SOME TV vs. FILM HISTORY

Although the early days of television hurt the movie business, they didn’t ruin it like they did radio. Sure, starting in the late 1940s TV was new and exciting even if it was on a 7” to 16” black and white screen. However, not every home had one for two main reasons: Sets were very expensive and they were hard to get.

As a kid in Cincinnati, I can remember our first TV. It was a 16” B&W “National” and it cost about $500. Those were big bucks in 1949 and there was no remote, just 3 channels, and “rabbit ears” on top of the set for an antenna. When reception got bad, a little Reynold’s Wrap around the antenna helped a bit except when an airplane passed over. Nothing could help that but it at least was just a brief interruption.

Most of the shows were local but NBC from New York had a network followed shortly after by CBS and ABC. One of the events responsible for the great interest in TV in the late 1940s was NBC’s successful broadcast of the 1947 baseball World Series. One of the popular showcases for TV was the local bar. Almost every one of them had a TV and packed in the customers who wanted to watch sporting events.

OUR FIRST TV, A 1949 NATIONAL 16" BLACK AND WHITE

It took about six months to get a set as the demand was high. Everyone was in the business including brands you probably never heard of like Muntz, Hallicrafters, and Capehart. I mentioned above our National was $500 but if you wanted an “entertainment center” you could get a 7” TV, 78 rpm record player, and AM radio combination for about $800!

TV broadcasts in the early ‘50s usually came on about 5:00 in the afternoon and signed off at about midnight or 1:00 a.m. Popular network shows were the Texaco Star Theater, Arthur Godfrey, and Ed Sullivan’s “Toast of the Town” which, a few years later, would cause a controversy when Elvis appeared with his swiveling hips. The camera could only show him from the waist up because of protests.

For the kids, there was Howdy Doody. Before we had a set, all the kids in my neighborhood would crowd every afternoon at 5:30 into the living room of a girl up the street and watch Howdy Doody, Buffalo Bob, and the Peanut Gallery. The TV was a 14" Admiral B&W trable model but it looked like a 60" color flatscreen to us.

If you turned on the TV before “sign on” you would see a “test pattern” which was a bullseye looking thing usually with an Indian’s head that showed on the screen accompanied by an annoying hum.

AN EARLY 1950s TV TEST PATTERN

It all sounds primitive now, but at the time it did a lot of damage to theater ticket sales. From 1948 to 1953, home ownership of TVs in the US increased from 1% to 50% and by the 1960s was 90%. Suddenly, color films were flowing out of Hollywood in response to the black and white one eyed monster in all those living rooms across America.

In 1952, a gigantic screen with three projectors and a superior sound system made its debut in select theaters. It was called Cinerama and was followed closely by 3-D with its flimsy cardboard glasses. Other attempts by the film business to thwart TV were Cinemascope and Vista Vision which we already mentioned in another blog.

Cinerama was discontinued in 1962 and 3-D only lasted a couple years in the 50s. Both systems plus the more standard wide screen stuff were basically stopgap methods used to try to win customers back into the theaters. Eventually, both genres found their niche and gimmicks gave way to more quality films while the movie studios started working with TV making “made for TV” films.

The dust had settled.

Remakes: Good or Ripoffs?

At the risk of sounding wishy-washy, I think some film remakes are good and some bad. Some film makers try to cash in with remakes of blockbusters just to take advantage of the good fortune some other guy took on a big career risk.

Regardless, remakes are nothing new. Even in the early 1930’s, the philosophy was that if something was a hit, let’s beat it to death until the audiences say “No, we’ve had enough!” Remakes then were as they are now: either a remake of the same film (sometimes scene for scene) or sequel the audience to death.

An early example is “The Maltese Falcon”. There was an excellent version made in 1931 starring Ricardo Cortez as Sam Spade. In 1936, it was copied poorly as “Satan Met a Lady” with Warren William. Hollywood was not satisfied that they got all they could out of that story so in 1941 we got the benchmark version with Bogart and Astor. In this case, the third version was worth waiting for.

Next, we have “The Front Page”. There have been four versions of it with all of them good: 1931, 1940 (as “His Girl Friday”), 1974, and 1988 (as “Switching Channels”). My favorite? It has to be “His Girl Friday”. It was done as one of the last screwball comedies and how can we improve on a cast of Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell, and Ralph Bellamy plus a room full of great character actors?

“High Sierra” is in my top five favorites and the remakes (“I Died a Thousand Times”, 1955), and Colorado Territory (1949), are decent.

Now, we have the stinkers: “Doctor Doolittle” (1967), (1998). Why even do a remake? The first version with Rex Harrison was a snoozer at 144 minutes in length. The second with Eddie Murphy was a little better but still induced yawning.

It’s the same with “Rollerball” (1975). It was OK and had a good cast with James Caan and John Houseman but did it warrant a remake? If you saw the 2002 version, I’m sure you’ll agree that once was enough.

In the case of “Stagecoach” (1939), it isn’t that the 1966 version is bad, it's just that the original from 1939 was so good that it was impossible to improve upon. “Stagecoach” re-launched John Wayne as a major star after he floundered in the 1930’s. With the combination of the Duke with Thomas Mitchell, John Carradine, Claire Trevor, Andy Devine and others the 1966 cast with Bing Crosby, Robert Cummings, Ann-Margret and Slim Pickens had no chance.

