When Lucy Was on Television

We Boomer kids had a few constants in our lives growing up, some good, some bad. There would be coverage of the Vietnam War every night on the news. Dad would install a new license plate on the car every January. And Lucille Ball would have a hit television show.

Lucy was best known, of course, as Lucy Ricardo, beloved bride of Ricky, in a show that is ranked as the most popular ever by many. I Love Lucy ran for seven seasons beginning in 1951, and the duo went three more years on The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour. And just because you were too young to catch it the first time didn’t mean you had to miss it. The first series to be filmed in the studio, instead of being broadcast live, Desi and Lucy shrewdly gained all rights to the show after production ceased, meaning they made untold millions licensing it for syndication.

It’s nice when the artists win, instead of the executives.

Anyhow, it is unlikely that a single Boomer in the US has never seen an episode of I Love Lucy. To this day, it remains of of the most popular syndicated shows on television.

But just because I Love Lucy sailed off into the prime time sunset didn’t mean Lucille Ball was done with television. Far from it.

Scene from The Lucy Show

In 1962, Lucy, now amicably divorced from Desi, began starring in The Lucy Show. It was a perennial ratings giant for CBS, and starred Lucy’s buddies Vivian Vance and Gale Gordon, who played the constantly angry Mr. Mooney. Gordon was the first pick to play Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy, but was committed to another series (Our Miss Brooks) at the time. However, he did make some guest appearances. When Lucy was offered her new show, Gordon was immediately selected to play the part of Banker Mr. Mooney.

Wouldn’t you know it, he was committed yet again to another series, this time playing Mr. Wilson on Dennis the Menace. But by the show’s second year, he was available, and he replaced a previous banker character played by Charles Lane.

Lucy’s own Desilu Studios produced the show, so Lucy was the show’s boss. When she sold out to Gulf and Western Industries in 1967, she decided she didn’t want to work on a show over which she no longer had full creative control. So The Lucy Show disappeared, to be immediately replaced by Here’s Lucy.

Scene from Life with Lucy

Here’s Lucy starred Gordon, Mary Jane Croft (who had assumed the role of a best friend for Lucy after Vivian Vance’s 1965 departure), and, of course, Lucy herself.

The show featured all new characters, but the audience had a hard time telling them from the former ones. They had different names, but as far as were concerned, it was still Mrs. Carmichael and Mr, Mooney. And Lucy, of course, still called the shots.

Here’s Lucy was as popular as the previous show, consistently landing great ratings until 1974, when its popularity sagged just a bit. At this point, what happened is not exactly clear. Either Lucy herself declared that a great show had run its course, or CBS pulled the plug on the last old-style comedy of the 60’s to enhance its reputation of taking bold new moves with shows like All in the Family. Either way, it was still in the Top Thirty when it was canceled.

So for the first time in memory, Lucy was not on television every week.

Lucy and Gale Gordon tried a 1986 comeback, Life with Lucy, but by then the humor formula of the old shows no longer worked. I recall it having the same premise as her two previous shows, just with everyone having gotten a lot older. I think it would have been a success had it been released in the 60’s. Two short months after its debut, it was gone.

Nowadays, the very concept of the sitcom has been largely shove aside. Long-running shows like Everybody Loves Raymond, The King of Queens, and Friends are quite rare. Something called reality TV has unfortunately proven popular, with numerous clones of the (IMHO) disturbing genre getting high ratings.

Ah, for a simpler day, when you could count on Lucy and Mr. Mooney to be on TV reliably every week.

When Litigation Wasn’t So Blasted Commonplace

Oh, lord. I’m opening myself up to cease-and-desist orders and libel lawsuits here.

