Sunday, 11 May
 |
| TV Test Pattern |
Good Morning
Justin…
Years ago,
when I was probably about your age, I sometimes watched an artsy little program
that aired on CBS, Sunday mornings. I
suppose you can think of it as the precursor to the current Sunday Morning on the same network. In its day, though, Camera Three was a bargain-basement budget half-hour program produced
to fulfill the network’s commitment to what was called public service
programming. At the time the FCC, Federal
Communications Commission, required all broadcast stations to provide a portion
of their air time for programs that earned your attention on the basis of
community merit. Which is to say it was
the entertainment world’s version of “Eat your vegetables.” If you were up early enough to watch you would
likely find two bureaucrats at a government surplus desk discussing the
intricacies of allocating traffic lights for outlying communities. As the owner of Happy’s Family Burger Ranch you wouldn't want to buy advertising on
the show because the meager few viewers up and about at this hour are only
interested in getting their bowels to move.
 |
| Camera Three |
As a kid I
was a TV fanatic. Back in the days of portable
black and white televisions sporting rabbit ears, before there was cable and overnight
infomercials, TV stations routinely signed off the air shortly after
midnight. They would resume their broadcast day starting
with a test pattern. This was a simple
graphic made up of expanding circles overlaid by a prominent horizontal and
vertical line that intersected at the center like a crosshair. For interest value there might be the profile
of an Indian at the top. This feature
would appear shortly before sunrise, accompanied by an electronic hum, and it
would enable you to tweak various knobs in the back of your TV so people like Gunsmoke’s Matt Dillon didn’t look
squiggly. For me, Channel Ten’s test pattern was my first program of the day. My official broadcast excitement really began
with the sign on.
“Good
Morning. This is KGTV, Channel Ten, San
Diego.”
The
announcer would proceed to tell me all about who owned the station, which
mountain their transmitter was located on, how much broadcast power its
transmitter had and how the station was dedicated to providing the community
with wholesome entertainment and valuable news. Then without further fanfare we
would hear the opening theme to Today on
the Farm. I don’t where this show
came from but it wouldn’t surprise me if some local elementary school’s
audio-visual department supplied these old films to the station. The program told me about plowing techniques
used by farmers to reduce hill erosion and various antibiotics that were
available so my egg-laying hens would stay healthy and productive. I learned about the four food groups as well
as proper dental care and being sure to wash behind my ears before heading off
to school.
If I missed
this important start to my day then I must have been out of town or my flickering
window to the world blew a catastrophic tube.
My absence was definitely not voluntary.
It’s no
wonder then that I would be up Sunday mornings watching what could rightly be called
graveyard TV. The entire civilized world
was taking this opportunity to be sleeping in following the obligatory carousing
done each Saturday night. Yes, there are
always a few exceptions but these are souls lost to television’s titillation as
they are now filling the pews at the morning’s earliest possible church services. So alone, I was left to witness this
particular Sunday’s episode of Camera
Three.
 |
| Harry Reasoner |
I clearly
remember Harry Reasoner hosted the program on this occasion. He smiles into the camera and begins by telling
me that the entire show will be devoted to examining the structure we use to
gain access to the next room – doors and the hole in the wall they occupy. The topic holds intrigue for me but only because
I’m the sole occupant of a deserted isle.
Harry then produces a surprise. He
has with him this morning a special guest.
The famous mime Marcel Marceau is here to dramatize the various
scenarios we encounter while interacting with doors.
Possibly you’re
thinking, “You must be kidding.” Bless
your heart. I most certainly am
not. I would not pull your leg over
something that has been part of my memory now for more than fifty years. I think it has stuck with me all this time
because of the remarkable way a few talented people pulled a rabbit from their
hat and made something magical rise from a dead as doornail program. Allow me to relate to you a single instance.
 |
| Marcel Marceau |
Imagine you
are the Sun King, Louis the Sixteenth, His Majesty, the resplendent progeny of
centuries of French Bourbon rule. You
are wealthy beyond imagination. Now you
are being led through a dark corridor, then suddenly, you emerge from the
doorway into glorious sunlight. The
crowd of Parisians erupt in cheers and eagerly press forward to better examine
your countenance. With customary
formality you are escorted across the stage towards the tall looming structure
to your left. You catch your breath at
its elegant simplicity – two rails pointed skyward, a large heavy blade
suspended at its top. Your final moment
amidst this carnival is flush.
How would
you handle your awaking at the doorway?
How would Marcel Marceau?
Imagination
is a brilliant human device. It enables
us to tap into what is possible but, for us, yet has never been. It doesn't require expensive props, stirring
words or computerized special effects. We
can convey our imaginings in simple ways.
Capturing the imagination of others is the difficulty. For that we require something peculiar,
something exceedingly special.
Love,
Dad
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