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Dear Beaver, Howdy, Adlai et al: You made me what I am today
Farewell to the '50s
Perry Block
The other day, while discussing comedy with my 30-something friend Cheryl, I mentioned my hero, the great skinflint, the perennial 39-year-old, the "Oh, fella?" American institution, Jack Benny. I expected smiles and nods and gushes of recognition, if not a personal homage in the form of Cheryl crossing her arms, turning her head slowly aside, and exclaiming, "W-e-e-l-l-l-!-!!"
What I got was, "I know who he is! That British comedian who was always doing those goofy chases!"
I explained that she was thinking of Benny Hill. To my mind, confusing Benny Hill with Jack Benny is sort of like confusing Paris Hilton with Paris France.
As a child of the 50's, references and allusions from that period have tripped off my tongue "faster than a speeding bullet" and "like a fiery horse at the speed of light." But Cheryl's reaction persuaded me, once and for all, that the '50s are indeed dead and it's high time I found a new set of conversational reference points. But before I take my leave, allow me one last farewell to my faithful old friends:
Taking leave, Leave it to Beaver! Growing up in the '50s, Beav, I measured my life against yours and consistently found it wanting. You got in and out of trouble in 30 minutes, learned well your parental lessons, and made life within the confines of a picket fence look copasetic and cool. But as I depart, Beav, do me one last favor: Tell Ward and June to please stop dressing for dinner as if they're heading out for a job interview with Halliburton.
Au revoir, Annette! As the Mickey Mouseketeer with the prematurely developing bust line, Annette Funicello, you morphed into the most seismic force for male sexual awakening since the invention of masturbation. A millennial hearing your name today would most likely presume you an Italian desert, but I'll always think of you as the main course to a fantasy that had me glued to a show that was supposed to be about a mouse.
Hasta la vista, Howdy! Though your creators should have learned the meaning of the term "no strings attached," Howdy Doody, you introduced us to an endearing ensemble that foreshadowed "Sesame Street" a generation later. Buffalo Bob, Clarabell, Phineas T. Bluster, the Flub-a-Dub, Princess Winterfall Summerspring, Chief Thunderthud, Heidi Doody, and more…. Hey, thank you, guys! The Peanut Gallery is now closed.
Adios, Adlai! You, Adlai Stevenson, were my first political memory. Going with my father to vote for you for president in 1956, we knew you had as much chance to win as you had to set off a nationwide wave of male babies named "Adlai." Liberals and everyone we knew loved you, but the country liked Ike. Would I get a quick resonating response to your name in 2010? Perhaps, but only by waiting until hell freezes over.
Gotta roam, Lone Ranger! With a "hearty hi-ho, Silver!" and Tonto by your side, you, Lone Ranger, were the oddest of heroes. You started off with a handicap of your own making. You had no secret identity, you needed no mask, and everywhere you went the greeting was the same: "Look, it's an outlaw, kill him!" Your mask was on the side of the law, but it didn't need to be on your face at all.
Ciao, Raleigh Coupons! In the '50s, cigarette commercials on the air were as prevalent as cigarette smoke in the office. But among them all, Raleigh Cigarettes, you puffed supreme. Why? Because of the golf clubs, toasters and manifold marvels one could obtain "Free for Raleigh Coupons!" The trick, of course, was to stay alive long enough to collect the coupons to get any.
Sayonara, Superman! Many actors have played the role, George Reeves, but no one ever inhabited it as fully as every '50s kid once inhabited your cape. The stories were stupid, the production values atrocious, but when you flew, we did too. Your greasy hair notwithstanding, you were the Man of Steel. If only Kryptonite had been all that could harm you….
Fare thee well, '50s! You shall live on in memory and history, if no longer in metaphor and simile.♦
To read responses, click here.
What I got was, "I know who he is! That British comedian who was always doing those goofy chases!"
I explained that she was thinking of Benny Hill. To my mind, confusing Benny Hill with Jack Benny is sort of like confusing Paris Hilton with Paris France.
As a child of the 50's, references and allusions from that period have tripped off my tongue "faster than a speeding bullet" and "like a fiery horse at the speed of light." But Cheryl's reaction persuaded me, once and for all, that the '50s are indeed dead and it's high time I found a new set of conversational reference points. But before I take my leave, allow me one last farewell to my faithful old friends:
Taking leave, Leave it to Beaver! Growing up in the '50s, Beav, I measured my life against yours and consistently found it wanting. You got in and out of trouble in 30 minutes, learned well your parental lessons, and made life within the confines of a picket fence look copasetic and cool. But as I depart, Beav, do me one last favor: Tell Ward and June to please stop dressing for dinner as if they're heading out for a job interview with Halliburton.
Au revoir, Annette! As the Mickey Mouseketeer with the prematurely developing bust line, Annette Funicello, you morphed into the most seismic force for male sexual awakening since the invention of masturbation. A millennial hearing your name today would most likely presume you an Italian desert, but I'll always think of you as the main course to a fantasy that had me glued to a show that was supposed to be about a mouse.
Hasta la vista, Howdy! Though your creators should have learned the meaning of the term "no strings attached," Howdy Doody, you introduced us to an endearing ensemble that foreshadowed "Sesame Street" a generation later. Buffalo Bob, Clarabell, Phineas T. Bluster, the Flub-a-Dub, Princess Winterfall Summerspring, Chief Thunderthud, Heidi Doody, and more…. Hey, thank you, guys! The Peanut Gallery is now closed.
Adios, Adlai! You, Adlai Stevenson, were my first political memory. Going with my father to vote for you for president in 1956, we knew you had as much chance to win as you had to set off a nationwide wave of male babies named "Adlai." Liberals and everyone we knew loved you, but the country liked Ike. Would I get a quick resonating response to your name in 2010? Perhaps, but only by waiting until hell freezes over.
Gotta roam, Lone Ranger! With a "hearty hi-ho, Silver!" and Tonto by your side, you, Lone Ranger, were the oddest of heroes. You started off with a handicap of your own making. You had no secret identity, you needed no mask, and everywhere you went the greeting was the same: "Look, it's an outlaw, kill him!" Your mask was on the side of the law, but it didn't need to be on your face at all.
Ciao, Raleigh Coupons! In the '50s, cigarette commercials on the air were as prevalent as cigarette smoke in the office. But among them all, Raleigh Cigarettes, you puffed supreme. Why? Because of the golf clubs, toasters and manifold marvels one could obtain "Free for Raleigh Coupons!" The trick, of course, was to stay alive long enough to collect the coupons to get any.
Sayonara, Superman! Many actors have played the role, George Reeves, but no one ever inhabited it as fully as every '50s kid once inhabited your cape. The stories were stupid, the production values atrocious, but when you flew, we did too. Your greasy hair notwithstanding, you were the Man of Steel. If only Kryptonite had been all that could harm you….
Fare thee well, '50s! You shall live on in memory and history, if no longer in metaphor and simile.♦
To read responses, click here.
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