Well, I have freedom of speech. So here goes…

According to the Georgetown Journal of Legal ethics, Summer 2005 issue, in an article by Emily Olsen, this summed up the stance of the American Bar Association once upon a time:

In 1908, the American Bar Association (“ABA”) established and promulgated its first ethics code, known as the Canons of Professional Ethics, which condemned all advertisement and solicitation by lawyers. Academics at the turn of the century generally viewed advertising as not appropriate for the legal profession. They believed that only tricksters used legal advertising in order to improve their reputation and an honest lawyer worked to earn his good name. “In the case of the lawyer, advertising of one’s own willingness to be trusted as a man of unselfish devotion frosts the rose before it has a chance to bloom.”

Wow, shades of the NRA (and I am NOT anti-gun, before anyone’s hackles get raised) coming out against machine guns and sawed-off shotguns in the hands of the general populace in the 1930’s. Once upon a time, common sense was much more common.

Well, the times they-have-a-changed.

In the mid 1970’s, the state of Arizona had the good sense to file suit against a lawfirm that, in its view, was crossing the line with its advertising.

In 1977, the US Supreme Court sided against Arizona. On that day, floodgates were opened which led to massive full-page-Yellow-Pages ads promising you wealth and justice if only you will hire the mentioned legal firm to sue the crap out of whomever you felt like wronged you.

Perhaps a less-than-contemptible idea in philosophy, in practice, it has transformed a society whose individuals once by and large blamed themselves for their mistakes to lay the blame on the state, the nation, their doctor, or perhaps McDonald’s or another wealthy corporation who can darned sure spare the cash.

Prop 65 warning, telling me the light fixtures I just bought might cause cancer

The same article that I quoted from outlines a comprehensive list of rules that lawyers must now follow when advertising their trade.

Sadly, that list doesn’t bar bad taste. Thus, we are bombarded by things like garish full-page ads in phones books and magazines promising large payoffs if the potential plaintiff who reads the blurb chooses to enlist the firm (no win-no fee!!!) to go after the real or imagined injurer with barrels-a-blazing.

And society has paid for the litigation free-for-all that widespread lawyer advertising has contributed to.

Now in all fairness, I’m a big John Grisham fan. Grisham himself is a licensed attorney who instead uses his literary talents to make a nice living. And yes, I’m familiar with Grisham stories like The Rainmaker, in which a corrupt insurance agency has to be sued to cause it to see the error of its ways.

But if I recall, none of the plaintiffs in the book found Rudy Baylor in a large, intrusive Yellow Pages ad or on a massive billboard or on an often-rerun television commercial.

Thanks for letting us know

And yes, corporate corruption exists that victims must use legal means to fight against.

But if you find it necessary to write down a 1-800 phone number from an afternoon ad in order to seek justice, then you have issues of your own.

You see, lawyers have thrived on word-of-mouth referrals since time immemorial. I have had a day or two in court, and each time, my lawyer was someone who was recommended by a trusted friend or by a previously-utilized attorney who was unable to handle the particular case.

When we were growing up, a lawyer’s advertisement was his shingle, or perhaps a discreet bold-type phone listing. And, if I recall, medical bills were reasonable enough to pay on the spot upon dismissal from the hospital. McDonald’s didn’t have to put large warnings on their coffee cups designed to let the particularly low-witted know that the contents therein were hot.

But nowadays, if the average Joe slips on the ice, or trips and injure his ankle, or (horrors!) spills hot coffee on himself, instead of warning himself to be more careful next time, he frequently finds himself reciting an 800-number that he’s heard so many times on TV ads that he has it memorized. And that is one of the many differences between the world we grew up in and the one that we now inhabit.

BTW, for a defense of the infamous McDonald’s decision that is completely self-unaware of how ironically funny it is, click here.

When Everybody Smoked

If a TV show or movie about the 50’s or 60’s is REALLY authentic, it shows nearly everyone above the age of 21 having a smoke.

Our generation was perhaps the smokingest one in history, at least during those two decades. And no wonder! We were bombarded with ads on TV, radio, in newspapers, magazines, and billboards. And we had a pretty good idea that it was bad for us, but we weren’t 100% sure.

