Saturday, June 29, 2019
Monday, April 22, 2019
The REAL Heroes
It is good to see and hear about some of our old WW II heroes. We should never forget them. I just saw an article about the "Flying Tigers". What a bunch of heroes they were. I was not very old when WW II began and ended. I was about 7 when Japan bombed Hawaii and Pearl Harbor and plunged us into war. I do remember that famous announcement made on the radio (no TV back then) in December 1941. And I saw the war come and finally end with those two big bombs dropped on Japan. But something that grabbed my attention recently was the news item that the last living Doolittle raider died in his late 90's.
Jimmy Doolittle was the leader of a group of pilots and crews that volunteered to fly B-25 bombers on a raid on Tokyo long before the war was over. Now let me explain. These B-25 bombers were NOT jets. They were old prop driven airplanes. And these bombs were not little things. They were tons and tons of weight inside these bombers. Taking off on solid ground was quite a task. These old work horses had two engines, each about the size of a VW beetle and so loud one could not hear their fellow passengers shouting at the top of his voice. Everyone had to wear head sets. But they were powerful engines. They had to be.
I had the pleasure(?) of riding in a few of these B-25's several times, during my tour of duty in the USAF. No, I was not a pilot, nor an engineer, nor any part of the crew. I was just a passenger. Our AF Band flew around to various venues to entertain the troops and participate in local parades, etc. And we had to get there somehow. So the AF sometimes flew us in these old relics just to keep them in working order and give the pilots something to do and get some flying time for their records. The point is -- I had some experience flying in these little loud-mouthed, B-25, monsters.
But, back to Jimmy Doolittle and the raiders (sounds like a rock group). I mentioned that they were barely able to take off on solid ground. But there wasn't much solid ground close to Japan that we could use. And with such a heavy load of bombs, it took lots of fuel and they needed to have enough fuel left to get back. So -- how about a floating runway, closer to Japan, in the Pacific Ocean? How about an aircraft carrier? Great idea. Just take off with a really short runway with a load of explosives in the belly; and have this little short runway bobbing up and down with the waves. If that works, how about the return home to that carrier? Now we have this airplane designed to have a nice, flat solid. long runway to land on -- but now that runway is the size of a postage stamp, bobbing along, twisting and turning down below. And you need to hit it just exactly right and then stop on a dime just to stay dry and get back alive and well. That was the impossible task.
Well, that did not stop Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders. They did all this. And some even had been hit over Japan with anti aircraft fire and had part of their B-25 bomber missing and not working real well. But they did the impossible, day after day. These pilots and crews were among some of the great WW II heroes. Not all of them made it back. But they were determined to drop those bombs on the enemy, and deplete their resources enough that when we did finally get those two big bombs ready to drop and eventually end a war that Japan swore they would never surrender; the way was cleared by these raiders. And the last of these heroes is now gone. Now -- RIP -- finally -- every single one of you famous Doolittle Raiders. We owe you...
From the heart of Olaf Hart
Jimmy Doolittle was the leader of a group of pilots and crews that volunteered to fly B-25 bombers on a raid on Tokyo long before the war was over. Now let me explain. These B-25 bombers were NOT jets. They were old prop driven airplanes. And these bombs were not little things. They were tons and tons of weight inside these bombers. Taking off on solid ground was quite a task. These old work horses had two engines, each about the size of a VW beetle and so loud one could not hear their fellow passengers shouting at the top of his voice. Everyone had to wear head sets. But they were powerful engines. They had to be.
I had the pleasure(?) of riding in a few of these B-25's several times, during my tour of duty in the USAF. No, I was not a pilot, nor an engineer, nor any part of the crew. I was just a passenger. Our AF Band flew around to various venues to entertain the troops and participate in local parades, etc. And we had to get there somehow. So the AF sometimes flew us in these old relics just to keep them in working order and give the pilots something to do and get some flying time for their records. The point is -- I had some experience flying in these little loud-mouthed, B-25, monsters.
But, back to Jimmy Doolittle and the raiders (sounds like a rock group). I mentioned that they were barely able to take off on solid ground. But there wasn't much solid ground close to Japan that we could use. And with such a heavy load of bombs, it took lots of fuel and they needed to have enough fuel left to get back. So -- how about a floating runway, closer to Japan, in the Pacific Ocean? How about an aircraft carrier? Great idea. Just take off with a really short runway with a load of explosives in the belly; and have this little short runway bobbing up and down with the waves. If that works, how about the return home to that carrier? Now we have this airplane designed to have a nice, flat solid. long runway to land on -- but now that runway is the size of a postage stamp, bobbing along, twisting and turning down below. And you need to hit it just exactly right and then stop on a dime just to stay dry and get back alive and well. That was the impossible task.
