nine

more radio!

As I’ve previously mentioned, I’ve been listening to old radio shows.  I’ve been spending a lot of time lying down in bed because of a process of recovering from a physical problem.  These old radio shows have helped make that time a little more enjoyable.

I started off with The Six-Shooter, and it’s still my favorite.  I’ve grown to enjoy Tales of the Texas Rangers quite a bit, too.  It’s fun to hear the recurrent voices and some of the predictability and repetitious format is somehow smile-inducing.

I’ve almost finished listening to all the Tales of the Texas Rangers episodes.  Kinda sad.  So, I started thinking it would be fun to find something similar.  Dragnet is a very similar format, and I’ve started listening to it.  I’ve only listened to a little and I like it, but it doesn’t thus far have quite the charm of agent Jayce Pearson and his horse Charcoal.

There’s one called X Minus One that is often pretty darn good.  It’s not a serial with continuity or recurring characters but, instead, stand-alone science fiction stories told in half hour shows.  It’s well done…solid acting, good sound, and good stories a lot of the time.  It is often a bit Twilight Zone in feel, but not always.  Like many of these shows, there is some serious want of female characters and perspective.  That’s a disappointment.  It’s a real shame there isn’t a feminist time machine.  While dramas from the golden age of radio probably wouldn’t be the most urgent target of such anachronistic aid, it would make for much better shows.  

Unsurprisingly, it’s not just the perspectives of women that are largely missing from these shows, but pretty much those of anyone who is not a straight white male.  There are exceptions, of course.  For example, I just listened to an episode of CBS Radio Workshop called Sounds of New York, an anthropological-esque look at the city that featured a refreshing array of diversity.  And there are numerous science fiction stories from the era that deal with the ills of inequality.

I’ve also come across another series of stand-alone stories called Escape.  It features stories from all sorts of authors adapted to radio.  I’ve listened to stories by Joseph Conrad, Robert Louis Stevenson, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Rudyard Kipling.  All the stories, which range from social commentary to historical fiction to pulp adventure, have some sort of “action” element.

Another I’ve listened to several episodes of is Frontier Gentleman.  It focuses on the character of J.B. Kendal, a journalist for the London Times.  He travels around the old west, having odd adventures, meeting often eccentric characters, and sending stories back to the Times.  This series is cool in that it stresses narrative continuity from one episode to the next and has a bit of historical detail.  However, individual episodes are much more hit or miss than some of the other serial dramas to which I’ve listened.  Some episodes I’ll find pretty good, while a few are so much in need of that feminist time machine as to be unenjoyable.

I’ve listened to several other various shows…CBS Radio Workshop has lots of short stories adapted for radio.  I listened to some Ray Bradbury stories from that show, for example.  I’ve listened to some odd episodes from some of the more dark or macabre shows.  One of these was pretty good; the others not so much my taste.  I tried another western that turned out to be terrible!  But, really, most of what I’ve listened to I’ve found quite enjoyable.

There is a large segment of the golden age of radio into which I have barely delved: the shows aimed primarily at a young audience.  I’ve listened to a few episodes of Speed Gibson of the International Police and one or two of Space Patrol.  They are fun, and I think I would have really liked them had I been a kid in the ‘40s.  I think I’ll likely listen to a few more.  I would like to find a science fiction serial with recurring characters that I really enjoy.

eight

Brothers of the Spear

I have an urge to read some old comics.  When I was a little kid I had a handful of randomly acquired comics.  One of them I won at a bingo game at a grade school carnival, another I got over at the flea market that was periodically held at the rec center in Mandan.  I’m not really sure where the few others came from.

One of these comics was an issue of Brothers of the Spear, a series published by Dell and then Gold Key.  It told the story of Natongo and Dan-El and their adventures in a fictional land in Africa.  Another was an issue of the Lone Ranger, a story rendered in dark and moody inks and involving a steamship.  There was  a comic about a family transported to some mythical prehistoric land in which dinosaurs and hominids coexisted.  A favorite and very mysterious one was a coverless copy of an issue from Secret Wars II.  It delved into some of Marvel’s pantheistic history in a way that created such mystery in a child who didn’t know much else about the Marvel universe.  And it asked some interesting philosophical questions.

