The Northward Contrail

Random randomness

Last week was refreshing, but this week I'm back in the salt mine, and it's one of the crazy parts of the year, and things are starting to stack up a little.  So, in lieu of any Really Deep Thoughts today, some random Internet silliness I've enjoyed:

-- Looking for fine dining?  Try Hamm and Buble.

-- Titanic, as re-imagined by a certain entertainment megacorporation.

-- And because there's a place on the Interweb for everything, a website devoted to game show pilot episodes (industry lingo for the "proof-of-concept" shows done for networks or sponsors). 

Daytona, back in the day

A few weeks ago I picked up this book, read it through in a weekend.  It's one of the best sports books I've read in a while -- funny, vivid and well-done.  Early on, it retells the story of the 1979 Daytona 500, the one we all remember with the fight at the end. 

As longtime readers will know, for many years we've made annual trips to Daytona Beach.  Sometimes we've gone to see the 24-hour race, and other times we've just gone for a long weekend.  It's a special place for us both; it was the destination of the first overnight trip we took together, and for hubby it's a special place because that's where he went to college, learning how to work on airplanes.  Sometimes he'd get to help out at the Speedway, lending a hand in the parking lots, and sometimes he'd be in the neighborhood when history was made.  (My favorite is his story of being around there in 1983 when a certain Mr. Foyt, whose original entry retired early, was called back in to help another team and emerged victorious in his first Porsche outing).  

Daytona Beach was expanding like mad the first time I visited ten years ago.  Now, it's unrecognizable from even then.  Every time we go back, hubby looks for familiar landmarks, and they're going away too.  And, of course, Daytona International Speedway looks nothing like it did back then.  The track's the same shape and Lake Lloyd is still there, but it seems everything else has been so extensively modified, rebuilt or replaced that it's hard to recognize sometimes.  I can see pictures of how the place used to look, or see old television footage, and remember seeing it on television when I was a kid.  Now, sometimes, you have to remind yourself it's the same place.  Different, but it's the same speedway.

With that in mind, here's some footage from that first televised flag-to-flag Daytona 500 in 1979.  This piece gives you a good overview of the challenges of televising it, and also a taste of how significant it all was.  (It's also enjoyable to see Ken Squier talk about it -- and to see footage of a younger Ken Squier and David Hobbs -- and it's also neat to see and hear the original billboard, with longtime CBS Sports announcer Don Robertson's voiceover.)  Then here's the opening laps, which were run under caution.  Yes, it's a parade with no excitement (save for a Brock Yates interview with Herb Nab -- and, unfortunately, footage of a horrifying crash from the previous day's Sportsman race that, while it didn't kill one of the drivers involved, did leave him a prisoner in his own body for the rest of his life).  But it's worth watching because it gives you so many chances to see what it used to look like there.  It was the days before the colossal grandstand down the back stretch, before the Winston Tower, before the huge country-club looking garage and hospitality complexes in the infield.

(For the record, I think I may vaguely remember that weekend in 1979.  If memory serves, we were among those blitzed by the weather, and we were without power most of that weekend, so I doubt we watched the race.  I don't think I would have remembered it if we had, anyway.  Most of what I remember involves huddling by the fireplace in the den of our then-new house, and spending the night in sleeping bags.)

The one thing you can't fool

We live in a world where the truth is often seen as what you construct it to be.  Every day, I have somebody trying to lay something on me -- be it at work, or online, or on my television.  I can't get away from somebody trying to tell me that X is Y, or Y is Z, or you name it.  And often I feel inadequate to respond to these things, because sometimes the partisans will really be wrapped around the axle about it. 

I think the fact I feel so ill-equipped in these circumstances is directly related to the comfort I have in dealing with more scientific and mechanical things.  People can interpret something a hundred different ways, but there's a comfort I take in knowing that if I take apart one of my typewriters and do something, I know what it's going to do and how to fix it.  I like that if I'm at my workbench working on a model, I know how the putty is going to react with the plastic, or how the paint's going to lay down. 

I've never had much mathematical or scientific ability.  To some extent, I regret that because there are so many things in those realms that fascinate me.  (Were I a little more telegenic and a little more powerful in the scientific/analytical part of my brain, I'd love to be a science journalist, sort of a latter day Jules Bergman.  But, when the scientific parts of brains were being handed out, I must have been out getting doughnuts instead.)  I completely bombed everything past Pre-Algebra, but, man, I love how math works.  I couldn't understand a lick of college Chemistry, but I loved working in the lab, finding out in experiments how Part A would react with Part B.  The bookwork of physics makes my brain fold up like a cheap card table, but I love the experiments and the theories, that if this happens then that will follow. 

