Mother crocheted and I just stood there beside her rocking chair and stared at the large dial on the radio. I used my imagination to create scenes to fit the radio program being broadcast.
Kate Smith was my idol — I stopped playing and sat there and listened to her sing. I imagined how pretty she was and how nice she looked on stage singing into the microphone.
When I finally saw a photograph of her I was so disappointed. My imagination had played cruel tricks on me and I didn’t think I could ever marry her. She was about the same size and age of my mother and while she kept her hair nice, and didn’t wear a bonnet and apron, like mom did, I could not imagine me kissing her either.
Then there was my bout with Arthur Godfrey on radio. I had him pictured a certain way and when I saw him the first time I was shocked. His hair was a rusty red, and his face was speckled with freckles. He was not the most handsome man in the magazines but I still listened to him on his radio show.
Arthur had a cigarette smoker’s voice — deep like a side show barker. He said he smoked Chesterfield cigarettes and his program advertised them. They were supposed to be so much better tasting than Camels, Lucky Strike and those mentholated Kools.
I used to go bow and arrow hunting in southern Ohio and it was a long three-hour drive down. He was to be operated on and have one lung removed and I listened to the radio news about his operation and all of the bulletins.
After spending a fruitless day hunting for deer, I got back to my car and drove back to my home. It was another long drive with the radio on. The good news was that they had removed one lung and that he had survived surgery.
When Arthur Godfrey got his television program I lost interest in him. I guess there was nothing left to my imagination. I could just look at the pictures on the television set and see him walking around his farm in Pennsylvania. He looked fine to me and then I turned him off and never watched his television program after that.
I think I lost interest in Arthur and Kate for the same reason: Neither one lived up to my views of them in my imagination.
Reality ruined my mental images and seeing them alive was confusing and made me wonder why my imagination had let me down. Neither Kate Smith nor Arthur Godfrey looked like hey did in my imagination.
I began to wonder if I would swoon the first time I kissed a girl or if my knees would shake so bad that my trouser legs would do the Tango?