The Rural Voice, 1998-04, Page 32When I was a kid
growing up in
West
Gwillimbury
Township of
Simcoe County during the
1950s, television had yet to
make an appearance, at
least in our household.
Radio was still the
predominant entertainment
focus and it seemed as if
our lives revolved around
Arthur Godfrey, Gordon
Sinclair and Kate Aitken,
as well as the numerous
comedies, dramas etc. that
prevailed in that pre -TV
era.
If one tired of radio
programming however,
there was always the option
of records. Mom and Dad
had purchased a record
player just after the war.
An RCA Victor floor
console that stood some
three feet tall and measured
even wider. Two hundred
and sixty dollars our record
player had cost, plus a $10
"short wave" option we
never used, much less
Musical memories of
a childhood friend
Old Victor played all the old songs, and
provided hours of entertainment
for a young boy.
By David E. Turner
Though scuffed and scarred Old Victor still has a place of
honour in his retirement.
understood.
I have trouble visualizing my childhood without that
machine, for as far back as 1 can remember, it had
fascinated me. It would stack and automatically dispense
one at a time, up to a dozen 78 rpm records. I would
continually beg Mom to play me some records, and since
it could handle such a bunch of recordings, a good half
hour's entertainment could be had without interruption.
But as soon as that set was completed, I'd yell for her to
"turn them over!" I didn't care what Mom chose ... just
as long as it was music.
I guess Mom grew tired of running back and forth to
the player, for by the time of my fifth birthday she taught
me to operate the controls myself. Apparently, there was
quite a discussion between my parents over this move,
but my absolute care and commitment to our records and
player, almost bordering on fanaticism, swayed the vote.
After all, I knew what to do. I'd watched Mom
hundreds of times. Pick out the records; (as I couldn't
read, label content mattered little); lift the lid on the small
copper -coloured box contained within the changer
system; place the centre hole of the record over the
spindle and set the first record on the platter; for the
balance, the outer rim of the record would rest on the lip
of this copper box; once all the records were stacked,
close the lid ... gently, on the edge of the topmost
recording. Slide the start switch ... gently, to "on"
position. The rest was automatic.
The tone arm would
scoot smartly out onto the
first recording. Once the
song was over, the arm
would fly back to its
original position, an egg-
shaped disc beneath the lid
of the copper -coloured box
would rotate, pushing the
next record out just far
enough to release it from
the spindle. With those 78
rpm recordings, everything
happened fast!
As I couldn't read at
that point, it was often a
surprise to see what song
actually played.
Invariably, Gene Autry's
"Frosty the Showman" or
"Rudolph" would surface
in th ' middle of summer.
It wasn't long, however,
before I could distinguish
certain labels and
performers. Columbia
featured artists such as
Left Frizzell, Doris Day
and Gene Autry. On
Decca, rode such greats as
Guy Lombardo, Bing
Crosby, the Weavers and
Evelyn Knight. RCA
Victor stuck to the more traditional country singers: Hank
Snow, Wilf Carter, the Carter family and Sons of the
Pioneers. We probably had over 150 records in our
collection from which to choose.
When I listened to records, I didn't lounge on some
easy -chair on the opposite side of the room. I sat on a
straight -back chair pulled tight against the phonograph,
with the cabinet lid open so 1 could watch the records
spinning. Hour after hour I spent, tucked up close to that
grand old RCA Victor, my cheek resting on the cabinet's
felt -lined ledge, watching the revolving 78s, and
occasionally glancing at "Nipper", the RCA Victor dog.
Nipper, sitting with his head cocked slightly to one side,
listening to the sounds emitting from the horn -type
speaker. Printed underneath this delightful picture was
the caption; "His Master's Voice". I would pretend
Nipper was my dog and I was playing just for him.
Although my present day stereo with its assortment of
components, completely overwhelms that original
machine, that old RCA Victor, although its mahogany
finish is scuffed and scarred, still looks pretty much as it
did when my parents bought it in 1946. These days it
spends its time in well-deserved retirement in my office,
perhaps reflecting on days long past when its melodies
delighted an appreciative audience, but in particular a
fair-haired, blue-eyed, West Gwillimbury youngster.0
David E. Turner lives near Palmerston, Ontario.
28 THE RURAL VOICE