Shall we walk?This is my daily walk to work. Head north a few blocks, turn right on 4th. Go two blocks more, turn to the left on 7th street. The big one is my office. Go a block north, and that's my office.
Now imagine an all-pervasive cosmic note playing while you walk. As I walked back to the car today - the reverse of this route - I heard a strange pedal-point sound that seemed to envelop everything, and emanate from no particular place you could locate. Eventually it resolved into the sound of church bells. It wasn't coming from the church behind me. There weren't any other churches nearby. It seemed to be coming from all the churches in town. All the churches in the world, somehow. (I recorded it, so it wasn't a hallucination.) It was quite lovely, but why? I thought . . . some Easter thing. Monday Maundy, or something. But no. I've still no explanation, and I don't want one. Perhaps sometimes there should just be beautiful bells for no reason you can ever know.
Picked up the taxes on Monday. While I waited for my packet of woe, I sat in the lobby and thumbed through the news. Alas, I was seated next to the dish of candy. Everyone who came in said some variant of the same thing: "this is the only good part about coming here." "At least there's this today." No one blamed the tax preparers or the clerical staff or the receptionist, of course - but if you think about it, they might all vote or lobby against a flat rate tax, to ensure the perpetuation of their business. Good thing to keep in mind, I suppose. They'd turn on you in a second. That candy don't mean nothin'.
Anyway. I filed two pieces Monday - Substack (free!) and the National Review column, and now I have to finish another for "the paper." Tuesday night will about with rewards.
If you listened to the Diner, and I have absolutely no idea why you wouldn't or didn't, you enjoyed the recollections about 50s game shows. Most of the quiz shows leave me cold, due to all the DRAMA and the sweaty people in booths and ticking clocks and the knowlege of corruption that tainted the entire genre. What's My Line is the gold standard, I think. There were two similar shows. One was I've Got a Secret:
Garry Morris, smoking away, generally manic in a way that contrasts poorly with the smooth and flawless persona of John Charles Day.
This was the fellow I referenced at the Diner.
That he did. And WHOA:
"Bill McClellan, employee at Electro-Optical Systems, Pasadena, California: 'I built the smallest electric motor in the world ... You need a microscope to see it work." A $1000 prize was offered by Richard Feynman at Cal Tech."
What Secret did was show what the person did, and that provides for some interesting scenes.
It's just as not as good as the other shows, though. And it's not sponsored by REMINGTON RAND, selling Univacs to people sitting in the living room having bean dip on TV dinner trays.
I suspect this filled people with wonder and dread.
It’s 1964.
Why do they have to RUIN perfectly fine pudding with NUTS
Maybe it tasted great and was an absolute sensation, but A) pudding is smooth, and B) Royal don’t make it anymore, so perhaps that says something about its eventual adaptation.
I remember this stuff!
It was space-age, all right, and I think everyone had a can. But no one replaced band-aids with spray. We just used it for a disinfectant when you skinned your knee. Which you did, often.
I do not have good memories of any of this stuff.
Was not a childhood fan of BBQ sauce, and “Open Pit” was a strange name, like a place they’d throw bodies after the battle was over. “Good Seasons” I associated with that oily salad dressing. This was all grown-up stuff and they were welcome to it.
That’s a lot of copy to sell strained mush.
But the point is to give Mother some information and let her feel as if she is up on the latest news and discoveries.
I love these ads. These smart, learned, modern grown-ups smoke Chesterfield because they know what they want, and are not fooled by the glitzy hype of Mad-Av campaigns.
Can we find them? Charles, yes: we can find more. Constance, no. Dead-end. Love the computers.
The coupon doesn't have a cash value of 1/100 mills! I guess they hadn't passed the laws yet.
I have inexplicable nostalgia for the General Foods logo.
I hope Mr. Whipple had some keen and eager lawyers:
The Chamin ads started in the same year as these ads. Make of that what you will.
That will do. More of Eddie's Friends today, and Tuesday Joe Ohio for the paying crowd over at the Substack. Now five times a week! Cheap! Help me build up a cushion for the inevitable defenestration. Thanks for your visit, and I'll see you tomorrow.