There's a comforting predictability to it.  It's certainty in a world full of uncertainty.  It all reminds us that, no matter what we humans may think we can do, Mother Nature (whom, of course, it's not nice to fool) will have the last word.

From the dawn of television news

While looking around for something else, I found this, and I can hardly believe it: NBC coverage of the 1948 Presidential Election, as Part I and Part II.  Note, among other things, the partnership with Life Magazine for the coverage, which is basically radio with pictures.  (Reuven Frank writes memorably about 1948's coverage of the election in his wonderful book Out of Thin Air.)  For the television historian, this is nothing short of priceless.

Glass houses

I grew up surrounded by trucks.  Not just pickup trucks, but big trucks.  Our dad drove trucks as part of his work, so my brother and I were riding on 18 wheels from the time we were, as they say, knee-high to a grasshopper.  (If I had a dollar for every mile I spent in the cab of an R-600, I'd never have to work again.  Man, those were fun days.  And, yes, there's another Jim Rockford parallel with my life: a dad who drove trucks.) 

It was also the 1970s, the heyday of Smokey and the Bandit and Movin' On and Convoy (the song, and then the movie) and what not, when CB radio was the big thing and "10-4, good buddy!" and "What's your 20?" were commonplace.  It was everywhere: in the music, on television, in the toy stores (care to guess how many of these types of things my brother and I built?) and elsewhere.

So whenever there was something truck-themed on television, we'd watch.  Movin' On was a staple, and we liked it in our home.  (We never did warm up to B.J. and the Bear, I think because it was a bit silly and because it was a bit too pretty-boy for our tastes.  Though I think we did watch Sheriff Lobo when it became its own show.)

Back then, the trucking movie that was most widely seen was when ABC's prime-time movie series would show White Line Fever with Jan-Michael Vincent.  Back then, it seemed ABC would show it two or three times a year.  We'd watch.  But a couple scenes would terrify me as a kid.  One was when Slim Pickens would get killed.  But nothing could match the stark raving terror I'd feel when this scene played.  Now I can watch it and laugh, but back then, it scared me to death, and I'd have to turn my head and close my eyes.  Go figure.

The cornfield

You've probably seen that Twilight Zone episode "It's a Good Life."  It's the one where the little kid is the ultimate bully: he can read people's minds, and has the power to make horrible things happen.  If he didn't like someone, one of the things he could do was "wish them away to the cornfield." Years later, the actor who played the little kid told an interviewer that, mentally, a little bit of that remains and he thinks about the cornfield when someone makes him mad.

One of the things I'm trying to work on in this life is forgiveness.  I try to be as forgiving as I can, but sometimes someone will just lay into me, and I really have trouble letting go of it.  For instance, a few years ago while serving as a forum moderator, I upset someone who wasn't even a participant in the original discussion, and I got this outrageously offended e-mail from this person who tried to use all this legalistic jargon on me, who tried to impress me with all this about how he'd written outraged letters to politicians and to companies to express his displeasure with things they'd done, and all that sort of stuff.  Basically, it was the kind of spleen-venting I'd worked through by the time I was 25, when I finally realized the world was indeed cruel and owed me nothing, and the best I could do is realize that not every inconvenience or disappointment in life is a Constitutional Law case.  I tried to reason with him, but how can you when someone acts as if "offended" is an ennobled state?  After a while, I realized it was pointless, so it was off to the cornfield with him.

That's one example.  There have been others through the years.  Most recently, I let myself get pulled into a debate with an ideologue, one of these types who's unavoidable, who injects politics into subjects even when they're not political in nature, one of these types who likes the tussle...and one of these types who doesn't exactly go by accepted forensic standards when he wants to make a point, if you catch my drift. I got out of it when I'd said my piece and realized it was serving no further purpose, but I still felt dirty for having let myself get drawn in, especially after having seen countless times over how this person operates. Yes, there had come the moment of "that's all I can stands, I can't stands no more," and I landed my punches, but all this time later, I'm having trouble letting it go.  I can't figure out if I'm madder because this person operates this way, or because I let myself get sucked into a losing proposition to begin with.  To some extent, I'm still fuming about it, and I feel stupid for it. 

The worst part?  When someone offends me -- even if it's not something done directly to me, but even if they rub me the wrong way somehow -- more often than not, I want nothing to do with them, ever again.  I talk a lot about how life is shades of gray, but I'm the first to admit I'm a phony when the rubber meets the road. When somebody does this kind of thing, I want to send them off to the cornfield.  I avoid them in person, and I avoid them online, and when their names come up in conversation or even cross my mind in passing, I start to glower.  In fairness, it takes something big to set me off like this, but once you get on my bad side, it's awful hard to get out.  I have a longer memory than I really need for this kind of thing.  I don't wish anything bad on you when you cross me, and I don't stop respecting you as a human being...but let's just say that, in certain regards, you no longer matter.  And I'm not so sure that's a healthy attitude to carry through life.