Well, that did not stop Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders. They did all this. And some even had been hit over Japan with anti aircraft fire and had part of their B-25 bomber missing and not working real well. But they did the impossible, day after day. These pilots and crews were among some of the great WW II heroes. Not all of them made it back. But they were determined to drop those bombs on the enemy, and deplete their resources enough that when we did finally get those two big bombs ready to drop and eventually end a war that Japan swore they would never surrender; the way was cleared by these raiders. And the last of these heroes is now gone. Now -- RIP -- finally -- every single one of you famous Doolittle Raiders. We owe you...
From the heart of Olaf Hart
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Where do we go from here?
This morning I was watching the news on TV and something struck me, and prompted me to write this blog. In the Broadcast business, we call this a tease. Stay with me -- I will reveal this mystery in a few paragraphs.
Back in 1439, a guy named Gutenberg invented a device which completely turned the world upside down. It changed the way we communicated forever. His device was -- the printing press. He used it to print bibles -- lots of bibles ---- much to the chagrin of the church. They didn't want bibles printed because the general public could begin to read for themselves and the priests would be out of a job. It was thought that bibles in the hands of the ignorant, downtrodden, would cause a revolution in the church's liturgy and the church would lose control. But -- That is the subject of another blog. Suffice it to say this printing press that Gutenberg invented, started something really, really big.
As time went on, the printing press was improved upon and it became quite easy to duplicate hundreds and even thousands of posters and messages to the public. Newspapers came about pretty quickly, and we all know what the effects of that was. News was disseminated -- these printing presses were improved -- movable type -- mechanical lino-type setters -- the web press which could whip out thick newspapers in a flash Advertisers jumped on board real fast. As time went on -- huge improvements happened -- computerized printing and digital photographs' We've seen it all.
Gutenberg's little invention started a revolution in dispensing information, unlike the world had ever seen. And it is still going. Even though I spent most of my career in the broadcasting business (we broadcasters like to pretend that newspapers are the scourge of the earth) -- The printed page still has its important place in today's news and advertising world. We still call all the news organizations "The Press," don't we?
So, what is this big deal I saw on TV this morning? ....
They are going to "print" an entire rocket ship on several gigantic printing presses! That is right -- no joke. The latest technology is 3-D printing of large objects -- like rocket ships. They have been doing this with small objects for a while. And printed circuits have been around for years. But Rocket ships? I can't wait to see what they are going to print next. Maybe I will order five or nine copies of -- ME -- with good eyes and without the sore muscles and wrinkled skin and high BP, of course. Hey -- don't laugh -- I never thought they would print a rocket ship -- did you?
Ole Gutenberg is somewhere out there -- smiling -- I'll bet.
From the heart of Olaf Hart ......
Friday, November 9, 2018
Back to School
Why am I doing this? I don't know. Good question. I guess I wanted to do two things. First, to keep my brain working. And second, to learn a couple or three new things in my old age.
What am I doing? I have taken advantage of an offer, from the VA, to those of us who are legally blind -- to take online courses for free at the Hadley School for the Blind -- headquartered in a Chicago suburb. I am taking a course in fiction writing in literature. It is rather taxing for this old brain. But I am loving it.
But that is not the subject of this blog. Having to replenish my gray matter only serves to bring back lots of long ago memories of high school and college. What I am thinking is -- there is no reason for students not to make good grades nowadays; to gather information, research it and write it and submit it to a teacher on time, well thought out and neatly printed. You have all the tools.
I recall, when I was a senior in high school -- we were required to write an autobiography. I still have mine stored away on a shelf in my little office. I look at it now and then. I am amazed and a little ashamed at my lack of creativity and neatness. But then, I say to myself, I was only about 16 or so and had little help writing about this little slice of my early life. It is written in cursive (longhand) and with a fountain pen (no ball points back then). There was no typewriter available in my family. The lines are crooked and the language is a bit sophomorish. I did use a clever title, I think. "The Life That Jack Built." That was pretty good. I used lots of pictures. That took up lots of space, making it a bit thicker with more pages. One thing I can take pride in -- I created this assignment all by myself. No help from anyone. Good or bad -- it was all mine.