Do I dare mention “Psycho” from 1998 vs. the 1960 Hitchcock version? Think Janet Leigh vs. Ann Heche as Marion Crane and Anthony Perkins vs. Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates. Enough said?

Test yourself: Name four films made during the 1940s that included Barton MacLean and Humphrey Bogart.

John Wayne in "Stagecoach". So long to "The Three Mesquiteers".

LET'S NOT FORGET "HOPPY"

This is “singing cowboys month” on TCM and although William Boyd as Hopalong Cassidy was not a singing cowboy, I think he deserves a mention for the contributions he made to the western genre.

Unless you are a certain age, you may be scratching your head and wondering, “Who was Hopalong Cassidy?” “Hoppy” was, along with Roy Rogers and Gene Autry, one of the great western heroes in the movies of the 1930s and 1940s. Also, like Autry and Rogers, he was very successful on television in the late 1940s and for years afterward.

Bill Boyd was 12 years older than Autry and 17 years older than Rogers. Although they all had success on TV and in films, Boyd led the way. Unlike many western heroes, he wore a totally black outfit including a black hat instead of the usual “good guy” white hat. At age 40 in 1935, he became Hopalong Cassidy along with co-star and future Roy Rogers and Gene Autry sidekick, Gabby Hayes.

His series of 66 quickly made “B” westerns was very successful as kids loved to watch Hoppy beat up the bad guys. With his black outfit, silver hair, and white horse Topper, he was quite an imposing figure as his fast paced action made quick work of the villains.

HOPPY WITH TOPPER

By 1944, the producer of his films ended the series. Bill Boyd mortgaged everything he had to buy the rights to the films and by 1946 was back in business as Hoppy. By 1948, the “B” western was losing its edge in theaters but, like Rogers and Autry, Boyd was a good businessman and saw a future in the new world of television.

NBC was a new network at that time and Boyd sold his films to them in edited versions that would fit into the television format. Later he made a series of 30 minute shows which ran from 1949-1951 on NBC and for years afterward in syndication. At age 58, he retired in 1953.

William Boyd’s future wife, Grace Bradley, married him three weeks after they met in 1937. Although she was 18 years younger, she said he was “the love of my life.” They were together until 1972 when he died at 77.

At the Lone Pine Film Festival in 1995, 82 year old Grace said, “Everybody I talk to is looking for a hero. They say ‘If only we had Hoppy again’, or somebody like him. The children have no role models. Who do we have?” I understand her point.

Grace Bradley Boyd died on her birthday last September in Dana Point, California. She was 97 and died of age related causes.

I feel lucky to have grown up in the Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, and Roy Rogers era. It was exciting to see their movies and TV shows on cold Ohio winter days with a cup of Ovaltine or Campbell’s tomato soup as we eagerly watched them round up the bad guys on our 16” Admiral black and white TV.

Trivia question: Where did Hoppy's horse Topper get his name?

Lobby poster for a Hoppy western

Hooray For Hollywood (1930s style)

Do you have memories of going to the show as a kid? I remember my mom telling me to not let my head touch the back of the seat or I might get ringworm. We also never worried about starting times for shows. We would simply leave “where we came in.” Do you remember the “Air Cooled” banner on the marquee to indicate air conditioning?

Here is guest writer Joe Finnerty's account of a day at the movies with his buddies in the 1930’s.

HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD (1930's style)

By Joe Finnerty

Hollywood is to blame. Moguls such as Cecil B. De Mille stopped me from experiencing real life as a child. Movies, with their dream world of adventure and comedy, captivated me while growing up. Thank goodness for TV documentaries which allow me to catch up on the events that passed me by while the big screen kept me glued to my seat.

I joined legions of Hoboken’s waifs every Saturday afternoon to watch endless numbers of films at the nearby U. S. Theater, a grand name for a somewhat shopworn venue. Half the fun of attending the matinee was trying to sneak in without paying. Two fire escape doors on either side of the balcony led to steel stairways. With precision, at an appointed time, some paying customer would open one of the exit doors, allowing a horde of waiting boys to race inside. This mad dash came to mind when recently reading a news report of a mob of illegal immigrants who charged en masse across a border checkpoint. A few lucky ones managed to elude the police. That is the way it was with my boyhood pals. Only a small number managed to avoid detection. Most were corralled and booted out by the ushers. The excitement generated by this storming of the gates sometimes exceeded that of the latest adventure film which followed.

Sneaking in to see a show this way was not my style. Rather than rely upon cohorts to help me enter the theater, my preference was to steal a few deposit milk bottles to earn my ten-cent admission fee. I had SOME pride, after all.

Most of the pre-teen boys chose to sit in the balcony. The pre-teen girls sat in the orchestra. This seating preference allowed the boys to shower the girls with wads of gum and candy wrappers. The mezzanine was an unmarked hard-hat area. Usually this barrage ended when the first serial began showing. Then, everyone focused their attention on the screen for the next three to four hours.

Few ‘B’ movies made in Hollywood from 1935 to 1940 escaped my viewing. It was a time of innocence. The plots taught me values that became etched in my psyche. Good guys always won. Bad guys always got their comeuppance. A few Native Americans were okay, like Tonto, but most of them were low-down (inappropriate term). Mexican cowpokes, especially the Cisco Kid, always spoke broken English in a hilarious way. The Chinese were definitely inscrutable, especially Charlie Chan, although his son was a nerd. Some Black people had rhythm. Did you see that old butler Bojangles dancing with Shirley Temple?

