“Retro TV”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-18)

Roku.

A few years ago, I placed a repair call to my Internet provider. While the technician was working, I confessed that the cost of in-home television via cable was becoming distressingly expensive. It created a burden that seemed unjustified because I spent most of my waking hours on duty as a business manager. The TV served only one useful purpose – to brighten the living room with glimpses of the outside world as I drank beer after getting home at night.

The professional repairman was middle-aged, like myself, A fellow in scruffy work clothes and a logo cap from his company. After nodding a few times, he offered affirmation. “I hear that every day,” he said. Then he added a tidbit of advice. “Get a Roku box.”

I was confused. The name did not sound familiar. “Royko? I used to read his columns in the newspaper. Witty fellow he was...”

The fix-it man wiped sweat from his brow. “Roku. You can get them anywhere, really cheap. Go to Walmart. You’ll be amazed.”

While he busied himself installing a new modem/router combination on my home line, I puzzled over his advice. “You get television through this box?”

“Lots of free channels,” he observed.

I shook my head. “What about ESPN? And the news channels?”

He smiled indifferently. “They are all there. Some cost money some don’t. Check it out.”

Weeks later, after another increase on my cable bill, I remembered his admonition. The advice turned out to be quite prophetic. When I visited my local megacenter, there were several versions of the device on display. One worked with older CRT television sets like my own. Suddenly, I began to comprehend what he had been saying. The Roku could stream programming via the Internet to a regular TV, something I, as a Luddite of sorts, had never seen before. I purchased the unit with silent glee. Upon connecting it to my old Curtis-Mathes set, a new world of programming opened with dazzling dimensions.

I canceled my cable subscription after one week of the Roku.

At first, this electronic portal let me keep in touch with game highlights after work. Also, I used it to stay abreast of world developments with 24-hour news channels. CBSN, one I’d never seen before, became a particular favorite. There were so many options available that after adding new content to my media list, I often found myself forgetting to watch.

Typically, I settled on ‘Sportscenter’ and viewed their parade of game clips until post-work fatigue took over and I fell asleep in my chair.

Early retirement changed my household paradigm, however. With personal mobility, eyesight and general health in question, suddenly I had more free time for writing projects or TV viewing than ever before. I began to truly dip into the vast sea of alternatives on my Roku. What followed was a period of discovery and wonder.

And a channel called ‘24/7 Retro.’

I added it from a listing someone had posted on Facebook. Almost as an afterthought. Later, one night, I spied it in my list. A click on the icon turned my screen to glorious black & white. Then, I flashed on a vibe of Saturday afternoons during my childhood. When local TV stations would run low-cost programming like Tarzan movies, Charlie Chan adventures, Godzilla films, obscure westerns, celluloid shorts and the like.

I was thrilled!

The channel had lots of programs from the post-war era. When the very idea of television was new to most Americans. ‘The Lone Ranger’ and ‘Dragnet’ were familiar. But I began to see other exciting shows barely known in the 21^st Century:

‘Lights Out’ - An anthology series. Eerie tales hosted by Frank Gallop. (1946-52)

‘Decoy’ - Starring Beverly Garland as an undercover policewoman. (1957-58)

‘Lockup’ - Featuring Macdonald Carey as real-life attorney Herbert L. Maris. (1959-61)

‘Tales of Tomorrow’ - A series of various sci-fi stories. (1951-53)

‘Follow That Man’ - With Ralph Bellamy as Mike Barnett. (1949-54)

‘Passport to Danger’ - An incredible early appearance of Caesar Romero. (1954-58)

‘Man With A Camera’ - Charles Bronson. (1958-60)

‘One Step Beyond’ - A popular anthology show, hosted by John Newland. (1959-61)

‘Annie Oakley’ - Starring Gail Davis. (1954-57)

‘Rocky Jones, Space Ranger’ - With Richard Crane. (1954-55)

‘Suspense’ - Anthology series. (1949-54)

‘Quatermass II’ - A British sci-fi serial, middle of a trio from the 1950’s, written by Nigel Kneale. (1955)

‘The Lawless Years’ - Featuring James Gregory. (1959-61)

‘Sherlock Holmes’ - A version starring Ronald Howard. (1954-55)

‘The Adventures of Robin Hood’ - With actor Richard Greene. (1955-59)

These shows were accompanied by old serials like ‘Radar Men from the Moon’ which featured the notable character of Commando Cody. Plus, ‘Shadow of Chinatown’ with noted actor Bela Lugosi. I became spellbound by each production. It was as if my own slide into disability had reconnected me to the world I remembered as a kid.

