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The Old Time Radio Convention: Old Folks Enjoying Reruns.

27 Oct

October 27, 2010

Recently I attended the Old Time Radio Convention in beautiful Newark New Jersey. This convention boasted the most octogenarians per capita of any hotel outside of Florida. I was there as the token young man. I was the only one there under forty. In fact, I may also have been the only one there with laces on my sneakers instead of Velcro.

The hotel was located by Newark airport and directly adjacent to the Newark prison. In fact, the only way to the prison was a narrow road that was also the only way to the hotel. I drove past the hotel entrance because it looked closed, which it wasn’t, and went past the next turn because it looked like the hotel exit, which it was. My plan was to make a U-turn and go back to the entrance, but the only room to do it was about 20 yards down the road. I pulled ahead and wondered why there were large orange barrels blocking half the road. Then I saw the low brick buildings, barbed-wire fences, and angry man with a large rifle. So I slowly backed away from the prison, only then noticing the large KEEP OUT- NEW JERSEY DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTON sign that I totally missed.

I was at this same convention in 1994, sixteen years ago. All this time I’ve had a magnet on my fridge from the event with the year on top. I took it with me and when I paid my admission I pulled out the magnet and showed it to the old gent running the convention. I told him that I was last there with my father, now deceased, all those years ago. It was a heart warming anecdote, or so I thought. The guy looked at the magnet, and totally seriously, even a bit angrily, sneered “so where have you been all this time”? I took back the magnet and walked in. BTW- there were no magnets this year, but I did get a pen.

The convention attracted about one hundred people, and many of them were blind. It makes sense. Radio is for the ears, for the imagination. All of the blind people, except one, seemed very interested in the events of the day. There were many discussions of various old radio shows and people involved in OTR. One blind woman, however, was a total loudmouth who must have thought she was at Yankee Stadium.

PRESENTER: “So it was back in 1942 that I met Bruce Freedkin and-“
LOUDMOUTH: “Yay! Bruce Freedkin! We love you!”
PRESENTER: “Right, yeah, well, Bruce Freedkin and I were mixing tapes in the Brill Building when-“
LOUDMOUTH: “Brill Building!”
PRESENTER: Sigh “It’s going to be one of those days.”
LOUDMOUTH: “Yay!”

The days events were broadcast live over internet radio. Right in the back of the main hall was a table set up with broadcasting equipment manned by a guy who looked like he took some time off from following the Grateful Dead around and a young woman who may have had a date once in her life. She had a strange, almost alien looking face, with makeup that seemed to simply accent the alien-ness. Her T-shirt, reading, I brake for MGTJSPE didn’t help. And I have no idea what that meant. Over the course of the day I lost track how many times some old codger shuffled over and asked “what station are you from?”

So I sat there through interesting panels about old radio shows, punctuated by the occasional “Yay! Radio!” from the blind woman. There were demonstrations of sound effects, clips from old shows, discussions of how radio influenced the comics, and more. If you like adventure, the Scarlet Queen panel was for you. Like mystery? The Shadow discussion was up your alley. If you get a laugh out of white men pretending to be black men, the Amos and Andy panel was for you. Not for me, mind you, for you.

Eventually I left the old folks remembering their youth when they sat around and stared at radios the size of today’s refrigerators for awhile. I went to the dealers rooms, all eight of them, and if you went into one you didn’t need to bother going to the other seven.
They all sold nothing but bootleg old time radio show CD’s. No longer did fans of Phil Harris or The Whistler have to get their OTR fixes in dark alleys. Buck Rogers addicts and Little Orphan Annie junkies alike could get well with all the OTR they could imagine in one place. More than one Mysterious Traveler fan overdosed on $2 bootleg discs. TV wasn’t forgotten either. Every single lousy cartoon you remember from the 50’s or 60’s was there too, all cheesy off-the-air broadcasts, complete with static, bad editing where the tape was paused for commercials, and tons of picture degradation as copies were copied from copies of copies of copies copied from copies that were bad to begin with. On the other hand, who could pass up the complete Gigantor for $5?

The highlight of the day was the live performance of an old radio show and it is not as interesting or exciting as you may be imagining. Oh, I know it sounds so glamorous, but trust me, it is an actor’s wet dream to do this and get paid. Imagine a play. Now imagine you don’t need sets. Or costumes. You sit on a comfy chair until you have to speak, then you walk over to a mic and read your lines, then sit down again. Yes, I said “read” your lines, as this is radio so no one needs to memorize the script when you can just read from it. We all did the same thing in third grade.

Of course, there was a catch. The loud blind lady sat right behind me, just to the left, so that during the introductions she cackled out “we love you!” to every performer- right in my left ear- and screamed at every joke “that was a good one! HA HA HA!” Yes, she laughed just like that, HA HA HA.

