Where Have You Gone, Charles Nelson Reilly?

My Life Before Cable

On Friday evenings, my siblings and I would go to Quall’s Market and nab their leftover cardboard boxes. The diaper and toilet paper boxes were best because they were the biggest. They had to be large enough to fit into. When we got home, we’d take the steak knives from the kitchen drawer (to the groans of mom) and start sawing away. We’d trim the flap lids off and maybe cut in a window or two. Then we were ready.

Friday Night was the time for “Nightmare Theatre.” We’d climb into our cardboard boxes with our pillows and blankets and listen to the scary, echoey voice of Ron Ross (who by day, played Fireman Frank). He’d warn us of the terror and fright that was about to befall us. I usually fell asleep before the horror began, but remember sometimes very late when The Star Spangled Banner played. Then the picture turned to snow.

Saturday morning, I would awaken in my box and turn the TV back on. Sid and Marty Kroft were my heroes. They brought “H.R. Pufnstuf” and “Lidsville” to life and planted all sorts of drug messages into my impressionable young mind — not to mention Billy’s Magic Flute. That was the creepiest thing ever. Saturday mornings also brought “Lancelot Link: Secret Chimp” and “The Monkees.” I think I had a crush on Peter Tork. I also think I am the only person alive who never watched “Johnny Quest.”  Maybe we were watching “Land of the Lost” instead. David loved that show. I thought it was lame—especially the slestaks. 

After the cartoons ended, we’d watch “American Bandstand.” I desperately wished for the ability to snap my fingers. That was followed by “ABC’s Wide World of Sports Pro Bowlers Tour.” Earl Anthony and Jim Stefanich would face off in heart-stopping 10-frame nail biters. After that, we’d change from our PJs to our cutoffs and head outside for the rest of the day.

Sunday Mornings were all about Bullwinkle, Boris and Natasha and “Fractured Fairy Tales.” That theme song still gets stuck in my head from time to time and the vision of that fat fairy with the big nose still cracks me up. I never understood the jokes but thought they were funny anyway. At 10:00, with the final stroke of the fractured fairy’s wand, the TV would be shut off to the opening strains of “Music and the Spoken Word.”

Weekdays, we’d watch Admiral Bernie as he presented Bugs, Daffy and the gang. Bernie Calderwood also hosted the “Big Money Movie” on Channel 5 in the afternoons where he would interrupt some B-Grade movie to give some gaga housewife her chance at a small fortune. I never saw anybody win. Nevertheless, we’d sit glued to the telephone. Lynn Lehman ran the same racket on Channel 4 with “Dialing For Dollars.” “Dark Shadows” was also on in the afternoons. Barnabas and Quentin were the only ones who were allowed to interrupt our sandlot baseball games.

In fourth grade, I won the Freckle Contest at the Utah State Fair. I was bestowed the crown by Cupcake the Clown and was on the front page of the newspaper the next morning. That day, as I was walking to school, a big blue car pulled up alongside me. The driver asked if I was Scott and if I wanted to be on TV. I said “yes.” She said, “Get in the car, Sweetie.” I did. She drove me to the fairgrounds where they were broadcasting “Romper Room” and I was Miss Julie’s Special Guest. Me and a big tortoise.

As I grew older, before school we’d tune into “Hotel Balderdash.” Harvey (in the top hat and huge necktie), Cannonball (in the bowtie and bowler) and Raymond (in the knickers and stupid glasses) would act like buffoons as they introduced the cartoons. They were idiots. It was plain to see I was getting too old for this stuff.

PBS was always a more erudite offering. My first memory of “educational television” was watching “The Friendly Giant” on our old black and white TV. His pal the giraffe would chat with him through the mile-high window and his chicken would cluck from its nest on the wall as he moved the itty-bitty rocking chair up to the itty-bitty fire. He’d tell me a story then his tiny drawbridge would pull to a close as he told me goodnight. Through “Sesame Street” and “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” I learned my social skills from Lady Elaine Fairchild and Oscar the Grouch. On “Electric Company,” Morgan Freeman and Rita Moreno challenged my brain. I also honed my linguistic skills with ubby-dubby talk on “Zoom.”

Eventually, my tastes veered toward the more sophisticated “Gilligan’s Island” and “The Brady Bunch.” On Saturday nights, it was “The Carol Burnett Show,” “Sonny and Cher,” and “The Muppet Show.” I loved “The Love Boat” and got all choked up at the end of “Brian’s Song.” Thinking back on Karen Black getting terrorized by the horrific little doll on “Trilogy of Terror” still gives me the creeps. Classics, all.

As a kid, TV practically ruled my life. Now, my cardboard box has given way to a couch and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I’ll catch a rare glimpse of Charles Osgood on Sunday mornings and I’m a bit obsessed with “Downton Abbey.” Other than that, thanks to the invasion of the “How I Met Two Broke Girls”  and “Sex Scandals Tonight,” I couldn’t give two hoots and a holler for television. It’s really gone downhill since the days of tin foil on the antennae and the Horizontal Hold button.

I miss Match Game.