One afternoon, in the summer of 1938, while returning home after spending four hours of movie watching, my weary eyes began to observe that something unusual had occurred outdoors that afternoon. In plain view were many canvas window awnings torn to shreds, flapping loosely. It puzzled me, but not sufficiently to discuss my observation with my family who never brought up the subject either. Not until years later did I learn that a great hurricane had smashed the eastern seaboard that afternoon, destroying lives and property across a wide region of the northeast including metropolitan New York, Long Island and much of New England.

All the movies I saw that day were memorable, legendary even. In one, Tom Mix and his horse Tony became lost in New York City. The Marx Brothers stole his nag and took it to the races. Meanwhile, Mickey Mouse chased a big ape up a tall building. I know. I was there. I saw it.

The marquee of the Orpheum Theater in downtown Phoenix in 1942. Notice the "Cooled by Refrigeration" banner.

GIRL TUNES

I was listening to the radio in the car today and one of my favorite old "girl name" songs was played. It was "Francine" by ZZ Top, a cut from the 1972 album "Rio Grande Mud." Needless to say, I turned the volume all the way up and broke off the knob. (Got a girl, her name’s Francine, finest thing you ever seen, and I love her). Oh, yeah!

ZZ Top’s use of a girl’s name in the title made me wonder about all the other great "girl name" songs that have been popular through the years. If you are like me and grew up a pop music fan, each song will bring back a memory of when you heard the song in the past.

The first one I thought of was "Peggy Sue" by Buddy Holly. What a great tune to take me back to high school in 1957. I had just gotten my drivers’s license that year and must have heard that song a million times on the radio cruising through Frisch’s Drive-In restaurant in Cincinnati and looking for girls.

In 1966, a garage band from Chicago called The Shadows of Knight recorded the Van Morrison written tune "Gloria." It was a great, grinding, song that was easy to sing and dance to, especially after you had downed a few beers. I was 6 months out of the Air Force and had met a beautiful, 20 year old co-ed at the U. Of Cincinnati named Barb, who would eventually be my wife. We were both young, enjoying life, and having a great time together. Thanks, Van, for writing "Gloria."

A couple years later in 1968, I was living in Missouri and The Monkees were popular. One of my favorites from those guys was "Valleri." We had parties at a vet’s club near school where "Valleri" always made the playlist. I loved the part where we sang to the record: And her name is Val, al, al,al, al leri! Those were fun days, I wonder what happened to those guys.

In 1972, it was Derek and the Dominos (Eric Clapton) doing "Layla." Another great song and I remember it at many parties. 1972 was the year we bought our first house in Kansas. $26,000 for 3 bedrooms, 2 car garage, large lot on a lake and cul-de-sac. Falstaff beer was also $1.00 per 6 pack and I had my share of that while working in my new yard and listening to that new phenomenon, rock music on FM radio.

ERIC CLAPTON AT WORK

I could go on forever about girl songs. I’m sure you have great memories of your own and when you hear your faves, relate to a time and place when you heard that tune.

Here’s a few more you probably know: "Sherry" 1962, by The Four Seasons, "Eleanor Rigby" 1966, by The Beatles, "Mustang Sally" 1966, by Wilson Pickett, "Brandy" 1972, by The Looking Glass, "Maggie May" 1971, by Rod Stewart, "My Sharona" 1979, by The Knack, "Jenny 867-5309" 1982, by Tommy Tutone, "Billie Jean" 1983, by Michael Jackson.

What are your favorite "girl name" songs? I have barely scratched the surface with my list.

REMEMBERING DRIVE-IN THEATERS

Those of you who are old enough can remember the fun of going to the drive-in theater. Whether you went as a child with your parents, went with your teen age buddies, or with a date (if you were lucky!), the drive-in was THE place to go for kids of the 1950s.

It was fun to go to the drive-in as kids. My parents always knew better than to park behind a pick-up truck because of height and we had a great time on the swings before the show. We would frequently bring lawn chairs or sit on the hood of the car and lean back on the windshield. For whatever reason, I always remember the refreshment stand having great barbecue sandwiches. It was probably because of how they promoted them so much between double features.

The Oakley Drive-In of Cincinnati is where I made a career choice. It was usually easy to sneak into the place by driving down the exit drive with your lights off. On one particular night in 1957, I drove in with some buddies, parked, and put the speaker in the window when suddenly the manager appeared and he was angry. He had been watching for "sneakers" and had caught us red handed. I got out of the car acting humble and apologetic and generally playing the role of the "good kid" who had done something stupid on a dare. He actually believed me, softened up, and even let us stay and watch the movie for free. I said to myself, "Jim, you are a born salesman", and that is what I eventually became. I’m glad we didn’t have any guys hiding in the trunk that night or the guy may not have been so forgiving!

When I went out with my 1959-1961 girl friend, I don’t remember us doing much other than going to the drive-in to make out. Even in the winter, it was great even though those cheesy little heaters they had didn’t do much good. You also had to be careful of the window speakers. Many customers would drive off without replacing them and break the wires or the car window. Today, at the few drive-ins left, most have the sound play through the customer's radio.