Call it a second childhood... video style.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published occasionally in the Geauga Independent

“Philco Radio Memories”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-18)

Radio. I have always been a fan.

One of the earliest gifts I can recall from childhood, somewhere in the mid-60’s, was a gray, Silvertone table radio out of the Sears & Roebuck catalog. Made of hard plastic. Our household consisted of many items from that notable retailer. Indeed, I sometimes wondered if my sister and little brother came from their holiday ‘Wish Book.’ The AM receiver was old enough in design that it still used vacuum tubes. Likely, a closeout item as transistor devices were beginning to flourish in the market. But I felt a rush of new-world experiences when tuning frequencies with its white, circular dial. The radio connected my rural world to another dimension, like a portal into the cosmos.

In that distant era, it was my ‘Internet.’

Later, for Christmas around 1967, in got a sleek, new transistor device. It had a stylish leather case and cream-colored earphone as accessories. Very typical in that moment. Also, quite useful for discovering late programs after bedtime. Because I could tune around on my own, listening truly became a learning experience. While an affinity for music made me want such a gadget, soon enough, news and on-air chatter piqued my interest. I listened intently as voices from afar discussed issues of the day. The progress of technology had changed my world forever.

But somewhere after 1970, this march toward tomorrow hit a ‘speed bump’ of sorts. One in which I rejoiced with youthful glee.

I was riding home from grade school with my father, through a suburban neighborhood near our own. The tree lawns were piled with rubbish and old furniture. Apparently a cleanup day of some kind was close at hand. Something my own family would hesitate to observe because we rarely, if ever, threw anything away. There, at the curb of a home we passed was a Philco console radio. Quite stately and grand in obsolescence. The sun glistening from its faded, wood cabinet.

As a kid, I was struck by its physical dimensions. It was literally huge compared to anything seen in our household. Immediately, I bounced up and down in my seat.

“Are they throwing that away, Dad?”

My father seemed disinterested. “Probably,” he replied.

“Can we look at it?” I pleaded. “Please?”

He raised an eyebrow. Something about my naive enthusiasm must have reminded him of his own younger days. Without protest, he turned the car around. We pulled into the driveway and waved to the homeowner who watched our approach with curiosity. A short conversation revealed that the radio was ‘junk’ waiting to be hauled away. It had been manufactured in the 1930’s. We were encouraged to take it for free.

Somehow, the Philco managed to fit in our beige, two-door, Ford Maverick. I cheered as we finished the drive home. Later, friends would laugh out loud at my relic. But for the moment, I felt like a trophy hunter with an incredible score.

Dad knew what my child-brain could not imagine. Namely, that the antique was likely being discarded not only because it had fallen out of fashion, but also because it no longer functioned. Once we had it in the basement, a quick check revealed the awful truth. Besides being visually battered from decades of use, it needed a transformer of some sort and a speaker.

I felt crestfallen.

Some of the tubes lit up when we plugged it in, and the dial light worked. It was an AM receiver with shortwave bands. But of course, no sound came through the tattered grille-cloth.

Happily, as a farm boy, Dad had mastered not only automotive repair, amateur carpentry, and later in life, philosophical and theological disciplines, but additionally – radio & television service. He had a manual published in the 1950’s with all sorts of useful information. So after diagnosing the receiver’s woes, he rummaged through a stash of spare parts in the garage. In less than a week, my new-old radio was once again in service.

I cheered even louder than when we first spotted it during our after-school drive!

Though about 40 years old at that time, the Philco proved to be very dependable. I listened to stations across the country at night, like WHO in Des Moines, Iowa, WLS in Chicago, or WSB in Atlanta. The shortwave bands brought in broadcasts from around the globe, often in English, but some in foreign tongues that I could not understand. Still, I tried to mimic their inflections. Varied blips and beeps and artificial noises from orbiting satellites provided extra entertainment.

Eventually, I encountered Wolfman Jack, who I believe was on WABC at that moment, doing the routine seen famously in ‘American Graffiti.’ I loved his style and wished for my own career as a disc jockey.

“YES, GRACIOUS! PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE RADIO AND FEEL THE VIBRATIONS COMIN’ THROUGH!”

With my march toward adulthood, the Philco faded from consciousness. I left home at the age of 19, to pursue personal goals associated with motorcycles and Rock & Roll. The console radio was eventually given away to a family friend who hoped to restore it to factory condition. But instead, it ended up in his garage. Water damage from a leaking roof finished its lengthy life-cycle. Only later would I realize my mistake in not retaining this beloved friend.

