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Cheesy memories… We all have them. Some are just downright embarrassing; the kind we hope others don’t discover. However, since I happen to be a rather shameless individual, I thought I’d lay a few of my cheesiest on you just for laughs. As kids we had this portable one-speed (78 RPM) record player, which had to be manually loaded each for each play. See, adults had large console record players with automatic record changers. You could pile a half dozen or so records on the changer ready to be dropped automatically on the turntable. Looked like a stack of licorice pancakes. The contraption was normally located in the living room and encased in polished, wooden cabinetry; a centerpiece of fine furniture. It was the forerunner of Hi-Fi and Stereo players for vinyl records. People called it a “Victorola” whether or not it was made by RCA. Victorolas typically had a choice of three speeds: 78, 45, and 33 1/3 RPM. Man, at 78 that disc went flying around in circles enough to cause barf-type dizziness; that is, if you tried to read the label while the record was spinning. Our little portable was like a fat, hard-case briefcase and was totally self-contained. There were two control dials: an on-off switch for the turntable, and another for volume adjustment. To operate we sat it on the floor, snapped open the cover, plugged into a wall socket, put a record on the spindle, manually put the stylus on the record often clumsily enough to cause a permanent scratch, and sat back and listened. A cheap, tinny speaker was in the lower part of the case. The manufacturer made the equipment very robust; that is, able to take years of abuse and banging around by kids. (And you know kids…) Though the record player was crude by today’s standards it endured “forever” unlike, say, a modern, oh-so delicate iPod. It wasn’t so much that our portable was a world leader in cheesiness; mainly that distinction fell upon our records. To explain, so-called adult 78s contained classical and popular music, but were delicate and would break if dropped, which is why we weren’t allowed to touch them. Our platters were labeled “unbreakable” and made of either translucent red or opaque yellow vinyl, which identified them as little kid records. Even as youngsters we rolled our eyes at what the record producers considered age appropriate content; and what the adults in our life considered age appropriate gifts. Talk about cornball! Examples: A guy playing an accordion (What no banjos and bag pipes?) and possessing an overly sickening voice crooned happily, “I took a ride on a bubble / A big soap bubble / A big soap bubble I blew…” The only thing that blew was that song. The imaginary soap bubble then transported the listener to lands across the sea where we were accosted with more tacky verses and accordion licks. Then there was a rhythm guitar accompanied by (what else?) an accordion featuring another appalling vocalist who twanged, “On the Bar-X ranch in Wyoming / It’s the best in the west / Singin’ with the bunkhouse pals / The little boys and gals…” Huh? Little kids hanging around demented, child-molesting cowboys? Wait, there’s more… “We’ll be lopin’ lopin’, lopin’ along, yodel-odel-lay-he-tee / We’ll be ropin’, ropin’, ropin’ a dogie, yodel-odel-oh-wy-aay…” Sometime along this musical journey we met the boys in the bunkhouse featuring Texas Slim and Prairie Pete. Also there were numerous Bozo the Clown record albums, which featured (usually) two double-sided records, which would take the listener on various adventures. You’d follow the narrative by looking at pictures contained in the album. They were okay, but the unavoidable cheesy component was Bozo saying, “Okay, boys and girls, when you hear this sound (whoo-wheet) turn the page, he-he-he-hyuk, yuk, yuk…” However, we did hit “gold” on one large two-sided story record. The title was “Gossamer Wump” narrated by Frank Morgan famous as the wizard (“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”) in the 1939 classic, WIZARD OF OZ. Our oblivious hero (Gossamer) was a country duffass who desired to become a virtuoso triangle musician. Here’s part of the narrative… “At first Gossamer could only play the triangle like this: (ding-ding-ding). But after only 10 years of study, he could play like this: (ding-ding-ding). Professor Cuttynuttydump (tock-tock-tock-tock-ba-ooom) was amazed at his progress…” Gossamer had misadventures playing in symphony under the baton of Stanislaw Hudnot, and Gaylord Gout’s dance band. The story and the sound effects are hilarious, so much so, that my brother