In 1947, Merle Travis’s Smoke, Smoke that Cigarette painted a dark picture of tobacco addiction and its ultimate effect: death. But it was not until 1966 that the US government finally required labeling on cigarette packs stating that “Smoking may be hazardous to your health.”

In my house, the warning had an immediate effect. Mom was a Salem chain smoker, and as soon as I was old enough to read that warning, I began hounding her to stop. She finally did, a few years later.

Smoking began declining late in the 60’s, but it was still extremely commonplace. The idea of a smoke-free restaurant, or even a smoke-free SECTION of a restaurant, was inconceivable. If you went out to eat, you smelled cigarette smoke. It was a given.

All cars had ash trays. So did the vast majority of homes. Movie stars like John Wayne hawked cigarettes, though he filmed many anti-smoking ads late in life as he fought cancer.

Speaking of the ads! TV advertising was banned in 1970. Yet, even though I was only ten when I heard my last cigarette commercial, I can easily recite at least twenty jingles and slogans that I heard over and over.

Smoking was simply cool. That’s why so many teenagers did it. There was a stern warning on cigarette machines warning minors not to operate them, but it was never enforced. Therefore, many eighteen-year-olds already had two-pack habits.

A commercial aired the same year that the warning appeared on cigarette packs that was replayed for at least twenty years afterwards. It was a kid imitating his father’s every move, including picking up a pack of cigarettes and having a look at them immediately after his father had lit up.

Smoking has a negative reputation these days. Smoking is no longer allowed in many establishments any more. You can’t smoke on US domestic air flights. But in the 50’s and 60’s, it was everywhere. We grew up smelling it, and got to where we didn’t even notice it anymore.

When Cursing Got Your Mouth Washed Out With Soap

One of the most obvious differences between the present day and the world we Boomer kids grew up in is the amount of naughty words flying through the air. What would our grandparents think if they heard modern-day conversations at the shopping mall? Anyone who watches network television is now subjected to a number of George Carlin’s famous Seven Deadly Words on a regular basis. Shocking stuff to someone who might have just time-traveled here from 1965.

Profanity, I discovered, has a very interesting history. Taboo words have been largely generational. Thus, thumbing one’s nose is nowadays considered a childish insult. But go back a hundred and fifty years, and “cocking a snook,” as it was then known, was as obscene as the modern-day one-fingered salute.

The scatological S-word has taken the opposite track. Once, it was as proper to use as, say, the term “feces.” But somewhere along the line, it gained a reputation for vulgarity.

One thing’s for sure, though. Words and expressions that were sternly forbidden by society in general, our parents in particular, are now quite commonplace, for better or, mostly, worse.

The Mona Lisa racily thumbing her nose on a 1911 postcard

But other pendulums swing in opposite directions. Take ethnic terms, for instance.

1960’s Miami, Oklahoma was ethnically diverse, to a degree. The degree consisted of two races: white, and Native American. Of course, back then, the latter race was “Indian.” But nowadays, that word has taken on some tarnish. Thus, you don’t hear it as much as back then.

We kids also grew up using the infamous “N” word with great innocence and lack of ill will. We used it as a playful insult, the kind of name you’d call a friend in jest. If you were really mad at someone, the N word would NOT be in the arsenal of insults you would fling at them.

Perhaps the absence of blacks in 1960’s northwest Oklahoma is why we used the word so freely. I would never dare utter it during trips to Tulsa, as we knew that it was indeed a strong insult when used on those whose family histories include slavery.

But at the schoolyard, one of the favorite tricks to play on gullible friends was to say “Guess what?” “What?” “you’re a N- and I’m not!”

Nowadays, that expression, when used by anyone other than a black person, carries the same social stigma, or perhaps one even stronger, as that of the classic F word.