In a way, the fact that these comics were all from different series and story-lines, and read out-of-joint, made them that much more intriguing and mysterious.  All the plots and points of departure were wide open, and my imagination could take them as a starting point from which to leap into the unknown.   The characters, situations, and motifs could populate new stories, while my imagination connected them together with elements picked up elsewhere…all of it weaving together into some sort of labyrinthine daydream.

Upon beginning this post, I was only going to mention Brothers of the Spear, because of this odd urge to read one, but now I find myself waxing poetic about the beautiful mysteries of imagination.  That's one of the coolest things about being a parent, I think...taking part in and witnessing your child's explorations of the imagination.  It is truly wonderful, and one of the beautiful joys of children.

seven

Parents

I was lying in bed today and, for some reason, started thinking about a trap my dad made for me when I was a little kid.  It was a box trap and was based on traps my dad had made when he was a kid.  It was incredibly cool.

He built it out of plywood, and I think the top was made of hardware cloth.  The front was a door that fit through a slot at the top and slid down to seal the box.  When setting the trap, you used a stick to prop open the door.  Tied to the base of the stick was a piece of string attached to a little piece of wood.  You'd smear some food onto that and place it in the back of the box.  The string was short enough that it was pulled taut.

So, you'd place the box by, say, a gopher hole, get it set up, and then check on it regularly.  And did it work!  It was fun being able to see the animal up close before opening the door and watching it dash away.

We used a tinker-toy to prop open the door--it was just the right length.  I remember delicately balancing the thin plywood door on the very edge of the tinker-toy end, making sure a little tug on the bait would trip it, sending the door sliding quickly down.  I can still remember the smell of the peanut butter as we spread it on the bait holder.

My dad made lots of things for me and my siblings.  So did my mom.  Man, were they fun!  After watching Indiana Jones, my dad made my brother and me each wooden machetes.  They were so cool!  My mom, when I asked if she would make me a stuffed animal, made me one out of socks.  I named him Sockman, and now Aida plays with him today.

From the coolest race-track for toy cars and an intricate Japanese garden terrarium to wooden dinosaurs and tree houses (and lots of other stuff), they made us so many wonderful things.  Many of the projects were collaborative, and I learned a lot that way.  They played with us and they let us explore on our own.  I'm not sure how they managed what felt to me like the perfect balance, but they did.  All those home-made projects, all the playing, and all the time spent together were great meanderings of imagination and love.  And for that, I am deeply grateful.

six

the Century's corpse

Below is a poem by Thomas Hardy, famous for his novels set in fictional Wessex.  The first book I read by Hardy was  Jude the Obscure.  I read it sometime after high school, on a recommendation (thanks for that, by the way!).  The character of “Father Time”, and one particular scene involving him, remains lodged in my memory, as it does for many who read it, I imagine.  So do some other elements of the plot and feel of the book…Jude studying so hard at his little desk and his Spartan-like commitment, images of stone-masonry, his night in the pub, frustration, and sadness.  I remember a wagon pulling away from a stone building in the countryside.  That’s a bit vague but, then, I read the book years ago.  Sometimes just images and feelings remain when looking back on something one has read.

I took a trip to the dark and dripping British Isles not too long after reading that novel, and I brought with a little book that contained poetry by Thomas Hardy.  It was one of those Penguin editions called Penguin ‘60s, I think.  They are very small, and fit easily in a pocket, so they make excellent traveling companions.  I read and reread those poems.  I particularly remember one about three companions traveling across the moor.  By the time I got back home, the book was a mangled, crinkled mess.

I’ve read some other stuff written by him since, and enjoyed it.  During a recent conversation, Jen mentioned the following poem.  I have a collection of poetry with me while I am away from home, and I flipped through it looking for the Thomas Hardy section.  It does have several poems by Hardy but, surprisingly, doesn’t include The Darkling Thrush.  Anyway, here it is.  Enjoy.

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate

      When Frost was spectre-grey,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

      The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

      Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

      Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

      The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

      The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

      Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

      Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

      The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

      Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

      In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

      Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

      Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

      Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

      His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

      And I was unaware.

watch out!

five

four

mebbe so...mebbe so

Well, I finished listening to the last Six-Shooter episode a few days ago.  They were a lot of fun!  I've listened to lots of Tales of the Texas Rangers, and started listening to Frontier Gentleman.  The latter is about an English journalist who writes for the London Times while exploring the Old West.

What surprises me about some of these old shows is the quality of the acting and the immersive sound effects.  Together, this makes for a pretty amazing aural experience for the listener.  I like to shut off the lights, lie down, and listen.