A Reader is Born

I was never a reader until Grade 7. I didn’t have the attention span until then, preferring to be out and about, running, playing, riding my bike. I suppose I may have always been young for my age. It’s not that I had never read; I did, but the books were largely short, children’s books, the ones a couple steps above picture books, books where anthropomorphic animals were the main characters. Each story was no longer than a couple pages, at most. They actually put me in “special” reading class before I was held back, where the text was largely “see Jack, see Jack run.” Keep in mind I was a December baby, and a year younger than others when I began school. As you can imagine, special reading class was a real boost to my self-esteem. Only dummies were enrolled in special reading class, that’s the way we kids looked at it. It was only for one year though, my first year in Grade 2. Once I was held back, that extra year of development meant that I could concentrate more, absorb more, and make those cognitive leaps required to transform those symbols on the page into words and sentences and finally into thoughts and images in my head. I went from a struggling student to a high B student, and remained that way until post-secondary where I continued to improve. Still, regardless my huge improvement as a student after being held back, special reading class may have put me off reading.

Everything changed in Grade 7. My mother had always read, and now my friends read, too. And who does’t want to fit in with their friends? I had a book report to do, and I chose Arthur C. Clark’s 1952 science fiction novel “Islands in the Sky” from the library after much deliberation. I had grown up watching Star Trek, so when I saw the cover, I thought I might like it. There was a man in a space suit (a suit without individual legs) floating in space above the Earth, a ‘50s style rocket, and a space station similar to the one in 2001 behind him. Luckily, it was one of his earlier works, and a juvenile novel, so it wasn’t outside what I’d be able to handle for a first novel to read. I ate it up, surprised by how completely I was captivated by the story. More books followed, this time without the requirement of a book report. And then books into the summer, nothing too taxing, yet, the first few like “Alien,” adapted from the screenplay, and a few other horror and sci-fi.

I’ve read ever since.

Hockey Night in Canada, and Beyond

I remember my father watchin

g Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights when I was growing up. There wasn’t much choice then, as very early on we only had two channels, English and French CBC, both of which televised the hockey game, Leafs and Habs, respectively. But that's not entirely true, either. My mother tells me my father’s interest in hockey began to wane when the league expanded, from the original six to God knows how many (not that he ever lost interest; that would be a silly thing to say, if you know my father; but his obsession certainly waned). I think the league expanded to about twenty teams in a very short time. What I do remember is the whole family anticipating watching TVO on Saturday nights, once the field of viewing began to open up in the mid-70s (first with TVO and CTV, then with Global and the American Big Three at about ‘78). Doctor Who aired at 7:30 pm, then Saturday Night at the Movies with Elwy Yost. We used to donate to TVO back then, just so that my father and I could get the SNatM season guide. We’d get the full season’s upcoming movies, with far more detailed descriptions of the week’s theme and movie blurbs, not just the name and year that was in the Daily Press TV guide pullout. 1975 kicked off a lifetime love of Doctor Who and B&W classic film.

TV, Vietnam & Watergate

I have only the haziest recollections of Vietnam as it was happening. I have no indication that those memories are real; they may only be the ghost of all those Vietnam War documentaries that were aired over the years, slipping into their periodic place. I stand by the memory, though. Vietnam was on the news, every day, and I could not help but notice those little war movies on the TV every night after supper. They were confused with and jumbled up with WW2 movies and M*A*S*H until they were all one conflict, all part of WW2 in my mind.

Seriously, they were. I couldn’t unravel the tangle at the time. Indeed, I wasn’t even aware of the Vietnam Conflict as a separate entity, then. I recall watching a John Wayne war film on TV with my father: It was "The Green Berets,” his only film set in Vietnam. Watching it now, it's rather obvious that it's set in Vietnam. Glaringly obvious. Vietnam had even been named throughout, but to my young mind, John Wayne always fought in WW2, when he wasn't fighting Indians in covboy movies. Indeed, he was the face of WW2. He always fought against the Japanese in the Pacific theatre, too; never Nazis (the Longest Day exluded). And the Vietnamese looked deceptively like the Japanese, so it was an easy to supplant one in the other.
I know that the Vietnam war left its mark on me, because it has since become mythic in my mind, a confused array of firebases and jungle patrols, and firey plumes of napalm consuming all that adheres to. I remember a phrase that was strangely popular for a time, a cruel, insensitive, and horrific phrase: "Naplam sticks to children,"

I do have a solid memory of being absolutely pissed off about Watergate. Everything I wanted to watch pre-empted by all that bla bla bla Watergate Nixon talk. It was all too boring for the 9 or 10-year-old I was. Everything was preempted. Not “Hockey Night in Canada,” though. Never that. Nothing could preempt Hockey Night in Canada, not in Canada. I rebelled. I had a fit. I bitched about it to my parents, as if they could do something about it, but we were limited to two or three channels then, and Watergate was on them all.

Early TV

A television show from my childhood popped into my head the other day, the Hilarious House of Frightenstein, a Canadian children’s show that aired in 1971, hosted by Vincent Price and starring Billy Van, Billy Van, Billy Van, and Billy Van. I looked it up on Wikipedia and was surprised to see that it only lasted one season, but aired 130 episodes! Vincent Price introduced the skits from a dark and stormy balcony, lightning flashing on the stone wall behind him. He’d recite bad poetry in that voice we all remember so fondly to set them up. Or should I say, that I remember so fondly. Billy played most characters, including Count Frightenstein, the Wolfman, Grizelda the Witch, the Ghastly Gourmet, and most others, but it was the Librarian that I remember most vividly. And wrongly. My memory is more in tune with “Tales from the Crypt” than what was.

We’d creep into his library for story time, where the wizened, ancient librarian was sleeping and had to be awakened. He sputtered. He was gruff. But then he would welcome us, ask us to sit and he’d begin to read children’s stories like Humpty Dumpty to us. He thought were horror stories, he thought they would terrify us. When he saw that we weren’t frightened, he would admit that he wasn’t actually frightened either, and that maybe the story wasn’t that scary, after all. But he promised that next time he would truly terrify us with another gruesome tale. Truth was, HE and his library terrified me! There were cobwebs everywhere, skulls on tables, moldering furniture; but mostly it was him, ancient, wizened, curmudgeonly, and covered in cobwebs, that creeped me out. I wanted to race from the room and hide every time I heard the Librarian theme music.

There were others that come to mind from that period in my life, shows far less terrifying: The Banana Splits Adventure Hour, The Magic Roundabout, H.R. Pufnstuf, Do Not Adjust Your Set!, Davey and Goliath, and of course, The Friendly Giant and Mr. Dressup.
Did I make you remember those special TV shows from your childhood? I hope so. They were magical!