There were assignments in college which required some research. I trotted off to the library and scanned the encyclopedia Britannica or Americana and translated it's esoteric little Times Roman type -- pencil in hand -- notebook at the ready -- and copied only what I needed to get this paper finished. By this time, I had available a typewriter -- an old Underwood, I recall. However -- even though I knew how to bang away at the keys by touch (which I later used, probably, more than any other class I took in high school -- right now, for example) -- I was not a perfect typist. What does that mean? It causes many really filthy words to come out of one's mouth. Because, you see, with each typo, one had to start all over. There was no room for mistakes. Thus the required profanity. But with careful concentration, perfection was eventually achieved!
What am I getting at? Kids --you have no excuses. The world of computers and word processors and calculators is there for you. No more encyclopedias -- no more typewriters -- make a mistake -- fix it immediately -- rearrange a sentence -- no problem -- need some information about the dynasties in China or the Roman empire -- check your phone, ipad or computer -- print it out. You have the educational world by the tail -- so no excuses.
OK so I am envious. I wish I could have had these wonderful things back then. And, yes, I am using all these devices in my little Hadley course. And I love it! I wouldn't change a thing. But please don't forget how to put your calculators away and add numbers in your head. Or make change for $1.53 when someone gives you two bucks. Radio and TV folks -- do a live commercial now and then -- it makes your brain work overtime when it goes out at 186,000 miles per second -- that is seven times around this earth of ours every second -- there is no getting it back -- it's gone -- no redo. Perfection is required.
So what is my message? Kiddos -- put down your machines once in a while -- don't let your brains atrophy -- put yourself in a little mental jeopardy once in a while -- it gives you a helluva rush.
From the heart of Olaf Hart .....
What am I doing? I have taken advantage of an offer, from the VA, to those of us who are legally blind -- to take online courses for free at the Hadley School for the Blind -- headquartered in a Chicago suburb. I am taking a course in fiction writing in literature. It is rather taxing for this old brain. But I am loving it.
But that is not the subject of this blog. Having to replenish my gray matter only serves to bring back lots of long ago memories of high school and college. What I am thinking is -- there is no reason for students not to make good grades nowadays; to gather information, research it and write it and submit it to a teacher on time, well thought out and neatly printed. You have all the tools.
I recall, when I was a senior in high school -- we were required to write an autobiography. I still have mine stored away on a shelf in my little office. I look at it now and then. I am amazed and a little ashamed at my lack of creativity and neatness. But then, I say to myself, I was only about 16 or so and had little help writing about this little slice of my early life. It is written in cursive (longhand) and with a fountain pen (no ball points back then). There was no typewriter available in my family. The lines are crooked and the language is a bit sophomorish. I did use a clever title, I think. "The Life That Jack Built." That was pretty good. I used lots of pictures. That took up lots of space, making it a bit thicker with more pages. One thing I can take pride in -- I created this assignment all by myself. No help from anyone. Good or bad -- it was all mine.
There were assignments in college which required some research. I trotted off to the library and scanned the encyclopedia Britannica or Americana and translated it's esoteric little Times Roman type -- pencil in hand -- notebook at the ready -- and copied only what I needed to get this paper finished. By this time, I had available a typewriter -- an old Underwood, I recall. However -- even though I knew how to bang away at the keys by touch (which I later used, probably, more than any other class I took in high school -- right now, for example) -- I was not a perfect typist. What does that mean? It causes many really filthy words to come out of one's mouth. Because, you see, with each typo, one had to start all over. There was no room for mistakes. Thus the required profanity. But with careful concentration, perfection was eventually achieved!
What am I getting at? Kids --you have no excuses. The world of computers and word processors and calculators is there for you. No more encyclopedias -- no more typewriters -- make a mistake -- fix it immediately -- rearrange a sentence -- no problem -- need some information about the dynasties in China or the Roman empire -- check your phone, ipad or computer -- print it out. You have the educational world by the tail -- so no excuses.
OK so I am envious. I wish I could have had these wonderful things back then. And, yes, I am using all these devices in my little Hadley course. And I love it! I wouldn't change a thing. But please don't forget how to put your calculators away and add numbers in your head. Or make change for $1.53 when someone gives you two bucks. Radio and TV folks -- do a live commercial now and then -- it makes your brain work overtime when it goes out at 186,000 miles per second -- that is seven times around this earth of ours every second -- there is no getting it back -- it's gone -- no redo. Perfection is required.