The whole lightening up of the on-air use of salty language has to be traced back to Rhett Butler’s famous adiós statement to Scarlett O’Hara. The rumor has long been that David Selznick was fined $5,000 for putting the word “damn” in the film. However, the fact is that the Motion Picture Association board passed an amendment to the Production Code on November 1, 1939, to insure that Selznick would be in compliance with the code. The amendment allowed the use of two words, hell and damn, as long as their use was occasional and necessary to the storyline. The first hurdle had been removed.

The Bawdy Bard

It didn’t take long for those two words to be used more than occasionally. Profanity steadily increased throughout the 40’s and 50’s. In 1966, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? was released with an M rating, suggesting the film should only be viewed by mature audiences, due to its use of of the “GD” combination. The next year, the F-bomb made one of its earliest appearances in two British films, and the S word turned up in the American release In Cold Blood.

My own wake-up call came in 1973, when I saw Cops and Robbers. I was stunned to hear language that had only been heard behind the school woodshop in a film rated PG.

Television was quick to follow. G-D was one of the earliest harder curses to make it on the air, “son of a bitch” was close behind. I remember Alan Alda used that term in a 1979 MASH episode to great effect in insulting a South Korean officer who was transporting a female civilian to her execution.

Thus today, television profanity is either out in the open or else bleeped just barely, often the beginning and end of the word or phrase left audible.

However, to bring all of this into perspective, perhaps we should look at the works of William Shakespeare.

The bawdy bard liberally sprinkled his works with words like Gadzooks, Zounds, God’s bodkins, God’s body, by God’s mother, and most horrifying of all, “God’s blessing on your beard.” In Shakespeare’s time, combining the use of God with a sarcastic reference to a man’s beard was right up there with today’s “M-F!”

In other words, Shakespeare’s plays were largely of the R-rated variety, or at least PG13.

Obviously, there’s a balance in there somewhere.

But by and large, many if not most Boomers fondly look back on a time when one used foul language at the risk of a mouthful of soap bubbles, and one was protected from such offensiveness on television and at the movie theater.

What Will You Be When You Grow Up?

Perhaps it’s just me, but I recall being asked that question A LOT when I was a kid. Strangely, my own kids don’t remember being asked so much. But there was no doubt in my mind what I would be one day, far off into the future, when I stopped being a kid and transformed into a full-grown man: a SCIENTIST!

I was obsessed with science as a child. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Abels, taught me to read in a single day via the magic of phonics. Science books were soon being devoured. And I was fascinated with things like bugs, crawdads, tree leaves, birds, and various things I found living in the dirt while excavating with Tonka equipment.

Ergo, needless to say, someday I would ply my trade by wearing a white coat, being surrounded by loads of laboratory equipment, and making world-changing discoveries.

Well, like with most of us, life took a different turn for me. I spent twenty-three years working as an electrician. It was a decent trade, but hardly what I envisioned as my life’s work when I was seven years old.

Fortunately for me, my love of science somehow translated into an affinity for all things computer. So I was able to make an incredibly rewarding career change at the age of forty to professional web programmer. I don’t wear a white coat to work, I wear khaki slacks and polo shirts. My discoveries don’t change the world, but they do help the profitability of my employer. I’m not surrounded by beakers and test tubes, but do have lots of Dilbert cartoon on the walls.

Above all, I enjoy my job, which was what I DID envision myself doing at the age of seven.

Had we gotten our wishes, the world would now be full of firemen, astronauts, ballet dancers, cowboys, policemen, and perhaps a handful of scientists.

That’s how things turned out for me. But what about you, friends? What did you see yourself doing when you grew up? And how did it turn out for you?

Please share your thoughts with the rest of us. The floor is yours.

The Tragic Tale of a Man They Called Stringbean

Life in Anneville, Kentucky, located in the backwoods of the backwoods, was not easy in 1915, the year David Akeman was born. His family were farmers who barely scraped by. Entertainment had to be provided by the local folks themselves. Thus arose bluegrass music, which was prolific in the rural areas of Tennessee and Kentucky.