Thom arranged for me to have an updated CD made from the original 78. I’m listening to it (and laughing) as I write this. There was one “breakable” 78 we got our hands on: “The Thing” by Phil Harris, a novelty tune in which each verse ended with, “Get outa here with that (boom-boom-boom) and…” Our father hid it when we had some kind of family gathering. When the relatives left, Dad brought it out, but before the evening was over (that’s right!) my kid brother, Thom, dropped the platter and broke it. Brother Jim borrowed another set of breakable 78s from an assistant basketball coach over one Easter holiday, which he returned in good condition. It was the Crepitating Contest originally recorded in the 1930s or 40s. The story featured farting competition (always high comedy among boys) between world champion Lord Winderschmear and Aussie challenger, Paul Boomer. The champion lost because he crapped his pants going for too much (one last fragrant fudgie), which earned a disqualification. You hear the muffled voice of the referee in the background, “He shit!” Monty Python reproduced this classic maybe 20 years ago. My brothers also had a cheesy forerunner of a slot car track. The track consisted of sheet metal sections formed so there were two grooves for the racecars. The sections were assembled into a figure-eight with an overpass. Sometimes the transition between the sections was somewhat uneven or would separate a bit causing the cars to crash. The racecars were gray (Comet) and blue (Blue Streak). They were energized by inserting a key into a hole at the top and winding them up—mechanical coil spring “engines”. Both were off the track more than on. How about a wood-burning kit? I had one. You’d plug this fat, iron stylus into an outlet until it was literally red-hot (you could hear the humming of the electric current) then attempt to scorch pictures on wooden tablets. Can you imagine a kid getting his hands on one of those? Through either luck or skill I never received a serious injury or caused a fire. It’s a wonder we didn’t receive a “Johnny Space Helmet” clear plastic bag to put over our heads or “Dickie the Stick”. (Watch Dickie the Stick fly through the air!) Some kids did own bows and arrows though, which were for shooting straight up into the air and running for cover laughing like hyenas. I seem to recall BB-gun fights as well. In my mind the cheesiest—no scratch that—the most ridiculous toys ever made were the Etch-a Sketch (Hey, watch me draw two perpendicular lines!) and the vibrating football game neither with any basis in reality. Adolescent cheese… Once I saw an attractive girl at a nightspot where a combo was playing. She was sitting at a table with friends. I approached her and asked for a dance. She refused (politely), but I vociferously insisted and she reluctantly relented. When she arose I noticed she’d had polio and one of her legs was shorter and sported a heavy brace. Well, I felt like a king-sized heel for putting her in that position, but we both “soldiered” through the number, which was difficult for her. Instead of abandoning the young lady when the dance finished (and feeling like a schmuck for putting her through the ordeal), I stayed and chatted her up for a while. It was kind of like cuddling after sex even though you don’t want to. I found myself touching her more than usual trying to prove that I was cool with her deformity. I was practically feeling her up. (Here, let me lick your leg…) That brought to mind one of our cheesy sayings, “Smooth move, Ex-Lax.” Another time in a gift shop, an attractive lady dropped and broke a vase. She let out a little shriek as the vase hit the floor. A clerk rushed over and said, “Are you okay?” Had it been me, the clerk would have exclaimed loudly: “You break it, you buy it!” Seeing the event as an opportunity for comedy and to make myself seem engaging and charming to the lady I said, “I pooped a little.” Clerk and lady each gave me a horrified, disgusted look, a much different effect than the “Oh, sir, you are so witty” response I expected. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. Copyright 2011 by Gene Myers. AFTER HOURS: ADVENTURES OF AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESSMAN and SONGS FROM LATTYS GROVE now available in Amazon Kindle format. For AFTER HOURS readers, the sequel has been written, but I need a snazzy title. Your suggestions are welcome!
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memories, record player, Victorola, Bozo, Gossamer Wump, Crepitating Contest, toys, adolescent,
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