Just last night I saw something that completely changed my life.
OK, so it wasn't that profound, but it was exceptional nonetheless. Last night, I got together with some friends and watched the new release movie 'Cloverfield'. In all honesty, I did not expect to enjoy this movie, but I did - immensely. The candid nature of the filming made the movie feel incredibly real. And besides, once in awhile it is truly delightful to sit back and watch a 40-story-high creature destroy a city on the big screen.
I bring up the movie Cloverfield in conjunction with our current discussion topic of entertainment. Over the past three generations, folks have found entertainment in a multitude of forms, some more prankish than others. Anyone recall the famous Orson Welles broadcast in 1938 of the War of the Worlds? I often wonder how my grandparents, who passed away before computer animation became widespread, would have reacted to the ultra-realistic portrayal of Cloverfield's decapitated Statue of Liberty.
This was a time when an individual person's imagination provided far more realism than a computer-generated image. Anyone who has listened to an old-time radio broadcast can literally see the events being scripted over the airwaves. During the 1920s, radio broadcasting exploded in growth - the success of Pittsburgh's KDKA spawned more than 800 independent radio stations. By the end of the decade, millions of Americans were tuning into Amos 'n Andy, a comic serial that aired five nights a week. My grandmother referenced with great fondness shows that included Jack Benny, the WLS Barn Dance, Hit Parade, Fibber McGee and Molly, the Lone Ranger, and Gene Autry.
Radio was so popular during the 1920s and 1930s that sets were designed and constructed to be the focal point of a home. While some models fit on tabletops, others were intended as large, fine pieces of furniture suitable for covering with a delicate doily and treasured family heirlooms. The radio of the 1930s certainly was central when it came to home entertainment, and was the medium through which many Americans first heard of Pearl Harbor, as we will discuss in upcoming articles.
In fact, some American families were able to tune to the radio even before their homes were wired with electricity. My Aunt Marie and Uncle Daryl described what a "battery radio" was - something I had never even heard of: "You'd have a storage battery, like what you have on your tractor or car now, and that was your main source of power. But then you'd have what were called B-batteries or C-batteries in the radio, and if they went dead they were like three bucks apiece, so you went without for awhile!"
The film industry also boomed in the 1920s. Hollywood thrived, to the point where every major city in the United States had a theater - some seating as many as 4,000 people! By 1929, average weekly movie attendance across America climbed to nearly 100 million, far greater than 1991's scant draw of 19 million! For the average American like my grandmother, though, going to the movies was still a special treat; "We only got to go once or twice a year to a movie."
During the 1930s, entertainment sometimes took on a prankish nature. "Someone would come and soap the schoolhouse windows, or tip over the outhouse - the toilets were always tipped over." Daryl went on, "Corn shocks were another target. [I can remember] across town there were about 150 corn shocks, all tipped over. Some kid bragged about it and Old Art Studer found out. He was big - he overhauled those two kids and made them shock up that corn; no school that day!"
Other "skullduggery" included leaving gates open, letting cows out, and even stealing milk carts. Of course, during the 1930s, retribution could be harsh. According to Daryl, "A bunch of kids took a guy's milk buggy. They got it up on the roof of the barn and were going to just leave it there when the guy came out of the house with a shotgun and said 'I think you boys better put that back down'!"
Such pranks as these represented the extent that people would damage property. Mainly, shenanigans would go no further than letting someone's cows out onto the road, "But in those days everyone had a fence, and if cows got out on the road they couldn't get into anyone's fields or anything. Tipping over outhouses - that was common, but I've never wrecked anything," says Daryl.
Socially, the annual school picnic was an anticipated activity for children and families alike. Says Marie, "Us kids would get asked when the picnic was, and of course it was always the last day of school. We used to have nice picnics - we'd have a potluck, we'd play games, and the kids got their report cards. The teachers would furnish ice cream and it was something we always looked forward to. We also had a school Christmas program that we'd put on for the parents, and that old schoolhouse would just be jam-packed! There wasn't even sitting room!"
At school or locally, kids would get together to play made-up communal games. Decades later, Marie still can recite Pennsylvania Here I Come:
"We had two teams and one would say 'Here I Come',
'Where From?'
'Pennsylvania.'
'What's your trade?'
'Lemonade.'
'Well, show us something if you're not afraid.'
Then we did a charade that the other team was supposed to guess. If they did we'd run to our goal. If the other team caught us we'd go to their team and pretty soon everyone was on one side..."
As I sat and listened to Marie and Daryl recite these games, I couldn't help but wonder. Decades from now, will the ultra-realistic decapitated Statue of Liberty be as meaningful to me as 'Pennsylvania' was to them?