An error I will regret forever.

In recent years, I have looked for another Philco without success. Many versions of a similar design were produced before and after World War II. But nothing exactly like my lost receiver has appeared locally. Still, cyberspace research has offered clues that have helped to jog my memory. I can only hope to find a family photograph at some point to clarify what Dad and I discovered.

Until then, I will ponder… and write.

Questions or comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Shared occasionally in the Geauga Independent

Note: Philco radio photograph from AntiqueRadios.com

The Three Courthouses

Here is a link to discover photos of Geauga's three courthouses throughout its rich history:


http://courthousehistory.com/gallery/states/ohio/counties/geauga 

“To Post or Not to Post...”

by Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(1-18)

I was scrolling through my Facebook page this evening catching up on everyone’s status and happenings, when I came across a couple of observations that I feel compelled to comment on. Now I’m not typically one to criticize, and perhaps criticize is not the right word, but I really need to say something here, well, a few things about the things that people post.

First, please remember there is a line that should not be crossed when it comes to sharing personal information. We have all heard and seen those three letters...TMI...for those of you not quite hip, that stands for “Too Much Information”. I’m sure that you’ve come across those people in your life who have a tendency to overshare. Giving you entirely too many details on personal situations that have happened to them to the point of creating the most uncomfortable and awkward moments. Trust me when I say that no one wants to hear all the gory details of your doctor’s visit and the growth that you had to have removed in the most sensitive of areas on your body. They also don’t want to take a front seat to the argument you had with your spouse over the woman down the street whom you drooled over as she walked her dog past your house. Nor do they want to read a book about your intimate therapy sessions.

What amazes me is that people will post this stuff, sharing it not to just one unlucky person, but to hundreds, if not thousands, or more...what are you thinking? We lose more and more of our privacy every day, we should not be idly handing it over. People...keep your private, personal information to yourself!

Second, I feel the need to address the absolute hatred that I see at times. The political climate that we have today definitely has played into it, but in general, people are just downright mean! There seems to be no filter when it comes to some people spewing their negativity. Whatever happened to the old adage of if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all? I read some posts where it mentally hurtles me back to third grade when the mean girls would make the thought of going back to school the next day utterly unbearable. The only difference I see is that the name calling has just escalated to an adult level, it is almost borderline threatening. It seems that no one remembers that everyone is entitled to their own opinion and just because it differs from yours does not make it wrong, it just makes it different. People...keep it civil!

Lastly, I’m going to swing this pendulum from overly negative posters, to overly positive ones. You know of whom I speak...those annoying, overly happy people, generally couples, who post constantly on every little thing they do and it is always sickeningly sweet. He will post how much he loves his wife/girlfriend and how lucky a man he is and then she responds with no, I’m the lucky one to have found such an incredible man as you, and then he posts, no, I don’t know what I did to deserve this beautiful woman...blah...blah...blah. This ping pong posting seems to go on forever with each one trying to outdo the other with how wonderful they both are and how wonderful their lives are...please, NO ONE is that happy ALL the time. Now perhaps I’m just cynical, but it’s extremely irritating to read these sappy, Pollyanna posts over and over. People...tone it down!

I guess in the end it comes down to remembering that the written word is just as powerful as the spoken one. Just because you aren’t face-to-face with someone doesn’t mean it should be a free-for-all. There should always be some consideration and constraint before posting because once it’s out there for all to see and read, there’s no taking it back. Well, there is that “delete” button, I suppose, but then again, from some of the things I see online, it doesn’t get used quite as often as it should.

Editor’s Note: I could not agree more with the sentiment expressed in this column. (Self-restraint makes me refrain from citing examples as friends from Facebook might actually read this and be moved to post even more such material.) A ‘personal filter’ is quite useful to possess. Thanks for saying what truly needed to be expressed.

“Tale of Two Voices”

c. 2018 Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(1-18)

Remember those old cartoons where the person would be contemplating some decision and all of a sudden, a tiny angel would pop up on one shoulder whispering gentle guidance, and then a tiny devil would suddenly appear on the other shoulder knocking the angel off, little pitchfork in hand, telling the person to just ignore the winged, lighted figure and make the more reckless choice? I always looked at that angel as the personification of intuition or gut feeling, something more than just a moral director. For me, I would say I really don’t have an angel or devil, but instead, a rational voice in my head that gets muffled at times by the other more nonchalant voice in my head. Or, a better way is to say that I have a “head” voice and a “heart” voice.