If you are too young to remember these places, you can still go to the few that are left and enjoy an evening "1950's style." It’s about $6.50 admission these days (75 cents in 1957!) and I suggest taking your own food and drinks. Also, since the sound comes through the radio now, bring a boom box if you sit outside, it’s better than turning up your car radio.

Arizona had its share of drive-ins during the 1950s with a high of 49 being in operation in 1958. Sadly, today there are only a few left in the state, mostly in the Phoenix-Scottsdale area.

HOLLYWOOD FANTASIES

The ability of actors, musicians, and directors to instill laughter or pathos into an audience is fascinating. As a kid I used to cry when Lassie was in trouble as I was oblivious to the fact that everything turns out all right in a Lassie film.

It’s the fantasy of Hollywood at work. One of my favorite scenes in “Casablanca” is where Rick and Sam are standing in the rain at the train station waiting for Ilsa, and Rick reads her rain stained Dear John letter. I can picture Michael Curtiz calling “Cut!” five minutes later and everyone heading down a sunny street to the Warner’s commissary for lunch. There may be a lot of tear jerking emotion in scenes like the train station but in reality, films are a business with schedules and deadlines.

HUMPHREY BOGART AND DOOLEY WILSON IN "CASABLANCA"

An imagination is a necessity at the movies. How else could Western heroes shoot twenty rounds out of a six shooter without reloading? How could the Cavalry arrive just in time to save the fort? How could Bob Steele at 5’ 5” in height beat up all those big guys?

How about the age fantasies? Would Leslie Caron really fall for Fred Astaire in “Daddy Long Legs” with Fred being 32 years older and looking like Charlie McCarthy? Even a good looking Gene Kelly was still 20 years older than Caron in “An American in Paris”. Another classic mismatch was Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn in “Sabrina” where Bogie was 30 years older than Audrey. It’s one of my favorite films but my imagination was working overtime on that age difference.

It doesn’t seem fair that leading men got to play romantic roles into their 50s and 60s while the ladies were losing starring roles at 40 or younger. Men were still considered “handsome” or “distinguished”. Women were “getting older.” Welcome to Hollywood!

One of my favorite female character actors was Rosemary DeCamp. Rosemary always looked older than she was and in “Yankee Doodle Dandy” she played Jimmy Cagney’s mother in spite of being eleven years younger than Cagney! Jesse Royce Landis played Cary Grant’s mother in “North by Northwest” even though she was three months younger than Cary. Where else but Hollywood?

These examples go on forever and are fun to talk about. That’s what makes Hollywood fantasies so much fun because isn’t it the perception rather than the reality of motion pictures that we like? When Rick tells Ilsa, “Here’s looking at you, kid”, we all sigh. When Depression audiences laughed at screwball comedy, the movies were doing their job by giving those people a couple hours of happiness before they had to face the harsh realities of the real world.

A little backstage artificiality isn’t going to do any harm; it’s just part of the fantasy that we know and love about Hollywood.

JUNE IS BUSTIN' OUT ALL OVER

By Guest writer Joe Finnerty

Another D-Day has come and gone. Much to my surprise, this year’s anniversary (2011) received no media coverage. It should come as no surprise given the ongoing Afghanistan war and the declining number of WW II aged citizens who represent the core audience.

D-Day, June 6,1944. "At the Hedgehogs" (Robert Capa)

In 2006, PBS aired a documentary that brought together three veterans of the invasion, an American, a Brit, and a German. These three men shared their respective experiences and made the epic battle that began on June 6, 1944, engrossing and personal. Their reenactment of the day was vivid and compelling. However, it did not match the story a participant in one of my Reminiscence Writing classes told one year. A physician, he described in graphic terms the carnage he had witnessed on Omaha Beach and elsewhere for months thereafter. Until this class, he had never shared his harrowing memory with anyone.

In contrast and inexplicably, I have no vivid recollection of D-Day. The landing of troops on French soil happened without my knowledge, apparently. It took place two days before my seventeenth birthday, a few weeks prior to my high school graduation and matriculating at college. These events in my life overshadowed the greatest invasion in man’s history.

Until the following June when I turned eighteen, I gave little thought to the prospect of my having to fight in the war. Not until the draft board sent me my induction notice did this possibility hit me. As events unfolded, I entered military service just as the war with Japan ended. After being discharged in 1947, I reentered college and graduated in 1950, soon after which I moved to California. Along the way, I lost track of my high school chums.

As you might imagine, I was delighted to receive an invitation to attend my 50th Anniversary Class Reunion in 1994. During a cocktail hour, we conducted a survey and determined that of the sixty boys who graduated, forty six served in the military. The remaining fourteen had been classified 4-F, which struck me an unusually large percentage. None of my classmates had died or suffered wounds in combat. I regret to say no one surveyed the girls to find out if any of them entered the service, or how many went to college, immediately or later on in life.

The class produced a number of male college graduates, including two priests, one physician, a chemist and five mechanical and engineers. Many attended college under the provisions of the G. I. Bill, including myself.

I learned that the majority of my classmates still lived in or near Hoboken. Some had spent their entire lives working in nearby factories. A few had died, including the class president (valedictorian and priest), and the vice president (best athlete). My best friend and fellow college graduate had died at age fifty, a suicide.

Plans to have another reunion fizzled out, thwarting me from asking my classmates: Do you recall D-Day? I am convinced they would have said yes, leaving me as the only dummy in the class who doesn’t. The explanation is simple. At the time I was in love with what’s her name.

