When does memory begin? If I think back over nearly 68 years I remember patterns of sunshine in the garden and the dank mystery space between the fence and the back of the garage. I remember looking over the seat of the car and seeing my mother nestling my new baby sister. I clearly recall the end of World War II and everyone rushing out into the street, forming spontaneous parades. I marched along behind them.

Even to a small child fortunate to be thousands of miles from the destruction, World War II was a daily presence. I came running into the living room early one morning and was shushed by my parents. They were sitting on either side of our big RCA console radio, leaning into the sound as a news report came from overseas. I'm not sure, but I think it was a description of American forces entering Paris, an excited announcer saying, "There's another woman out in her nightgown." Did they sleep till Noon in occupied France?

When does memory begin? I remember listening to Uncle Don and hearing that someone's birthday present was "behind radio, where I am." I immediately crawled behind the radio and peered across dusty wires and lights and strange metal thingies and thought maybe I did see a tiny man by that black cone from which the voice emerged.

The radio was almost always on in our house, and everywhere else, and I was fascinated by it. Of course I had my favorites, including the Jimmy Durante Show, "The Shadow" and "Let's Pretend" (which for years I thought was entitled "Cream of Wheat"). "Superman" was a special favorite, and though there were never cast credits, even as a child I recognized Bud Collyer as Cark Kent and the Man of Steel.

I probably had something of an obsession about radio from my earliest days, further fed when I got my own personal set (a black table model, a gift from a family friend who worked for Emerson) and especially by some exciting visits to see real radio shows in production. Growing up in New York City - though in the small-town setting of the southeast corner of the Borough of Queens - being in the audience of a radio show was a recurring treat. I treasure the memory of my folks taking me to see Fanny Brice play "Baby Snooks", though I don't now recall anything about the production except a grown-up lady coming on stage to play little Snooks, to great applause.

By the late 1940s my reactions and recollections become clearer. I remember going to a "Daily Dilemmas" quiz show at WOR on Christmas day, 1947. Mom was chosen as a contestant (and became the day's winner)! So when I listened to the radio I could see the action of the story and also envision the people in the studio.

At some point I began to draw pictures of what I would see if I could really see it. I believe that these pictures date from 1949 and the clue comes from "Little Herman", a comedy/mystery that was on CBS for that single season. I was clearly listening carefully because on this and other shows I'd include details like a cast list (even if the actor Cameron Prud'Homme became Cameron Crudon to my ears).

Radio was then keen on slapstick action, which really appealed to a 9-year old, witness the drenching chaos of "Truth or Consequences". It was a natural next step to create my own shows, for which I created make-believe stations, networks and stars (though sometimes borrowing real names). But there was a reason beyond youthful fascination and precocious programming for making these drawings. By 1949 television had come onto the scene. There were already seven channels in the New York area and it was a delightful novelty to see pictures along with the sound. I was transfixed by TV. However, my curiosity was soured by the fact that we didn't yet own a television set and, anyway, seven channels transmitting for just a few hours a day with the rudimentary programming of the early years wasn't as good as radio with dozens of stations, plenty of action and surely "the pictures were better". Fearing that television would destroy all the good things on radio I invented a wonderful new device called the radiro (pronounced rah-DEER-oh, if you feel like talking about it). My radiro could connect to any radio and automatically add pictures to the show being broadcast. It worked by magic - at age 9 I wasn't quite up to doing the engineering - and it would preserve the best of radio. These drawings may actually be scenes from the screen of the imaginary magical radiro, rare pictures preserved in crayon.

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Created: Friday, June 06, 1997
This web page, copyright © 2007 James F. Widner. Article and images copyright © William Jaker.