About a month ago I wrote about those
old-fashioned rabbit ears TV antennas. I received a lot of emails in response
to that column. Many folks reminisced about the rabbit ears antennas of their
youth. They remembered constantly twisting and turning those telescoping rods,
trying to point them in the exact right position for the TV program to come in
clearly. Sometimes they attached pieces of wire or aluminum foil to the tips of
the antennas in a desperate attempt to achieve better reception.
A few people claimed TV shows came in best
only when they forced their youngest brother to grab one antenna with his left
hand and extend his right hand in the direction of Hartford while clasping a
metal sauce pan. The older siblings thought this was terrific, since they could
see Topo Gigio clearly on The Ed Sullivan Show. However, one of the younger
siblings I heard from said he would’ve preferred being water-boarded rather than
hold his arm out for a full hour. Fifty years later he still breaks out in a
cold sweat when he sees a sauce pan sitting on the stove. And he simply faints
whenever someone mentions the name Topo Gigio.
Other readers discussed another amazing
device from the pre-cable television days: the automatic antenna turner. This
was a mechanical system that actually rotated the TV antenna up on the roof.
There was a little box on top of the television set with a dial. This box was
connected with wires to a small motor on the roof. You would turn the dial to a
point on the compass (north, south, east, west), and then you would hear that unmistakable
sound: “Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.” As the dial slowly and
methodically turned, the antenna on the roof also moved. It was always a moment
of joy and wonder when the TV screen transformed from a hissing mish-mash of
static into the image of Walt Disney welcoming everyone to this week’s show (in
living color, no less).
The automatic antenna turning system
was very reliable — unless a bracket became loose on the roof and the antenna
wouldn’t rotate; or unless one of the wires got disconnected; or unless rain
water seeped into the motor’s housing and ruined the motor; or unless a high
wind turned the antenna and caused north to be east, east to be south, south to
be west, and west to be north. So in other words, the automatic antenna turning
system was very reliable, upwards of ten-percent of the time.
In my family, we didn’t go for fancy
and expensive mechanical systems that malfunctioned on a regular basis. My
father figured, “Why spend money on electric motors and wires when I have
sons?”
So when I was a kid, the automatic
antenna turning system was the Dunn Boys. My father installed a metal pole, which
rested on the ground and ran up the side of the house. Perched on top, way
above the roof line, was the TV antenna. The brackets which held the pole were
loosened a bit, so the pole could rotate in place.
Whenever it was time to point the
antenna in a new direction, my father would send one of us outside. “Turn it to
Hartford,” he’d say, or, “Turn it to New Haven.”
Grabbing that metal pole was always a
treat, especially when it was about 5 degrees outside. Good thing I’m the
oldest. I could delegate that chore in the winter. My youngest brother recently
told me after half a century, the feeling is starting to come back in his
fingers. But it was well worth it, since we were able to clearly see Topo
Gigio.
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