David took a shine to music. He came by it naturally. His parents were musicians as well. When he was seven, he took an old shoebox and some thread his mom gave him and created his first instrument. Five years later, he traded two of his prize bantam chickens to a friend for his first real banjo.

Akeman loved playing and entertaining, and was soon making the circuit of local honky-tonks and playing at dances and such. He was having a great time, but the Depression was on, and he needed to eat. The pittances he earned at gigs weren’t cutting it.

So he got a government job, building roads for the Civilian Conservation Corps. But he yearned to be a professional musician.

One day, established local musical star Asa Martin held a contest, looking for new talent for his own band. Akeman’s self-taught banjo pickin’ got him a gig with Martin’s band for enough money to live on. Sweet!

One night, Asa stumbled over his name when introducing him. So he just improvised “String Beans.” The name fit the tall, lanky performer perfectly, and he became known as Stringbean from then on.

The name also made it easy for him to showcase his comedic talents. Soon, Stringbean was known as the slightly goofy banjo-picking wonder on Asa’a band.

Stringbean jamming with Grandpa Jones on Hee Haw

Stringbean rode Asa’a coattails as far as they would go, but soon ventured out with other groups, and even played a little semi-pro baseball. He caught the attention of another part-time ball player, one Bill Monroe.

The King of bluegrass soon had Stringbean playing with his prestigious group, and he enjoyed three years of touring and performing with them. Then, Bill decided it was time for a change, and replaced him with another banjo player by the name of Earl Scruggs.

Stringbean married his lifelong bride, Estelle, in 1945, and joined up with another banjo picker with a knack for humor by the name of Louis Jones. You may know him better as Grandpa.

Stringbean found himself a regular performer on the biggest country music stage in the world, the Grand Ole Opry. he would appear alongside Grandpa Jones as well as other gigs with Lew Childre. He had thoroughly adopted the Stringbean identity by then, wearing a long nightshirt with short pants and that goofy hat.

He played the Opry throughout the 50’s and 60’s. Then, in 1969, he and his buddy Grandpa were approached about appearing as regulars for a summer replacement for the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. The show’s Canadian producers were looking for a rural answer to Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. They were fans of the Opry, and had signed several of its long-time stars.

Hee Haw garnered decent ratings, but CBS was in the middle of its infamous “rural purge,” dumping shows like The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, and Mayberry R.F.D. in an effort to go after a younger demographic. But the show’s producers put a syndication deal together, and it was soon appearing in rural areas like New York, Los Angeles, and, of course, small southern communities.

The money was flowing rapidly into the Akeman household by now. Stringbean, like many Depression survivors, didn’t trust banks. He also didn’t like to appear affluent. So he and Estelle lived in a modest little cabin in the Kentucky woods (though he did spring for a Cadillac).

On the Saturday night of November 10, 1973, Stringbean and Estelle returned from an evening out. They were accosted by two 23-year-olds in their home, cousins John A. Brown and Marvin Douglas Brown. The burglars shot them dead. The next morning, neighbor Grandpa Jones found the bodies.

The murderers figured Stringbean had money hidden on site. They left with a chain saw and some guns, but no cash. 23 years later, $20,000 in decomposed cash was found behind a brick above the fireplace.

Stringbean was one of my favorite Hee Haw performers. Here’s to his memory.

The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour

In the late 1950’s, a duo of brothers were making the scene in bohemian clubs and coffee houses in New York with a funny musical act. Eventually, they attracted the attention of TV talent scouts. Appearances on Hootenanny, as well as variety shows presented by Sullivan, Bing Crosby, Steve Allen, and Andy Williams made them household names.

Dick was the “serious” one, and Tom was the dork. That was their act, one that played the same through a sitcom (Tom was a dorky angel) and a series of variety shows.

In 1967, CBS launched The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. It wasn’t long before they wished they hadn’t.

What was lacking in their sitcom was any political views. These two folk musicians had plenty to say once they were thrust into a comedy-variety show format. And say it they did. And a half.

