adams so memorable and unmistakeable, but capturing the precise, grandfatherly timbre would be exceedingly difficult.  That's why I think the current Cadbury spots don't use the Adams voice.

HOWARD'S WEATHER

As Detroit Tigers radio engineer for 50 years used to say during the pregame feed to stations on the Tigers network, "IT'S COLDER THAN A WITCH'S TIT"

Howard is 94, still lives in Southgate.

Hermits and Howls

I listened to a 1940 broadast of  "The Hermit's Cave" last night.  The howling wind and wolves accompanying the heremit's demented cackle as he introduced his ghost stories gave me no nightmares this time.  I don't remember if they did back in the '40s when I and lots of other kids listened under the covers.

That's one of just a handful of big time radio shows that originated in Detroit.  The Hermit came from WJR while WXYZ produced "The Lone Ranger,"  "The Green Hornet" and "The Challenge of the Yukon."

When the Hermit moved to the West, several of the young broadcasters who worked on the show became very famous.  One was William Conrad, later Marshal Matt Dillon on radio's "Gunsmoke." I didn't watch the TV version.  It wasn't right without Conrad as the Marshal and Parley Baer as Chester. John Dehner, one of the best known voices of the Hermit, became Palladin on radio's "Have gun will travel."

I suppose I'm a foolish old coot to feel pity for the young pups who did not grow up during radio's golden era.  What a time it was.  You used your imagination.