“Vintage TV”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-18)

Stuff.

I grew up in a family not gifted in the financial sense, but wealthy in terms of love and ideas, along with artifacts from previous generations. What we affectionately called ‘junk.’ Thus, it has always seemed natural to be surrounded by trinkets, knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, tchotchkes and the like. These treasures adorned shelves full of antiques, printed volumes and vinyl records. When I grew old enough to create my own household, the template was already set.

Having ‘stuff’ felt natural. And, necessary.

This predisposition toward collecting has often caused episodes of material lust that later seemed ill-advised and patently indefensible. But in our family paradigm, such purchases never needed to be justified. I was reminded of one particular acquisition while sorting through the home of my parents, during a recent visit to West Virginia. As they were both products of the ‘Great Depression’ this beloved couple literally kept everything. Clearing their abode, after father passed away and mother went to a nursing home, proved to be a chore of consequence. But also, an adventure in self-discovery.

For years, I had remembered that for Christmas of 1970, at the age of nine, I received a plastic, functional typewriter as a gift from Santa. Details were sketchy from years that had elapsed since I last saw the machine. But as we cleaned Dad’s office, there it was, hidden on a windowsill next to a rack of books.

The discovery brought tears to my eyes.

Later, I pondered another relic still hidden in the mess. During the 1990’s, I had found a vintage television set in Painesville, with my first wife. We attended the ‘Great Lake County Garage Sale’ at the fairgrounds. Late in the day, with vendors packing up their unsold goods, I spied the rectangular box on a half-empty table. Its screen was tiny by modern standards. A peek inside revealed that the chassis still carried a full compliment of vacuum tubes. I tingled with excitement.

The seller was visibly exhausted. We shared polite conversation and then began to haggle over the price. My wallet had little to offer. I walked away for a last trip around the tables. Then, impulsively, I returned and offered him $8.00 for the set.

He must have been drunk with fatigue. His answer was nearly shouted.

“YES!”

When I got home, a quick test proved that the television actually received analog stations. I could hear the audio portion of local broadcasts. But the picture tube stayed dark.

My father had taken a course on TV repair in the 1950’s and still had his textbook manual in the home library. It was bound in a huge, leather cover. I called him and described the device. He observed that it sounded like something they had bought in the postwar 1940’s, when the notion of watching shows at home had only begun to take hold. Some units were offered as a kit, he recalled. Yet mine apparently had been sold in completed form. Its viewing portal almost looked to be an afterthought, on one end of the long, wooden case.

Dad offered to have a look. We carried the set along on our next visit.

Almost predictably, the TV sat in his office for weeks. Then for months, and years. He had grown too old for restoration projects, with other needs, like providing care for my mother, growing more urgent. Eventually, my flea-market-find moved to a side corner of the living room, where it was buried under boxes.

My sister remembered its hiding spot as we were packing donations. We took three minivan loads to a local charity store. But the vintage TV had still not been uncovered. Finally, we had to return home to Ohio.

“We’ll find it on the next visit,” she promised.

Back at home, I began to research the unit on Internet sites. One called the ‘Early Television Museum’ offered a variety of technical information, with various photos, charts, catalogs and brochures. Of particular interest was a newspaper clipping from the Lincoln Times-News, in North Carolina. Their readers’ forum featured a story by Marshal Fox about having a coal-powered TV in the summer of 1951:

“One of my fondest memories as a child was when we got our first television. Because of the unavailability of electricity in most rural areas, several companies manufactured coal powered televisions… we stoked up our TV, lit it and eagerly waited. It felt like hours as it warmed up. You could hear the internal turbine starting to turn and slowly a picture appeared… all the neighbors crowded into our small living room just to get a glimpse of this great entertainment device… because of the excess heat, some people actually cooked on top of their televisions. It was the ideal place for a slow cooking stew or a big pot of pinto beans… as the availability of electricity grew the coal powered TV went the way of other stop-gap inventions like the propane washing machine and goat lawn mower. Nothing ever stays the same.”

I reckoned this surreal creation would have been appropriate for Barbour County with its coal connection. But unfortunately, the relic I had discovered and then lost used the more conventional power of electricity to function. Still, the story added to my list of things saved to mention upon seeing my late father once again, in eternity.

Finding my antique set suddenly seemed a lot less important. I had a new question to ask.

“Hey Dad, did you ever own a coal-powered TV?”

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