Someday soon, I hope, I'll finally get it right and become proficient in sending the experience, and not the person, to the cornfield.

And now, a word from Lou Crosby

For Christmas, one of the surprises I got from my parents was a two-DVD set of old television commercials.  One disc was nothing but automotive commercials, and in the middle of it was a great pair of production pieces from The Lawrence Welk Show, back when it was sponsored by Dodge.  One was a big song-and-dance number, with plenty of brass and cars on stage, for the Dodge "Power Giant" trucks -- "Giants of the Low-Priced Three."  There was also a live, outside-the-building commercial showing the trucks in action, too. All the while, there was this low tympani roll.  It was eleven shades of awesome.

The commercials were voiced by the deep, pleasant growl of Lou Crosby (for the '70s set, he was Cathy Lee Crosby's dad).  What a voice, right?  You don't get announcing like that anymore -- or, for that matter, live commercials as big production pieces.

While I can't find the "Power Giants" ads online, here's an example of a similar piece.  Dig that low, pleasant growl of Crosby's -- and that vintage Mopar iron, too.

And here's a little fancy footwork from Lou -- awful catchy!

Oh, mister...?

I was still a youngster a couple or three years or so into grade school when this commercial came out.  The concept of travel didn't grab me so much as the man in the conductor's uniform.  I didn't know who he was, but that completely over-the-top "nnnnyyyeeeesss!" thing fascinated me.  And, it turned out, it also fascinated a schoolmate who carpooled home with us.  Every afternoon in the back seat of the car, it would be like a comedy routine.  I must have annoyed my mother no end imitating the man I called "Mr. Passport."  (I didn't know enough to know he was dressed as a conductor.)

A couple years later, when I discovered Jack Benny, I came to find out this was the great Frank Nelson.  He put in appearances on all kinds of radio and television programs, and stayed active in television and voice-over work into the mid-1980s.  But he's well-remembered for his work with Jack Benny, as a guy who would show up in various places to torment our blue-eyed protagonist.  So it was a delight to discover him in another context I already loved.  (I've long felt like Jack Benny's world was much like my own, with its little defeats and put-downs.  It's why I've always loved that kind of humor, the kind with just a bit of an edge to it.)

Ever since I saw that commercial in 1981, I've been working on my own "nnnyyyeeesss?"  And, I have to say, I've pretty much figured it out.  Every once in a while, the stars align and I get a chance to use it, too.  It's a real hit in the classroom!

As an aside, here's a neat little essay by someone who worked with Frank Nelson in his later years.  (I hope that Frank, wherever he is now, looks down and realizes my imitation of him is done with love.  Although, if he likes, I'll donate whatever royalties to a charity of his choosing, of course.  That will happen as soon as I get royalties from my classes.)

Well!

As you may recall, even though Valentine's Day is coming up Sunday, I really don't observe it.  Even though I've been lucky at love, my heart has remained with those Cupid's arrows have missed.  I was one of them for a long, long time, and I'll never forget how it feels.

Instead, I'd rather observe what February 14 is really all about: it's Jack Benny's birthday.  Go here and spend some time with the great man.  And enjoy a moment Sunday with two of my favorites:

Pop goes the culture

Whilst traveling about the Interwebs lately, I've come across more interesting places that excel in the purpose of killing time.  Here you go:

:: Letters of Note, a place for the display of unique correspondence.  There are some real gems there, everything from the famous letter that started the "Yes, Virginia" tradition to dispatches from Presidents, celebrities, authors, and common folk in uncommon moments. 

:: The Kisseloff Collection.  Jeff Kisseloff wrote one of my favorite books, The Box, an oral history of American television's first four decades that's packed with great stories, and he's also written numerous other books and articles.  This blog is a place for him to display other things he's come across, and to discuss stories and display materials that couldn't fit into his books.  Be warned that a few of the things he's found can be a bit stark, and Kisseloff has a decidedly leftist bent, so if those kinds of things are issues to you, be advised.  On the other hand, some of the exhibits are downright priceless, like these 1948 notes from the NBC censor.   

:: Finally, while a lot of people go ga-ga over the Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am, this website is dedicated to the Pontiacs dearest to my heart.  It's no end of fascinating, especially since I'm planning to build models of a couple of the Rockford Firebirds.  (Perhaps I'll even have the little portable printing press sitting in the back seat so 1:25 scale Jim Rockford can print phony business cards?  It could happen!)