Now the “head” voice is very clear, pulls no punches, and always on point. She is very organized, well-thought out, and rarely wrong. She also, is no fun. The “heart” voice, on the other hand, is very open to all things, has an explanation for everything, and is almost always wrong; although she would tell you that at the time it seemed like a good idea. She is very go-with-the-flow, a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl and can be a Hell of a lot of fun! Until, she gets crushed, at which point she inevitably tells the “head” voice that she will never not listen to her again.

This inner battle between head and heart I have to believe everyone goes through at some point in their life. They may characterize it differently, but there is usually some head and heart in each of us. Now I’ve known people who are a little imbalanced when it comes to head and heart. You either know, or have dealt with, both types of people I’m sure. The “head” people who cannot function unless they have a plan, who stick to the plan no matter what, and who are almost always very successful. And then there are the “heart” people who just seem to coast, oozing acceptance and kindness to everyone they come in contact with; those who live on the faith that things will just work themselves out, one way or another.

“Head” people tend to be very cautious, almost to a fault. They find it difficult to trust others and have a tendency to be control freaks, since no one can do it better than they can. “Heart” people, on the other hand, tend to be very open to others, love to share and just want everyone to get along. They are not confrontational and usually make friends easily, making them the life of any party! The key, as with most things in life, is to find a nice balance between your head and your heart. You don’t want to be so much in your own head that you become trapped in routine and regimen, losing out on life in general; afraid to reach out, try something new, get out of your comfort zone and discover that perhaps there is more out there that you could be experiencing and enjoying. Yet, you don’t want to be all heart and find yourself without any structure at all and paying immensely for it; losing the understanding that all decisions have consequences that you might not see right away, and those consequences can be very costly.

As for me, I have a tendency to swing my pendulum a bit more towards “head”. I’m not one that likes to just wing it and hope for the best. I do find however, that the older I get, the less worried I am about certain things which has allowed me to let that “heart” voice trumpet a bit louder. Life is short, too short to miss out on new people, places and things simply because of stress or worry, or because there is no room in “the plan” for them. Sometimes there isn’t a choice as to which voice you listen to...circumstances just happen and not always according to the script. And sometimes, you will find that you just have to quiet that head voice down a bit and have some fun, put that heart in the driver’s seat and hope for the best. Even if you crash, chances are the ride will most certainly be worth it!

Editor’s Note: There is a decidedly male version of this conundrum, which might be termed head vs. physiology. We tend to think clearly or not think at all, allowing our genetic imperative to occasionally grab the driver’s seat. In personal terms, some of the most entertaining bad choices I have ever made – purchasing motorcycles or cars, dating women, exploring my own tolerance for alcohol, risking life and limb to set a new record of endurance, etc., came from my ability to suddenly become distracted from the process of actual thinking. I see the same behavior in my Black Lab who is nearing the age of eleven. Despite years of training and conditioning he still switches off his neural command-center when a playful kitty invades his yardspace or a new visitor approaches. I tell him “You are ornery by nature.” Men tend to be the same, I think. Capable of great feats, but still basically dumb at our core.

“Uncomfortably Numb”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-17)

Heartbreak.

Recently, I read a column by my friend Cheryl Kelly on this vexing woe. As with her past material, the piece was written in an honest and expressive style. I have always admired her ‘realism’ in print. But afterward, I pondered an unintended consequence of having looked at the manuscript – a personal realization of sorts. Instead of feeling this emotional agony gnawing at the core of myself, I was blank on the subject.

Strangely and undeniably numb.

It was easy to observe that this condition must have been precipitated by more years having passed for myself. Or perhaps, it resulted because of the two failed marriages that had filled much of my life. Yet while searching for some evidence of cause and effect, I slipped backward into my original realization. Regardless of the reasons involved, I felt nothing.

My heart had gone dead.

I reckoned that confessing such a reality might seem depressing to readers. So it is something I have never addressed on the printed page. Some could see this as a coping mechanism, or a defensive posture. Maybe even a strategy to gain protective isolation. But for this writer, the knowledge of my numbness arrived with a curious sense of detachment.

I did not choose the path. But here I walk.

Romantic inclinations had long since disappeared from my personal routine. Instead, I felt a certain fondness for old memories, without the ability to yearn for what had gone before. I could remember, but not revisit those days in the flesh.

Ecstasy and betrayal share a similar connection to the heart. Direct and hot-wired. Their ability to move us forward or back is a function of vulnerability offered up as a sacrifice to gods of passion and love. A heart not opened can never feel the full measure of joy. Yet if the coin flips, on the other side is hurt and despair. A kind of desolation that robs the sky of daylight and leaves the soul to wither away in darkness.