The Vietnam War was starting to get very unpopular with the nation’s youth. And Tom and Dick, to CBS’s chagrin, became the voice of that dissatisfied youth.

Guest stars included fellow folk singers like Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, rock acts like Jefferson Airplane, The Doors, and The Who. Interestingly, guests showed up who would prove pleasing to an older generation, as well. Jimmy Durante and Kate Smith come to mind.

Pat Paulsen would throw a diatribe at LBJ that was so whacked out that it should have never been taken seriously, but it was. Not by Johnson, who would write a nice letter to the duo after the show’s cancellation saying he was never offended by the banter. But the rumors run rampant that Richard Nixon would later pressure CBS to get the show off the air so he wouldn’t have to put up with the criticism.

Years before SNL, humorous references were made to smoking pot. They also poked fun at The Establishment, the military, and the police. This certainly rankled the CBS execs. Eventually, they demanded a tape of each episode be presented to them in time for their “editing.” Tommy later claimed that they censored 75% of their episodes.

Pat Paulsen and Bobby Kennedy

The censor’s axe got, among many others, these incidences: A 1968 Mother’s day message that ended with the words “Please talk peace.” Harry Belafonte singing before a backdrop of footage from the 1968 Democratic National Convention unrest. Joan Baez’s spoken introduction to a song where she mentions her draft-evading husband David’s being in prison. And of course, the most notorious: Pete Seeger’s protest song Waist Deep in the Big Muddy.

In 1969, the BIG axe fell. CBS claimed that they didn’t receive a tape of the season’s final show for their “approval” and prevented it from being shown. They also canceled the well-ranked show shortly afterward.

What’s hilarious is what slipped PAST the censors. Goldie O’Keefe’s weekly “Share a Little Tea with Goldie” was never assumed to be referring to a slang term for marijuana. Not even her opening “Hi! and glad of it!” rang a bell.

The Smothers filed a lawsuit against CBS over censorship that they lost. Needless to say, they never worked for them again. Here’s hoping someday those few episodes of one wild and crazy show will be released on DVD.

The Race to Defeat Polio

Dr. Albert Sabin

My older brothers grew up with the presence of a horrible, random terror that caused near-hysteria. It could strike absolutely anyone, but seemed particularly fond of children. Perfectly healthy, active kids could be transformed in a matter of days into paralyzed individuals who might require confinement in an “iron lung” just to take their next breath.

The scourge was poliomyelitis, commonly known as polio.

A series of outbreaks took place in 1921. Among those infected was a young adult named Franklin Delano Roosevelt. His strong legs were turned into paralyzed vestiges of what they once were.

Roosevelt was determined to press on despite his malady, and tried to always arrange to be photographed away from his ever-nearby wheelchair. But the American public knew that the man who would come to be their most beloved President was a victim of polio, and FDR spearheaded a drive to find a cure, or at least a prevention, for the disease.

In the early 20th century, the polio virus was transferred mainly by poor hygiene among babies and children. 90% of those exposed would develop antibodies and a lifelong immunity. However, the remaining 10% would be affected by symptoms ranging from minor affecting of muscle movement to complete paralysis.

As personal hygiene improved, exposure to the virus became less commonplace among children. But this worked two ways. The virus still survived, and would eventually come into contact with individuals who might have developed the needed antibodies at a very young age, but now had to cope with an unencumbered virus at a later age. I am good friends with a man who developed polio in the early 50’s at the age of fourteen.

Among the pioneers who fought polio were Sister Kinney, an Australian nurse who used physical therapy rather than immobilization to restore much muscle movement among the disease’s victims. The medical community resisted this outspoken Aussie’s techniques, but eventually she had persuaded many to come to the institute she founded in Minnesota. Among the patients who received care and regained muscle tone was Alan Alda.

At the prevention end, a vaccine was being feverishly sought. In the late 1940’s, Albert Sabin was working on an oral vaccine. Jonas Salk was concentrating on an injected model. They both received government grants for their work, as did other polio researchers.