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
OK, so it wasn't that profound, but it was exceptional nonetheless. Last night, I got together with some friends and watched the new release movie 'Cloverfield'. In all honesty, I did not expect to enjoy this movie, but I did - immensely. The candid nature of the filming made the movie feel incredibly real. And besides, once in awhile it is truly delightful to sit back and watch a 40-story-high creature destroy a city on the big screen.
I bring up the movie Cloverfield in conjunction with our current discussion topic of entertainment. Over the past three generations, folks have found entertainment in a multitude of forms, some more prankish than others. Anyone recall the famous Orson Welles broadcast in 1938 of the War of the Worlds? I often wonder how my grandparents, who passed away before computer animation became widespread, would have reacted to the ultra-realistic portrayal of Cloverfield's decapitated Statue of Liberty.
This was a time when an individual person's imagination provided far more realism than a computer-generated image. Anyone who has listened to an old-time radio broadcast can literally see the events being scripted over the airwaves. During the 1920s, radio broadcasting exploded in growth - the success of Pittsburgh's KDKA spawned more than 800 independent radio stations. By the end of the decade, millions of Americans were tuning into Amos 'n Andy, a comic serial that aired five nights a week. My grandmother referenced with great fondness shows that included Jack Benny, the WLS Barn Dance, Hit Parade, Fibber McGee and Molly, the Lone Ranger, and Gene Autry.
Radio was so popular during the 1920s and 1930s that sets were designed and constructed to be the focal point of a home. While some models fit on tabletops, others were intended as large, fine pieces of furniture suitable for covering with a delicate doily and treasured family heirlooms. The radio of the 1930s certainly was central when it came to home entertainment, and was the medium through which many Americans first heard of Pearl Harbor, as we will discuss in upcoming articles.
In fact, some American families were able to tune to the radio even before their homes were wired with electricity. My Aunt Marie and Uncle Daryl described what a "battery radio" was - something I had never even heard of: "You'd have a storage battery, like what you have on your tractor or car now, and that was your main source of power. But then you'd have what were called B-batteries or C-batteries in the radio, and if they went dead they were like three bucks apiece, so you went without for awhile!"
The film industry also boomed in the 1920s. Hollywood thrived, to the point where every major city in the United States had a theater - some seating as many as 4,000 people! By 1929, average weekly movie attendance across America climbed to nearly 100 million, far greater than 1991's scant draw of 19 million! For the average American like my grandmother, though, going to the movies was still a special treat; "We only got to go once or twice a year to a movie."
During the 1930s, entertainment sometimes took on a prankish nature. "Someone would come and soap the schoolhouse windows, or tip over the outhouse - the toilets were always tipped over." Daryl went on, "Corn shocks were another target. [I can remember] across town there were about 150 corn shocks, all tipped over. Some kid bragged about it and Old Art Studer found out. He was big - he overhauled those two kids and made them shock up that corn; no school that day!"
Other "skullduggery" included leaving gates open, letting cows out, and even stealing milk carts. Of course, during the 1930s, retribution could be harsh. According to Daryl, "A bunch of kids took a guy's milk buggy. They got it up on the roof of the barn and were going to just leave it there when the guy came out of the house with a shotgun and said 'I think you boys better put that back down'!"
Such pranks as these represented the extent that people would damage property. Mainly, shenanigans would go no further than letting someone's cows out onto the road, "But in those days everyone had a fence, and if cows got out on the road they couldn't get into anyone's fields or anything. Tipping over outhouses - that was common, but I've never wrecked anything," says Daryl.
Socially, the annual school picnic was an anticipated activity for children and families alike. Says Marie, "Us kids would get asked when the picnic was, and of course it was always the last day of school. We used to have nice picnics - we'd have a potluck, we'd play games, and the kids got their report cards. The teachers would furnish ice cream and it was something we always looked forward to. We also had a school Christmas program that we'd put on for the parents, and that old schoolhouse would just be jam-packed! There wasn't even sitting room!"
At school or locally, kids would get together to play made-up communal games. Decades later, Marie still can recite Pennsylvania Here I Come:
"We had two teams and one would say 'Here I Come',
'Where From?'
'Pennsylvania.'
'What's your trade?'
'Lemonade.'
'Well, show us something if you're not afraid.'
Then we did a charade that the other team was supposed to guess. If they did we'd run to our goal. If the other team caught us we'd go to their team and pretty soon everyone was on one side..."
As I sat and listened to Marie and Daryl recite these games, I couldn't help but wonder. Decades from now, will the ultra-realistic decapitated Statue of Liberty be as meaningful to me as 'Pennsylvania' was to them?
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