So what is my message? Kiddos -- put down your machines once in a while -- don't let your brains atrophy -- put yourself in a little mental jeopardy once in a while -- it gives you a helluva rush.
From the heart of Olaf Hart .....
Saturday, November 3, 2018
The Fishermen
Hernando Beach, Florida? Never heard of it? Well, let me tell you. It is a little fishing town on the gulf just west of Wickee Wachee. Never heard of that either? Don't be ashamed. I think that is just OK with the folks there. They don't like crowds much.
Well, that is where we gathered on that beautiful Florida morning -- ready to go catch some fish.
We were to board the "Thunder." That is a small "Party" boat which will hold about twenty or so folks. We know it is well equipped with enough fishing poles for everyone and enough life jackets stowed away so they could be snatched if needed -- but we knew they would never be needed -- and they were not. Captain Cruz and his Mates ( there were two) had the boat ready for us and we began to board. Pelicans were squating along the way, waiting for what might be some fish cleanings later today. They were not disturbed by our presents. One could probably pet them on the head like a pet dachshund dog, which they sort of resembled..
It took a while. Each man, with his backpack and cooler, scooted along, down the precipitous narrow pier toward the boat -- then up a couple of steps and then down a couple of steps-- hands holding our arms -- by the two mates and the Captain -- and, finally, into the boat. What a relief! We are not accustomed to getting into a boat. But -- We made it!
It is cool in Florida on this morning. This was Halloween day, October 31st. But the sun, which had been above the Eastern horizon and in a few minutes, was blazing and we knew we would not need our jackets for long. But they felt good now.
Finally -- we were all aboard and the motors were started and the boat began to chug out of the slip with it's dual Diesels stirring up the water. What a smooth ride out through the beautiful and expensive mansions that lined the waterways, out through the canals. That took about half an hour, at a slow speed, in the glassy smooth water. The Gulf of Mexico spread out ahead. Markers of red and green gave the Captain his exact location, though he scarcely needed it. He had been this way hundreds of times. Then the open waters of the Gulf gave us some small waves and we heard the diesels rev up and the boat settled into a bow up smooth trim and we were on our way to where the fish were just waiting for us.
About two hours after we left the boat dock, were had long since left sight of land. It was time to do what we came here to do. It was time to fish. Finally the anchor was lowered and snugged in, the engines came to a halt and the silence was bliss. The poles had been distributed and the bait had been issued and any instructions had been given, we got to our place along the deck and we were ready to catch the biggest fish in history. Right?
We were told that there would be a prize for the biggest fish. There would be another prize for the drawing (we each had a ticket with a number) for some give-away's. All were in a festive mood. It was about 10 AM. Life was good and we all were a bunch of happy guys, ready to fish.
What a joy on this Fall day in Florida. Fish were caught and men were shouting for help with their catches. Mates were on the spot to help land and stow the keepers. Men were shouting at each other across the boat. The swells were rocking the boat back and forth. Rocko shouted, in his New York dialect, "Whose rockin' da boat ovah dare? Cut it out." Everyone laughed. Doug was getting help from his grandson who came along with hm. Willie yelled at the mate to help him with his catch. All of us were having a great time and the weather was perfect. We were catching Grouper and Red Snapper and Grunts and lots of other fish I never heard of. As the fishing got scarce, Captain Cruz moved us from place to place to renew the prospects. Lines got tangled and hooks got stuck on the bottom but mates were there to help us out. Time was on a fast track. We grabbed our sandwiches and drinks as we moved from place to place, waiting for those diesels to stop so we could drop our lines once again with renewed optimism. This time we would get the big one. Our legs and arms were tired but that didn't matter -- we fished on, waiting for that nibble and waiting for the big one to grab our bait.
Well, four o'clock was approaching and it was time to pull in the lines and call it a day. Four hours flew by in the now hot Florida sunshine about 30 or so miles out in the Gulf of Mexico. The diesels fired up one last time and we were on our way back to Hernando Beach. The mate was busy cleaning the fish we caught and distributing it in plastic bags to the catchers. The awards were given out, a group of happy fishermen were lounging around, hanging on as the boat swung back and forth as we sped along in the smooth swells of the Gulf. Most of us had caught at least a couple of fish. We all had a great time. We met new guys. We had some good conversation. We had plenty of time to talk on the way out and back. We were tired but happy. It was a good day. We were helped back onto the dock, put our feet on solid land and said our good by's and agreed to do it again some day. The sun was lowering itself into the western sky. What a day!