LIGHT MY FIRE!

(Guest contributor Joe Finnerty returns with another childhood memory from his teenage days in Hoboken, NJ in the 1940s. Chemistry class was never the same after Joe and his buddy Johnny Gallagher got through with the lab!)

LIGHT MY FIRE

By Joe Finnerty

Johnny Gallagher was my lab partner in high school chemistry. He was impish and very Irish. Teachers and classmates liked him. He was not an honor roll pupil, but he was a star varsity basketball player despite his short stature: 5 feet 4 inches, in sneakers. Johnny could make two-handed set shots from mid-court. Gallagher was a spunky player much favored by the team’s coach, Mr. John Kane, who happened to be our chemistry teacher.

Mr. Kane was not a very good basketball coach, as evidenced by our teams’ losing record year after year. His record as a chemistry teacher may have been even worse.

The first time our class entered the Chem. Lab, Mr. Kane warned us about the danger of spilling or mixing the various chemical reagents. These were neatly stored in glass jars that lined the shelves placed above the sinks and workspaces. Our first task, Mr. Kane said, would be to make our own stir rods. He distributed 1/4" diameter glass rods that we had to saw cut into one-foot lengths. He then demonstrated how to twirl the roughened ends in a Bunsen burner in order to smooth them into a rounded shape.

Gallagher had no difficulty following these instructions. Then, it was my turn. It seemed reasonable that I should be able to perform this simple task, right?

Moving deftly, I positioned the glass rod in the flame, rotating it while one end melted and became round and smooth. I then reversed the rod, putting the other roughened end into the flame. Within seconds, the smell of something burning hit my nostrils. It was I, oh Lord! The end of the rod I had just heated touched some fuzzy threads of my beautiful baby blue angora sweater, causing them to smolder.

With alarm, I said, “Here,” handing Johnny the rod in order to beat out the incipient flames with both hands. He grabbed hold of the end I had just removed from the Bunsen burner, scorching his palm. Johnny screamed in pain and flung the rod which knocked over some reagent bottles. Their contents interacted violently, creating a cloud of acrid, dense smoke. We had created a scene akin to a Three Stooges skit: I’m dealing with a blazing sweater; Gallagher is bellowing in pain; and Mr. Kane is rushing around the room, telling the rest of the students to “Get the hell out.”

JOE FINNERTY

After that incident, Gallagher kept his distance from me. We never became close friends. Despite this misadventure, Mr. Kane gave me an exceptional grade of 90. In truth, he passed everyone with the same mark, as he did not much care to evaluate students. His mind was on the next basketball season, worrying about how he was going to find a player to replace Gallagher.

This experience taught me never to choose an Irish leprechaun as a lab partner. They ruin your best clothes.

Scottsdale's Safari Hotel

(Re-printed from the May 20 edition of the Scottsdale Republic)

When one looks at the busy intersection of Scottsdale and Camelback Roads in 2011, it’s hard to believe that at one time sheep were driven south on Scottsdale Road to fields in Chandler.

Those busy corners were a rural intersection in the days prior to the mid 1950s. Going east, Camelback ended at Scottsdale Road which was considered the city limits. Fashion Square was still a dream as rodeo grounds occupied the land where it now stands. It was so rural that horseback riders had the right of way over cars.

The idea of any kind of fancy resort in that area was incomprehensible. All the good motels were miles away on Van Buren and Grand. Who would want to travel fourteen miles from Phoenix to Scottsdale to stay in the middle of nowhere?

As in many stories of success, there were a couple of guys who were willing to gamble that people would make the trek to stay at “Scottsdale’s first hotel”. Their gamble paid off as the hotel became an icon in Scottsdale history known as the Safari. "At that time, there was no place to stay in Scottsdale six months out of the year," explained Safari co-founder Bill Ritter in the 1990’s. The resorts didn't have any air conditioning; they were only open in the winter. The Safari was something that was sorely needed."

Ritter was right. In November of 1956, the Safari opened to crowds who gladly drove those fourteen miles from Phoenix to see what all the fuss was about at the new desert oasis called the Safari Hotel. They weren’t disappointed as they saw a 108 room luxury resort with fine dining, dancing, shopping, salons, a cocktail lounge, and even a radio station all tied together within a jungle motif. Many visitors compared the Safari to the finest hotels on the Las Vegas Strip.

The fine dining restaurant was operated by noted restaurateur Paul Shanks. A look at an early menu lists a “man sized” filet for $5.95, chateaubriand for two for $14.50, and steak and lobster for $5.50. Would you like a nice martini with that? They were eighty-five cents! Remember, this was 1956.

IS THAT A 1961 OLDSMOBILE IN FRONT?

Everyone went to the Safari whether they were local or from out of town. The Boston Red Sox and the Baltimore Orioles stayed there during spring training. It wasn’t uncommon to see movie stars of the day like Robert Taylor, Bing Crosby, Burt Reynolds, and Fred MacMurray. The twenty-four hour coffee shop was a good place for star gazing and in 1961, TV stars Martin Milner and George Maharis filmed an episode of their show “Route 66” at the Safari.

Unfortunately, by the late 1990’s the Safari had lost its luster to changing tastes and new competition. It was soon demolished and will probably be eventually replaced by an apartment high rise. The cocktail crowd has moved on and mention of the Safari will only bring quizzical looks from a younger generation.