Multiple iron lung for children

In the meantime, numbers of cases of polio began to surge. The average had remained at 20,000 new cases per year throughout the 40’s, but in 1952, the most-ever cases were reported in the USA: 58,000.

That year, Salk began testing a vaccine prototype at Watson Home for Crippled Children and the Polk State School, a Pennsylvania facility for the mentally retarded. The results were encouraging. By 1954, the vaccine’s test group included thousands of school children. The vaccine was effective, but not perfect. It provided immunity in 60-70% of individuals against against PV1 (poliovirus type 1), and over 90% of the subjects against the other forms of the disease.

In 1955, immunizations began to be given to the general population. The March of Dimes assisted in promoting and organizing vaccinations, and by 1957, the number of new US cases was down to 5600.

Meanwhile, Sabin and his team continued to work on their oral virus, and in 1958, it was tested and found effective. In fact, the immunity it provided lasted longer than that provided by the Salk vaccine. It replaced Salk injections in 1962 in American schools and hospitals.

By 1964, when I was five years old, a mere 121 cases of polio were reported in this country.

We Boomer kids grew up with lots of worries. But those of us who were among the last of the post WWII-population explosion were very fortunate that polio was something we talked about in the past tense, thanks to an army of researchers who had long before declared war on the crippling disease.

The Night Hank Hit #715

Major League Baseball home run champion Hank Aaron

At presstime, a longstanding major league baseball record stands poised to be broken. It is surrounded by dark clouds of controversy, as a player with direct ties to the abuse of steroids and other banned substances (whose name I refuse to mention), revered by some, despised by a majority, will soon be loudly celebrated by his ESPN shills and apologists (as well as a limited number of fans in the San Francisco area) for becoming the all-time home run champion.

But the man who hit 755 has gained new respect and reverence by a public who appreciates sportsmanship and simply being a gentleman over boorish behavior by physically talented but morally bankrupt egomaniacs who unfortunately are prominent in modern-day athletics.

We Baby Boomers who were baseball fans will never forget the night Hank hit number 715 in Atlanta. Most of the rest of us remember it, too, as the event transcended sport. Nobody ever thought Babe Ruth’s record would be broken, particularly by a humble, unassuming man who hit line drives that would frequently barely clear the wall, and whose highest single year home run total was a mere 47.

Hank connects on #715

Henry Louis “Hank” Aaron was born on February 5, 1934 in Mobile, Alabama. Being a denizen of the Deep South would prove advantageous to a man who entered major league baseball in 1954, only seven years after Jackie Robinson had integrated the sport. Racial epithets and threats hounded him for much of his career, with death threats regularly coming as he threatened to break Babe Ruth’s mark.

Aaron hit the first of 755 dingers against Cardinal Vic Raschi on April 23, 1954. Aaron was a natural with a sweet line drive swing who seemed bound for hitting greatness. He hit home runs, but not towering Mantelesque shots. In 1954, it would have seemed a long stretch of the imagination to picture him someday being baseball’s all-time home run champion.

Hank circles the bases with a fan in tow after breaking the home run record

Instead, such a swing might have produced 3,000 hits, or perhaps have led in the all-time extra base record, too. His athletic stride might have netted him an all-time 76% stolen base percentage, as well. And, as a matter of fact, all the previous predictions would come true. But all-time home run champion? Fuggedaboutit.

Well, the home runs kept steadily piling up. In 1970, Hank hit #600, joining an elite club whose members comprised the Babe, Willie Mays, and now, Mr. Aaron. Hank’s steady home run numbers (up to that point, excluding his short rookie season, he had had no fewer than 24 home runs in a season) could well lead him to breaking baseball’s biggest record.