Oh -- I failed to tell you one last thing..... We are all blind. We are all blinded veterans. Most of us could not see what we caught -- or where we were -- or where we had been -- or where we were going. But that did not matter to us. We were all just a bunch of guys, fishing and having a great time.
From the heart of Olaf Hart .......
Well, that is where we gathered on that beautiful Florida morning -- ready to go catch some fish.
We were to board the "Thunder." That is a small "Party" boat which will hold about twenty or so folks. We know it is well equipped with enough fishing poles for everyone and enough life jackets stowed away so they could be snatched if needed -- but we knew they would never be needed -- and they were not. Captain Cruz and his Mates ( there were two) had the boat ready for us and we began to board. Pelicans were squating along the way, waiting for what might be some fish cleanings later today. They were not disturbed by our presents. One could probably pet them on the head like a pet dachshund dog, which they sort of resembled..
It took a while. Each man, with his backpack and cooler, scooted along, down the precipitous narrow pier toward the boat -- then up a couple of steps and then down a couple of steps-- hands holding our arms -- by the two mates and the Captain -- and, finally, into the boat. What a relief! We are not accustomed to getting into a boat. But -- We made it!
It is cool in Florida on this morning. This was Halloween day, October 31st. But the sun, which had been above the Eastern horizon and in a few minutes, was blazing and we knew we would not need our jackets for long. But they felt good now.
Finally -- we were all aboard and the motors were started and the boat began to chug out of the slip with it's dual Diesels stirring up the water. What a smooth ride out through the beautiful and expensive mansions that lined the waterways, out through the canals. That took about half an hour, at a slow speed, in the glassy smooth water. The Gulf of Mexico spread out ahead. Markers of red and green gave the Captain his exact location, though he scarcely needed it. He had been this way hundreds of times. Then the open waters of the Gulf gave us some small waves and we heard the diesels rev up and the boat settled into a bow up smooth trim and we were on our way to where the fish were just waiting for us.
About two hours after we left the boat dock, were had long since left sight of land. It was time to do what we came here to do. It was time to fish. Finally the anchor was lowered and snugged in, the engines came to a halt and the silence was bliss. The poles had been distributed and the bait had been issued and any instructions had been given, we got to our place along the deck and we were ready to catch the biggest fish in history. Right?
We were told that there would be a prize for the biggest fish. There would be another prize for the drawing (we each had a ticket with a number) for some give-away's. All were in a festive mood. It was about 10 AM. Life was good and we all were a bunch of happy guys, ready to fish.
What a joy on this Fall day in Florida. Fish were caught and men were shouting for help with their catches. Mates were on the spot to help land and stow the keepers. Men were shouting at each other across the boat. The swells were rocking the boat back and forth. Rocko shouted, in his New York dialect, "Whose rockin' da boat ovah dare? Cut it out." Everyone laughed. Doug was getting help from his grandson who came along with hm. Willie yelled at the mate to help him with his catch. All of us were having a great time and the weather was perfect. We were catching Grouper and Red Snapper and Grunts and lots of other fish I never heard of. As the fishing got scarce, Captain Cruz moved us from place to place to renew the prospects. Lines got tangled and hooks got stuck on the bottom but mates were there to help us out. Time was on a fast track. We grabbed our sandwiches and drinks as we moved from place to place, waiting for those diesels to stop so we could drop our lines once again with renewed optimism. This time we would get the big one. Our legs and arms were tired but that didn't matter -- we fished on, waiting for that nibble and waiting for the big one to grab our bait.
Well, four o'clock was approaching and it was time to pull in the lines and call it a day. Four hours flew by in the now hot Florida sunshine about 30 or so miles out in the Gulf of Mexico. The diesels fired up one last time and we were on our way back to Hernando Beach. The mate was busy cleaning the fish we caught and distributing it in plastic bags to the catchers. The awards were given out, a group of happy fishermen were lounging around, hanging on as the boat swung back and forth as we sped along in the smooth swells of the Gulf. Most of us had caught at least a couple of fish. We all had a great time. We met new guys. We had some good conversation. We had plenty of time to talk on the way out and back. We were tired but happy. It was a good day. We were helped back onto the dock, put our feet on solid land and said our good by's and agreed to do it again some day. The sun was lowering itself into the western sky. What a day!
Oh -- I failed to tell you one last thing..... We are all blind. We are all blinded veterans. Most of us could not see what we caught -- or where we were -- or where we had been -- or where we were going. But that did not matter to us. We were all just a bunch of guys, fishing and having a great time.