Welcome to 21st century Scottsdale.

The thrill is gone

Of all the amusement parks in the New York area, the Palisades Park, located near the George Washington Bridge, was my favorite. To get there from Hoboken, I took the No. 22 Public Service Bus from the corner of 14th and Washington Street. The bus meandered through Weehawken, Gutenberg, North Bergen, and Cliffside Park, taking at least an hour and a half to reach its destination. On hot, muggy days, this ride was miserable. Exhaust fumes would fill the bus as it made innumerable stops along the way. Once you entered the park, you forgot about the long journey.

Joe Finnerty

Palisades Park featured a magnificent swimming pool. A sandy beach area bordered the shallow end. On opening day in 1942, I fell asleep there and awoke, hours later, badly sunburned, fried red. My long history of skin cancer probably began with this day’s exposure.

At the deep end of the pool, water flowed down a wall painted to resemble a mountain waterfall. Here, divers could choose from a number of boards, which varied in spring and elevation. The highest one stood about ten feet high. The first time I jumped off, it seemed more like a hundred.
My brother took me to this pool often. He could dive beautifully. His repertoire included swan dives, back dives, inward dives, jack knives, and a half-gainer, his best. He would spring straight up off the end of that ten-foot board, arching his back as if he was going to do a swan dive, but then he would twist a half turn, and pierce the water perfectly, his pointed toes seemingly glued together. He made me feel proud but envious, as my diving skill never came close to matching his.

My favorite ride, The Virginia Reel, featured an open, circular car in which as many as eight riders could sit. Each person would grip the peripheral handrail to keep from spinning off the seat. A cable pulled the car up a track to the top of the ride where it entered a building through swinging doors. At that point, the car began its descent, spinning clockwise and pitching over at an angle of ten or twenty degrees, then suddenly reversing both direction and rotation. The car would swerve, reeling, back and forth six or eight times before hurtling out at the bottom through another pair of swinging doors. The enclosed surrounding helped to magnify the riders screams and yells of delight and fright.

One day an Orthodox Jewish man, his son and daughter sat in the car with my brother and me. As the car spun, the man lost his grip, slid off the seat and wound up sitting in the center pit on top of our feet. "Get up, papa!" implored his kids. "I can't!" He was laughing. The man was having the ride of his life, enjoying his misfortune, but his kids were embarrassed. My brother and I howled with joy.

The Fun House, with its crooked floors, crazy mirrors, and room mazes, made for great entertainment. Teenagers loved this place as much as the Tunnel of Love, and for the same reason. Kissing abounded within its crooked walls.

The roller coaster was exciting to ride, never more so than the day Jimmy Kennedy and I rode together, seated in the first car. When we reached the bottom of the first incline the hold-down bar across our laps accidentally unlatched, causing us to pitch forward. We were lucky not to have fallen out.

Candied red apples, bumper cars, a shooting gallery, Palisades Park had it all and it always remained my favorite venue, but it did not enjoy a monopoly. There were other amusement parks at Rye Beach, Rockaway Beach, and of course, Coney Island.

In 1943, Red Burke, Eddie Anderson and Jimmy Kennedy joined with me to spend an entire day at Coney Island. Its Steeplechase Park featured wooden horses on which patrons could ride around an elevated track. The feature attraction was the famous Parachute Drop, brought in from the World’s Fair of 1939. Riders were lifted up to the top of the structure, then allowed to free-fall for a short distance until the parachute swelled out to slow their descent. It made my heart skip a beat the first time I dropped from the sky.

Steeplechase Park was also famous for its Fun House. One of its features included an array of spinning barrels you could walk through if you could manage to keep your balance. A slide carried riders on protective mats down to a flat surface where six or eight rotating wheels sent them spinning first in one direction and then the other. On this particular day, I forgot to take an orange out of my pocket beforehand. It squashed during the ride and left me icky-sticky for the rest of the day.

A clown, equipped with an electric prod, would zap people occasionally. By threatening to prod them, he would maneuver girls to stand over a small hole in the floor. He would then direct an air jet from below, blowing their skirts up, amid squeals and laughter.

Some movies have included scenes of Steeplechase Park, including one made in 1937 called, A Damsel in Distress. It featured Fred Astaire, George Burns and Gracie Allen. They tap danced through a spinning barrel before sliding onto the rotating disks. From my experience, they could have squeezed more fun out of the finale had they thought to place a few oranges in their pockets.

Palisades Park is no more, Coney Island still exists, but it is far less amusing.

Teen-age girls do not wear dresses anymore and the clown left town. So did I.

Notice to Indians: "Shut up!"

If there is one thing we have too much of in this country other than liberal Democrats, it is complainers. Now the Indians (Oh, excuse me! “Native Americans”) are on the warpath again complaining about the bin Laden raid being known by the code name “Geronimo”. These guys really need to take a step back and realize what they are b-itchin-g about. What’s the difference if we referred to bin Laden as Jesus Christ, Geronimo, or Joe Smith? The fact is we really pulled one off by getting to the rat and blowing his head off. This isn’t a time to worry about semantics. It’s a time to praise the mission and the Navy SEALS who participated.

Sensitivities have gotten out of hand. It seems like everyone has an agenda for political correctness. I don’t care what anyone says, the guy who brings my mail is still a “mailman” and will never be a “person-person.” Sorry, ladies, you came aboard too late.