Somehow, my own spirit had channeled that darkness into energy.

Many years ago, in New York, I once returned home off-schedule, to surprise my girlfriend with a bit of extra time we could share. I had planned on a summer excursion with music, flowers and wine. But upon arriving at our house, I found her in bed with a man I did not recognize. The experience was shocking to inherit as a young man. Still, from a perspective of years, I remember it more as a reconnaissance mission. A bit of education that left me sadder but wiser. My head and heart filled with something that I needed to know about the truth of our relationship. Decades later, I stumbled upon similar emotions in my second marriage. This time, the burning in my heart had a wholly different character. Instead of shock, I felt the numbness take hold. My head bowed and nodded with familiarity as silent words came to mind. “Yes, I should have known… I should have known.”

The difference between struggling for skills to manage heartbreak itself, and the quiet sense of acceptance that I felt personally, seemed to be a divide most likely caused by age. My own emotional core had simply taken more lightning strikes over the course of time. More bruises, more scars. More nights waking up from frightful dreams with tears streaming from my eyes. More fits of anguish. More lonely hours suffocating in the harsh reality of nothing.

Still, everyone does not react in the same way to similar events. I knew this truism to be accurate.

So once again, I returned to my sobering vision of self. A mirror image revealed by reading my friend’s written work. For whatever reason, I felt negated once again. Like an empty jar. A being transformed by experience. Purified in the heat of agony. Never again a citizen among those still dwelling in sunlight. But no worse for wear. Changed but no less alive.

To paraphrase Pink Floyd, I had become ‘uncomfortably numb.’

Comments may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

The Geauga Independent, P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Heartache 101”

by Cheryl Kelly

All rights reserved

(12-17)

Heartbreak...that awful gut wrenching, chest crushing, emotionally debilitating part of life that we all go through at one time or another. No one seems to be immune. We all experience it at different times in our lives and it just never seems to get any easier. One would think that as we get older and wiser and more in tune with the ups and downs of life, that we would be able to navigate and handle heartache better as we age. That as we are dealt heartaches, our coping skills get well honed with each passing year. Well, I’m here to say that either I missed the training on this, or I simply suck at handling having my demolished heart handed to me.

Life has a funny way of just sauntering in and reminding you of just how little control you have over things. Just when you think you have it all together, something inevitably happens to keep you in check; to keep you just out of reach from attaining that peace. It seems incredibly unfair. Like playing poker at the casino and being made utterly aware that there really is no win for you no matter how high your stack of chips, as the House always wins.

I remember my first heartbreak like it was yesterday. It was brutal and unexpected. I used to think that those types were the worst. The ones that come out of nowhere and blindside you knocking you out of sorts leaving you wondering what just happened. But as I have gone through life I find that almost always it’s the ones that you see coming straight at you that are the ones that really throw you for a loop. Those ones that you try your hardest to avoid, that you work hard to try to fix even though deep down you know it’s coming and you know that no matter what you do, you can’t stop it, so you hunker down and prepare as best you can.

I’d like to think that things happen for a reason. That perhaps a heartache or separation happens because you are meant to go in another direction. That you have learned what you were meant to and are better for it. It doesn’t make the pain any easier, nor shorten the time in your life that you feel sad and lost, but it does give you something to think about, something to consider outside of your own suffering. The challenge then becomes how to get yourself moving again, how to get yourself to a place of healing and how not to become bitter and cynical. That last one is a tall order...

There is such a fear in moving forward, or at least I find that to be true at times; something about the unknown that reminds us just how vulnerable we really are. To be able to let go of hurt and anger so it doesn’t cloud our judgment or weigh us down keeping us from achieving all that we want to with the next person, or the next situation. Unfortunately, at times we allow ourselves to be just stuck. Spinning wheels in the same muck simply because we don’t know how to move forward. We get so comfortable that the thought of starting over is overwhelming so we just continue to deal with mediocrity or unhappiness because the alternative at the moment is not an option. What a shame.

If you are fortunate enough to find healing after a heartbreak, let’s hope there is learning that follows. Learning and awareness of how not to find yourself in the same position again as who knows just how many heartaches a heart can take. Just like any other mistakes that get made in life, love is no different. What is that saying again about the definition of insanity? Something about doing something over and over again and expecting different results? True in love as well. Pursuing the wrong type of partner over and over, not changing your behavior in a relationship that in previous ones added to the heartache, or simply not listening to that inner self that hollers at you to wake up and make a move, this one is no good, are all things that should be given due attention; the subject matter for Heartache 101. I have to admit, I definitely missed this class…