From the heart of Olaf Hart .......
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
Old time radio -- name dropper
No I wouldn't wish to go back to those days of old time radio broadcasts because you just can't pick and pluck out a bit of time in history without getting the whole deal. I don't want to give up my cell phone or big screen TV and you wouldn't either. But it is fun to reminisce and live those good ole days in your mind, isn't it?
Now the name dropping. Advanced Radio broadcasting class at Indiana State about the mid 50's or so. Our class was responsible for a daily radio show which was broadcast live on WBOW in Terre Haute. It was a young kids show designed for after school listening. Our class wrote all the scripts and performed the voices and did all the sound effects. We were the whole show. The characters included the Story Princess who set the stage for the adventures of all the animals in the woods. There was Judge Owl who was the voice of reason and the main character. Then we created characters as we needed them for the story. Sammy Squirrel, Chippy Chipmonk, Rudy Rabbit and numerous others as long as the name was alliterate (same letter for each name). Then there was Sniffy Skunk who was the obligatory minority and often left out of the group for obvious reasons -- they thought he smelled bad but he really didn't. Sniffy was often the hero and probably represented either an African american or Mexican american or who knows what else. The others were used according to their characteristics. It made for some interesting ideas and scripts.
The class was small and very close and amiable. We set about each day to write a new script and rehearse and then wait for the station to, "Take you now to the Indiana State campus for the Story Princess" And we were live -- no screw ups to retake -- no sir -- it was live radio.
I frequently got the job of Judge Owl because of my deeper voice which I deepened even more for the part. Jerry Baker (of Pacers sports and Indy 500 fame) shared that with me. But probably our most famous celebrity was often the Story Princes. She was a young lady named Marvella Bayh -- recently married to a lawyer in Terre Haute called Birch Bayh. During these classes Marvella kept us up to date about Birch --- announcing his upcoming run for the U S Senate. She also surprised us all one day when she announced she and Birch were going to have a baby -- we all suspected as much when she began to gain a little weight in the wrong place. She said if it was a boy (we didn't know back then until it was born) It would be called by Birch's middle name -- Evans -- Which later became Evan). His name was actually Birch Evans Bayh the 3rd. Yes I sat in a radio class years ago next to unborn Evan Bayh -- Governor and Senator from the Hoosier state.
But the point of this blog is not the name dropping -- it is the triggering of the imagination of those little kids who waited each day for their own little make-believe world of animals with which they could identify through their imagination. It made them think! Each one had his or her idea of what was going on in this make believe world with no pictures to spoil their thoughts. We adults had long had the same experience especially on Sunday afternoon with The Thin Man and Fibber McGee and Molly. Or "Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows"... Boy that bring back some memories. Let us not forget Lum 'n Abner and their neighborhood "Jot 'em down" store.
And after school we ran home so we could listen to Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix and lots of other 15 minute kids radio shows, which pitched breakfast cereals other kid stuff at us while we dreamed about solving crimes and the wild west. We could be right there -- just by listening -- we didn't need a picture, did we? And don't forget the special message that could only be known with the code-breaker ring that could only be gotten with a box top from Ralston cereal and a quarter. I'll bet one of those rings would be worth a fortune to a collector now-a- days.
Mom listened to the radio while she worked -- Ma Perkins, Stella Dallas, Dr. Malone, Mary Nobel in Backstage Wife and scores more all afternoon, every day. Our mother's imaginations were going full blast and they could work while they listened -- no pictures to get in the way. They made up their own pictures in their minds.
Yes we have forgotten how a kid's imagination is so important. And ours were sparked every day by listening to that old radio. I wonder how many famous authors or screen writers or musicians got their childhood imaginations tickled from listening to radio dramas? Have we lost something really valuable? What can I say??? Let's hear it for old time radio.....
From the heart of Olaf Hart .....
Now the name dropping. Advanced Radio broadcasting class at Indiana State about the mid 50's or so. Our class was responsible for a daily radio show which was broadcast live on WBOW in Terre Haute. It was a young kids show designed for after school listening. Our class wrote all the scripts and performed the voices and did all the sound effects. We were the whole show. The characters included the Story Princess who set the stage for the adventures of all the animals in the woods. There was Judge Owl who was the voice of reason and the main character. Then we created characters as we needed them for the story. Sammy Squirrel, Chippy Chipmonk, Rudy Rabbit and numerous others as long as the name was alliterate (same letter for each name). Then there was Sniffy Skunk who was the obligatory minority and often left out of the group for obvious reasons -- they thought he smelled bad but he really didn't. Sniffy was often the hero and probably represented either an African american or Mexican american or who knows what else. The others were used according to their characteristics. It made for some interesting ideas and scripts.