As far as the Indians, they have done pretty well changing our culture to fit their needs. They have had many colleges change their nicknames and mascots because they felt Indian references were demeaning. My favorite is the genius who in 1994 forced St. John’s University in New York to change their name from “Redmen” to the “Red Storm.” The thought was that “Redmen” was demeaning to the Indian culture. Guess what, Cochise? “Redmen” referred to the color of the athletic uniforms the school wore. It had nothing to do with Native Americans. Maybe a little research might help next time!

Cesar Geronimo

Currently residing in the Dominican Republic and retired at age 63 is one of my all time favorite baseball players. He played in the major leagues from 1969 until 1983 with his best years spent playing for the Cincinnati Reds. His name is Cesar GERONIMO and so far I haven’t heard one complaint by him about the use of his name in reference to bin Laden. My guess is that since he had a lucrative career in baseball that probably allows him to sit on the beach and enjoy Margaritas during his retirement, he is more than happy to salute the country that brought down one of the worst rats in history.

Maybe when the Indians in the US look at the millions they are getting from their casinos, they should reconsider their complaints about the use of Geronimo and issue an apology. Remember, guys. You were on bin Laden’s list too! We’re waiting……

College degree no longer easy ticket to job

I recently read an interesting column by Kim Palmer of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune regarding the difficulty new college grads have finding jobs.

As an example, one male student with an engineering degree was profiled. He graduated from Colorado State University a year ago and has yet to find a job even after 200 interviews. He says the problem isn’t necessarily a lack of jobs so much as the number of people applying for them. In his case he is a rookie having to interview against experienced engineers who are out of work and desperate enough to take entry level positions. As a result, the kid has to live in the basement of his parent’s home hoping that something comes along so he can get some income and his own place.

Young student studying for her college degree. Will she be able to get a job? (Boston College)

He is not alone with his situation. Incomes have fallen, jobs are scarce, and many recent grads are buried in debt from their college expenses. I did a couple blogs over the last few years about college expenses and it surprised me what it costs to go to a school like Arizona State University. Credit hour costs are in the $400-$500 range and keep increasing. When I was in college in the 1960’s, that kind of money would cover my tuition for a full load of courses for the entire semester and leave enough for some beers.

As far as job availability, I took my Bachelor of Arts degree to several interviews after graduation and within five or six weeks had a sales job with a national company with good pay for the time and the free use of a company car. I’m not boasting since almost everyone who had a degree in those days had a ticket to the front of the job line. I was no exception and I took advantage of the situation. I shutter when I think of the poor grads today not being able to find jobs plus being buried in debt.

Palmer reports that the Economic Policy Institute says that “as of 2009, 37% of 18 to 29 year olds were unemployed, the highest share in four decades.” This has caused a migration of kids back to their parent’s homes but unlike the baby boomers of past generations where kids couldn’t get away from their parents soon enough, many kids returning home today enjoy having the amenities their parents can provide. Plus, some parents are glad to take them back in but many shake their heads in wonderment over whether their kids will ever hit the highway on their own.

I’ve never had children so I can’t comment much on the legitimacy of kids wanting to return to the nest but I never was in a situation where I had the problems of the kids today with finding employment. It’s obviously a difficult situation.

The Phoenix of streetcars and water bags

Since 1990, US Airways Arena has been built for the Suns along with new venues for the Cardinals, Coyotes, and Diamondbacks. We have the 101, 202, and 51 to get around better while the Phoenix population has increased by 500,000.

Although change is inevitable, it’s interesting to take a look back at how Phoenicians used to live in a more relaxed era. Don Williams has lived in Scottsdale since 1961 and in the 1960s worked for Mountain Bell Telephone as a “nickel snatcher”. That’s slang for a guy who emptied money from pay telephones. Remember nickel pay phones with rotary dials? By the 1950s, nickel calls became dime calls and in the mid 1960s, rotary was replaced by push buttons. Don has seen them all.

In 1961, Fashion Square in Scottsdale was an open air mall with tenants like Goldwater’s department store. In those days, you could drive on two lane Scottsdale Road from Camelback to Carefree and encounter one traffic light. Going west on Camelback, you could buy fresh oranges at the stands in Arcadia. Sometimes under the honor system!

In the 1920s, 30s, and 40s, owning a car was a luxury so many Phoenicians depended on streetcars from the Phoenix Transit Company. “Ride a mile and smile the while” was their slogan as one could ride on 17 miles of track within Phoenix for 5 cents while a 12 mile ride to Glendale cost 35 cents. The cars ran from 1887 to 1948 when they were replaced by motorized buses.

Speaking of Glendale, many residents miss the fragrance of the orange blossoms that used to dominate that city. Eventually many orchards gave way in 1993 for the opening of the Arrowhead Towne Center. New apartments and the 101 weren’t far behind. I feel fortunate that I was able to enjoy the silence and fragrance of that area before the bulldozers attacked it.

It’s lucky for the large shopping centers like Arrowhead that the population followed them. I don’t think anyone wants to drive long distances these days with gas hovering at $3.70 per gallon. During the pre World War II era, gas was sold for about 15 cents a gallon in Arizona with the Whiting Bros. stations doing great business on the busy Main Street of America, Route 66.