The day ended and I left. The old folks stayed behind, as there was a buffet and more recreations to come- all at an extra charge, which I declined. I had already had my share of overpriced food- $2.50 for $1.25 bottle of orange juice, and a bag of fruit snacks for $3.25 that even my local newsstand is embarrassed to charge $1.75 for. I also later had a thin $6.50 tuna wrap and a $4 bottle of Pepsi. This is why there is a fence between the hotel and the prison- there is nothing the felons could steal in the area worth more than the Pepsi sold at the hotel. I’m sure it is a tempting target.

By 5:30 I was driving home, the hotel in the rearview mirror, some CD’s in the backseat, and half a bottle of soda that I was not throwing away at those prices right beside me. I had a good time, the shows were enjoyable, and the people who weren’t laughing in my ear were nice and friendly, if a bit dusty. I look forward to the show next year, where the people will be another year older and the blind woman a few decibels louder.

In Search of… The Winchester Mystery House

25 Oct

October 24, 2010

Of all the paranormal creatures studied thus far, the Winchester Mystery House has been by far the easiest to locate and prove the existence of. It’s a house. It hasn’t moved in over a hundred years. Check for yourself, South Winchester Blvd, CA, 95128. MapQuest and there it is. Case closed, investigation over.

Well no, not really, because it isn’t the house we are in search of, but what is inside the house that we are in search of. Ghosts. Lots and lots of ghosts. You see, the woman who built this house was sure that ghosts were out to get her. Obviously, this blog needs a better title.

No, not right.

No, not right either.

Sheesh. Oh that hurts. That is so bad it hurts.

The house was built by Sarah Winchester, the great grandmother of Charles Emerson Winchester III. Her father, Charles Emerson Winchester Volume I, was the inventor the Winchester rifle. The Winchester rifle was the most popular weapon of the West and she herself owned 50% of the Winchester Company. The other 50% had been bought by George Soros and sold to the Chinese.

Charles and Grandma Sarah. Which is the face of mental health?

After her husband’s death, Sarah believed that she was haunted by all the people who had been killed by Winchester rifles. She was sure that the vengeful ghosts would one day take revenge on her. And indeed, Sarah began to see spirits of American Indians haunting her house. Winchesters were the rifle of choice back in the Old West, and most of the victims were Indians, hunted down and brought to the brink of extinction by Darth Vader. That sounds right to me. After all, I am a product of the NYC school system.

In her later years, Sarah had many regrets about the Winchester rifle, but even more regrets that she left poor Joe Remington at the altar.

Of course, many investigators believe that there is a perfectly logical explanation. They scoff at the idea of ghosts and put forward their own theory, that Sarah was still troubled by a childhood trauma that continued to affect her for the rest of her life and left her susceptible to suggestion.

Sarah believed that the only way to avoid the ghosts was to sleep in a different room every night. Had she been a poorer woman she might have become the biggest slut in San Jose, but she was quite rich and used her money to build her mansion into the huge monstrosity we know today. It was her belief that the ghosts needed a place to stay, and if she ever stopped working she would die. Of course, the law of opposites applies too, so that if she ever died the work would stop, and that is just what happened many years after. Sorry ghosts. Work continued around the clock daily and even after the great San Francisco earthquake damaged the house, she still kept at it. In fact, she left the damaged front part as was and just built new rooms in the back. Those ghosts were vicious taskmasters. Sarah claimed that it was they, not her, who often directed the workmen, a fact disputed by the lack of wigwams on the estate.

 

To escape the ghosts she built winding stairways that led to blank walls, doors that opened on sheer drops, rooms with ceilings only a few feet high, slanted walls, windows in the middle of rooms peering into other rooms, windows that look open onto brick walls, rooms with miniature furniture, upside down columns, trapdoors, and even rooms decorated with nothing but paintings of Richard Nixon. Though he was born in 1913 and only nine years old when construction ended, the spirits knew.

There also dozens of non-working bathrooms, which may not have bothered the ghosts but pissed off the workmen to no end. So to speak.

This door eventually led to The Batman Craze of 1966, in which everything had a label.

Obviously, the legends of Indians being excellent trackers must be overrated as, for 38 years, she managed to avoid the ghosts in her own home. Or, as critics say, just perhaps, maybe, possibly, there were no ghosts.

Sarah consulted the best psychics and mediums of her time, many of whom directed the construction. The building went on everyday for decades, and at the time of her death was still unfinished. The biggest loss was that, just days after her death, construction was due to begin on the beef jerky room, and thousands of cattle had to be sent back to the ranch.

Today the house has became a major tourist attraction, though construction long ago stopped, putting scores of Doozers out of work.

However, the Winchester Mystery House is still supposedly haunted and is still a favorite target of psychics and paranormal investigators.

What is up with the sponge on that guy's head?

Was Sarah Winchester haunted by ghosts who demanded she build and build and build? I dunno, but as the official Winchester Mystery House website asks:

It is easy to imagine how the combined grief of losing both a child and a spouse could be very crippling. But if you had $20,000,000 and all the time in the world to help you cope, can you imagine what you would do?

Yes. Yes I can. And building a crazy mansion is not on the list.

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