The class was small and very close and amiable. We set about each day to write a new script and rehearse and then wait for the station to, "Take you now to the Indiana State campus for the Story Princess" And we were live -- no screw ups to retake -- no sir -- it was live radio.
I frequently got the job of Judge Owl because of my deeper voice which I deepened even more for the part. Jerry Baker (of Pacers sports and Indy 500 fame) shared that with me. But probably our most famous celebrity was often the Story Princes. She was a young lady named Marvella Bayh -- recently married to a lawyer in Terre Haute called Birch Bayh. During these classes Marvella kept us up to date about Birch --- announcing his upcoming run for the U S Senate. She also surprised us all one day when she announced she and Birch were going to have a baby -- we all suspected as much when she began to gain a little weight in the wrong place. She said if it was a boy (we didn't know back then until it was born) It would be called by Birch's middle name -- Evans -- Which later became Evan). His name was actually Birch Evans Bayh the 3rd. Yes I sat in a radio class years ago next to unborn Evan Bayh -- Governor and Senator from the Hoosier state.
But the point of this blog is not the name dropping -- it is the triggering of the imagination of those little kids who waited each day for their own little make-believe world of animals with which they could identify through their imagination. It made them think! Each one had his or her idea of what was going on in this make believe world with no pictures to spoil their thoughts. We adults had long had the same experience especially on Sunday afternoon with The Thin Man and Fibber McGee and Molly. Or "Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows"... Boy that bring back some memories. Let us not forget Lum 'n Abner and their neighborhood "Jot 'em down" store.
And after school we ran home so we could listen to Superman, Captain Midnight, Tom Mix and lots of other 15 minute kids radio shows, which pitched breakfast cereals other kid stuff at us while we dreamed about solving crimes and the wild west. We could be right there -- just by listening -- we didn't need a picture, did we? And don't forget the special message that could only be known with the code-breaker ring that could only be gotten with a box top from Ralston cereal and a quarter. I'll bet one of those rings would be worth a fortune to a collector now-a- days.
Mom listened to the radio while she worked -- Ma Perkins, Stella Dallas, Dr. Malone, Mary Nobel in Backstage Wife and scores more all afternoon, every day. Our mother's imaginations were going full blast and they could work while they listened -- no pictures to get in the way. They made up their own pictures in their minds.
Yes we have forgotten how a kid's imagination is so important. And ours were sparked every day by listening to that old radio. I wonder how many famous authors or screen writers or musicians got their childhood imaginations tickled from listening to radio dramas? Have we lost something really valuable? What can I say??? Let's hear it for old time radio.....
From the heart of Olaf Hart .....
Monday, September 3, 2018
Music??
It is a lazy and sometimes rainy day here in Florida on this Labor Day Monday. It nudged me into turning off the news and turning on my often times neglected DTV music channels. I picked a "Jazz Vocal" channel and was immediately lulled into a melancholy state of mind. And that prompted me to write another blog and share my experience.
Man oh man the music I am hearing is so great! And there isn't much any more like it these days. Let me hasten to say -- my grandson, Ben Harris, is a hip hop singer and I respect his talents. He can grab a mike and spit out impromptu rhymes and rhythms like the professional he is. I don't know how he does it. But that musical genre has little or no melody and always includes the obligatory heavy bass that seems to rattle and vibrate the windows of the cars I pass sometimes -- sending that boom boom out to the world so as to try and convince everyone that this is the only music they should be exposed to. Rather like an itinerant preacher on the corner talking to no one in particular trying to convert the entire populace. Apparently the louder the music the better it is. Go figure!
But I digress. (as I often do) Today I am pleased to have listened to some REAL "oldies". I mean back a bunch of years -- through the 30's 40's and 50's -- maybe even further back -- sung by the likes of such greats as Peggy Lee, Ella, Sinatra, Billy Eckstine, Bobby Darren, June Christy, Sara Vaughn and -- anybody remember Chet Baker? (Trumpet and singer) -- well if you are older 'n 70 -- you could add a bunch more. What a treat -- I need to change channels more often.
