Just in time for New Year’s Day 1966: a color TV in a wooden cabinet! The bowl games were going to be in color. Let Mom watch the Rose Parade. That was just a prerequisite to the main event: football.
Finally, we were going to see the Ponderosa in color. “Disney’s Wonderful World of Color” was going to be… in color! Even “Flipper!” Life was good.
On New Year’s Eve, the delivery truck pulled in our driveway. I thought I heard angels sing the “Hallelujah Chorus.” The whole family assembled on our front porch and watched two men begin ascending our stairs. They might as well have been carrying the Ark of the Covenant.
My old man watched them like a shift boss as they weaved through the kitchen into our pine-paneled den.
It fit perfectly. Dad had measured the space umpteen times. The delivery team plugged it in, hooked up the rabbit ears antenna, and we officially owned a color television.
It resembled a piece of fine furniture. Flanking the oval picture tube was a simple channel dial because there were only three stations. And it had a channel changer: me. When Dad shouted, “Hey Joe, get up and turn it on 13,” I did.
Below the on-off and contrast knobs were two wheels: one for hue and one for tint. They made the magic happen.
One of the men turned the set on, and we watched as “Search for Tomorrow” appeared in tones of… black and white! What gives? After a short pause, I asked what I thought was an intelligent question.
“Uh, what’s wrong with it?”
The delivery guy said, “Nothing.”
Dad chimed in. “So it’s got to warm up or something?”
“Naw.” Clearly, he’d heard this before.
“Where’s the color?”
“The technician needs to come in and adjust the wheels. Won’t take but a few minutes.”
“Is he coming later today?” I asked, practically begging.
“Nope. He’s booked solid. I ‘spec he’ll be here right after
the first.”
I felt faint. This was child abuse. How could you put a color TV in front of me and not let me watch it in color? That’s like meeting Dolly Parton when she’s wearing a buttoned-up topcoat.
My father did not share my outrage. “I guess that’s OK,” he said. “What’s a couple more days when we’ve waited this long?” How dare he show logic and patience?
Before the men left, they gave a stern warning. “Don’t touch those wheels. Wait for the technician. If you fool with them, you could mess the TV up. Might even void the warranty. I know you want to, but don’t.”
There went my plan. From the moment he said there would be no color football games, I had decided to fiddle with those wheels. But now, if I so much as touched them, I knew I could be struck dead.
So the next day, we watched the bowl games in black and white. Color me sick.
Not surprisingly, the technician showed up Jan. 2 and went straight to the hue and tint wheels. A turn to the left, a half turn to the right, and instantly, “Let’s Make a Deal” was perfectly pigmented.
“That’s it,” he said. “Done.”
I was furious. This guy was nothing but a wheel-turner, and barely one at that. The one time I followed the rules, it cost me. All I had to do was make a couple of secret swipes and we’d have been set for New Year’s Day; but no! I followed orders. I was told just touching those little wheels could cause the TV to explode. And I’m still peeved about it.
Even more surprising was my dad’s reaction. Normally, he had a shorter fuse than the Hulk during rush hour. But he was calm. All he did was walk into the den, look at the television, and say, “Hey Joe, it’s time for ‘Bonanza.’ Turn the channel to NBC.”
And I did.
Joe Hobby is a standup comedian, a syndicated columnist, and a long-time writer for Jay Leno. He’s a member of Cullman Electric Cooperative and is very happy now that he can use Sprout from his little place on Smith Lake. Contact him at [email protected].