In 1971, he hit his high of 47. The next year, he passed Willie Mays to become #2. The buzz began in earnest, as a solid majority of the nation got behind Hank in his quest. Sadly and ironically, his home crowd in Atlanta didn’t seem to care too much. Apathy was shown with mediocre crowds, a few stupid racists always being among the meager numbers.

The aforementioned cowardly idiots tried to intimidate him with their racially-inspired threats. Hank grew up with that crap. He handled it.

As the 1973 season drew to a close, Hank was tantalizingly close. But when the season was over, he was one behind Ruth.

The Braves began the season on the road in 1974, and Hank tied Babe’s record in Cincinnati. When he got back home for Atlanta’s first series against the Dodgers, Al Downing tossed him a high fastball in the fourth inning, and suddenly, baseball had a new home run king. Appropriately enough, the line drive barely cleared the fence.

Hank’s non-loony detractors pointed out that Ruth had shorter seasons in which to set his record. But his supporters pointed out that Ruth had never seen pitching like Hank did. That bit of controversy pales into instant insignificance when the next home run champ passes 755. Just wait and see what history has to say about him.

Very shortly, ESPN announcer Chris Berman will burst into tears of intense pleasure as his beloved object of affection passes Hank’s well-earned mark. Baseball, perhaps the most impotent sport of all when it comes to dealing with its cheaters, and the one most in fear of its players’ union, has done nothing to prevent steroid- and HGH-inflated home runs from being counted as legit. But true baseball fans know that there is only one true all-time home run champion, and the Boomers and older among them will never forget the night a true gentleman earned that title.

The Mickey Mouse Club

Most everyone, Boomer or not, can recall the first time they fell in love. I certainly do.

I was five years old, and watching the Mickey Mouse Show when Annette (I didn’t know her last name) appeared on our black-and-white television. What a beautiful young lady.

The Mickey Mouse Show is a strong memory in the minds of a wide range of Boomers. That’s because it was rerun after its initial life, so youngsters like myself who missed its original 1955-59 run could enjoy it after school like their older brothers and sisters did.

Walt Disney, who had already scored big in movies and amusement parks (well, just one amusement park in those days), proved to be a television genius as well. His Sunday night show, whose name kept changing, was a strong, long-lived hit. His second shot at a series was this one. And its immortality is its legacy, even though the show itself ran a mere three years. A fourth season was produced by re-airing earlier episodes.

Walt Disney insisted the Mouseketeers be regular kids, not actors. And they were, when they were discovered by scouts who combed schools looking for kids who had magnetism and talent. Of course, many of the Mouseketeers went on to bigger and better things afterwards. But when they first appeared on TV, they were unknowns.

The show was classic low-budget genius. Host Jimmie Dodd was asked to write a theme song. He penned the immortal “M-i-c! k-e-y! m-o-u-s-e!” Roy Williams, promoted from staff artist to costar, was asked to come up with clever headwear. He recalled an old Mickey Mouse cartoon where Mickey doffed his ears and hair like a fedora. The effect was recreated into one of the most purchased novelty hats in history.

And like many low budget efforts, it was absolutely brilliant. The show was an excellent mix of personalities. The writing was above par. And so many of its routines were burned indelibly into our young minds!

Who can forget the roll call? Talent Round-Up? Circus Day? The serials?

The show was canceled after four short years. One account has Walt Disney protesting ABC’s wanting to cut show time to add commercial slots. Another has the show’s high costs simply making it unprofitable. High costs? The castmembers did creative work too, ferpetesake!

Anyhow, an unfriendly parting of ways took place. Disney sued ABC and won, but also lost the rights to shop the show around to other networks.

Many years later, Disney and ABC are both fabulously wealthy. The Mickey Mouse Club was recreated multiple times. For better or worse, new Mouseketeer stars emerged, notably Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, and Christine Aguilera.

But we Boomers remember the original show. And we all know it was the best one. After all, it was the one that featured (sigh) Annette. And one last memory: Jiminy Cricket taught me how to spell encyclopedia and thereby blow away my first grade teacher. Priceless.