First we hear a nice musical intro -- then a great performance -- with lyrics that we all remember and can understand and love and a rhythm we can snap our fingers to. Sinatra sitting in a bar at quarter to 3 in the morning having "One for his baby and one more for the road. These foolish things, Old Black Magic" -- Peggy Lee lamenting "Is that all there is?" Bobby Darren warning us not to trust ole Mack the Knife. And such great talents as Nat King Cole, Billy Holiday, Ray Charles -- I could go on and on but that would fill a book. There were so many. What happened to those great talents and songwriters -- the likes of -- Kern -- Cole Porter and the Gershwin brothers -- just to name a few -- I know they died -- but is there no one to take their place? Maybe no one could take their place.
Of course I would not ever wish to rid us of rock n roll (which -- by the way -- was a code phrase for having sex -- LOL we fooled the white preachers didn't we?) and I certainly would not wish to deprive each generation of their special music. But I would love to have -- just once-- some of those huge speakers in my car and when I pulled up beside a car with the windows down and the rear window vibrating so hard it might burst -- and roll down my windows and blast away my music with -- lets see -- maybe Ella and her skat-singing jazz version of "How high the Moon" and I would blast the offending boom box laden car with -- dooby dooby doo --as only Ella could sing it, just as loud as the other car -- and see what kind of reaction I might get before I gave the offender a one finger salute and got the hell out of there. Well -- I can dream can't I?
I guess I am really acting like a white haired old man in his 80's reminiscing about the past. Well I AM a white haired old man in his 80's and I loved this afternoon -- reminiscing about the past and listening to MY music, patting my foot, singing along, and enjoying the hell out of it. It makes me feel great. I should do this again soon.
From the heart of Olaf Hart.........
Man oh man the music I am hearing is so great! And there isn't much any more like it these days. Let me hasten to say -- my grandson, Ben Harris, is a hip hop singer and I respect his talents. He can grab a mike and spit out impromptu rhymes and rhythms like the professional he is. I don't know how he does it. But that musical genre has little or no melody and always includes the obligatory heavy bass that seems to rattle and vibrate the windows of the cars I pass sometimes -- sending that boom boom out to the world so as to try and convince everyone that this is the only music they should be exposed to. Rather like an itinerant preacher on the corner talking to no one in particular trying to convert the entire populace. Apparently the louder the music the better it is. Go figure!
But I digress. (as I often do) Today I am pleased to have listened to some REAL "oldies". I mean back a bunch of years -- through the 30's 40's and 50's -- maybe even further back -- sung by the likes of such greats as Peggy Lee, Ella, Sinatra, Billy Eckstine, Bobby Darren, June Christy, Sara Vaughn and -- anybody remember Chet Baker? (Trumpet and singer) -- well if you are older 'n 70 -- you could add a bunch more. What a treat -- I need to change channels more often.
First we hear a nice musical intro -- then a great performance -- with lyrics that we all remember and can understand and love and a rhythm we can snap our fingers to. Sinatra sitting in a bar at quarter to 3 in the morning having "One for his baby and one more for the road. These foolish things, Old Black Magic" -- Peggy Lee lamenting "Is that all there is?" Bobby Darren warning us not to trust ole Mack the Knife. And such great talents as Nat King Cole, Billy Holiday, Ray Charles -- I could go on and on but that would fill a book. There were so many. What happened to those great talents and songwriters -- the likes of -- Kern -- Cole Porter and the Gershwin brothers -- just to name a few -- I know they died -- but is there no one to take their place? Maybe no one could take their place.
Of course I would not ever wish to rid us of rock n roll (which -- by the way -- was a code phrase for having sex -- LOL we fooled the white preachers didn't we?) and I certainly would not wish to deprive each generation of their special music. But I would love to have -- just once-- some of those huge speakers in my car and when I pulled up beside a car with the windows down and the rear window vibrating so hard it might burst -- and roll down my windows and blast away my music with -- lets see -- maybe Ella and her skat-singing jazz version of "How high the Moon" and I would blast the offending boom box laden car with -- dooby dooby doo --as only Ella could sing it, just as loud as the other car -- and see what kind of reaction I might get before I gave the offender a one finger salute and got the hell out of there. Well -- I can dream can't I?
I guess I am really acting like a white haired old man in his 80's reminiscing about the past. Well I AM a white haired old man in his 80's and I loved this afternoon -- reminiscing about the past and listening to MY music, patting my foot, singing along, and enjoying the hell out of it. It makes me feel great. I should do this again soon.
From the heart of Olaf Hart.........
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