WELCOME TO PHOENIX IN 1940

After a fill up at Whiting’s, a stop at Stuckey’s for a sandwich and a pecan log made the day complete. It was also a good time to check your canvas water bag on the front bumper. You didn’t want to run out of water while you were reading the Burma Shave signs on Route 66. Sadly, by 1985, Route 66 was decommissioned and the Whiting Bros. stations were gone within the next ten years.

In Scottsdale, “Big Brownie” of Brown’s Ranch still drove cattle up Scottsdale Road as late as the 1950s. He was so well known that mail addressed to “Big Brownie, Scottsdale, AZ” would reach him.

The Kachina Theater on Scottsdale Road lasted from 1960-1989 and showed films in “Cinerama”. Until the early 1970s, the Round-Up Drive-In Theater was on Thomas Road and downtown Scottsdale had Mag’s Ham Bun, a popular businessmen’s meeting place from the early 1960s until 1986.

The Safari Hotel and coffee shop was busy with celebrities after it opened in 1956 at Scottsdale and Camelback. Stars like Sonny and Cher, Burt Reynolds, and Bob Crane were regulars. Crane ate his last meal there before his untimely death in 1978.

Legend City Theme Park lasted from 1963 to 1983. In 1977, Compton Terrace in Chandler opened as a concert venue. In 1985 it moved to Firebird Raceway until its demise in 2010. Speaking of Compton, it was Bill Compton and Dwight Tindle who founded KDKB Radio in 1971. There was also KRIZ and KRUX who played the hits in the 60s and 70s. Al McCoy spun records at KRUX from 1960 to 1972 and Wallace and Ladmo entertained kids on Channel 5 from 1954 to 1989.

I could go on but you get the point. Phoenix is still a great place but there was something magical about the early days and simpler times that made them seem just a little bit better.

1938: Joe is eleven and going to the ball game alone

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME

My brother took me everywhere in my pre-teen years. He brought me to see the Bronx Zoo; the Aquarium at Battery Park; the Planetarium at Central Park; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when it premiered at Radio City Music Hall. He took me to Madison Square Garden to see the one-and-only Ringling Bros. Barnum & Bailey Circus, starring Clyde Beatty, the fearless lion tamer, and bought me a toy whip should I want to follow that career path. On another occasion, he took me there to see a Wild West Rodeo. He decked me out in a cowboy hat, holster and cap gun. To increase my cultural knowledge, he brought me to a number of New York City art museums. He taught me how to swim and dive at the Palisades Amusement Park, and how to ride a bike.

JOE FINNERTY

It should come as no surprise that he took me to see my first major league baseball game shortly after my seventh birthday. We saw the New York Giants play the Brooklyn Dodgers at the Polo Grounds, located in the Bronx, just one subway stop away from Yankee Stadium. In addition, while it may seem difficult to believe, he managed to take me to Ebbets Field in 1935 to see Babe Ruth, then in his final year as an active player, a member of the Boston Braves. Yes, I saw the Bambino!

My big brother took me to see a number of Giants games over the next several years. They became my favorite team and Mel Ott my favorite player, whose batting style I tried to emulate. He would shift his weight back on his left leg, raise up his right leg, knee toward his tummy, then stride toward the pitcher when swinging at the ball. He seemed to be able to hold his balance on one leg forever, waiting for the ball to reach the plate. Mel was a great home-run hitter, though slight of stature, and forever my idol.

After turning eleven, a day came when my brother could not take me to see a Giants game that beckoned me. He entrusted me to go see the game by myself and funded the trip with two one-dollar bills and some loose change, a large sum in those days. I put the money and written travel instructions in my pants watch pocket. Having those instructions comforted me, although I knew which trains to take from previous trips.

About noon, brimming with confidence, my trek began by hopping aboard a jitney bus for the ride to the subway station at the foot of Hoboken (five cents and ten minutes). The Hudson Tubes subway carried me under the river to Manhattan (ten cents and fifteen minutes). Here, hunger forced me to stop and enjoy a Nedick’s hot dog and a glass of orange juice (twenty cents) before ambling down the steps to board the Eighth Avenue Express (a dime). The subway train howled while hurtling non-stop from 42nd Street to 125th Street. My journey ended a few stops later, at 155th Street, where every sign read Polo Grounds. The trip had been a breeze and it would be a simple matter for me to return home in the same manner.

The crowd of fans seemed to carry me up the stairs from the subway to the stadium. It was exciting to think that the game would soon begin and there was still plenty of money to treat myself to another hot dog and an orange drink on the way home because a grandstand ticket cost only fifty-five cents, a program a mere dime.

I walked up to the ticket window, stuck my index finger into my watch pocket to pull out my money, and made a startling discovery. The pocket was empty. Even my subway instruction sheet was gone. Frantically searching through all my pockets, finding nothing, my heart sank. Reality hit me between the eyes. Forget the game. How in the world would I manage to get home?

Hordes of police officers stood guard around the stadium and the subway, but it did not occur to me to ask one to bail me out. They frightened me. Instead, I decided to try to get home without asking for anyone’s help.

Returning to the subway entrance, while eyeing the ‘men in blue,’ I summoned my courage, ducked under the turnstile and ran for the incoming train as fast as possible. Moment later, the doors of the Manhattan-bound express closed behind me and it took off, headed to the Hudson Tubes at 33rd Street. My mood was ebullient. I had eluded the subway turnstile attendant and the ‘coppers.’

My joy was short lived. At the entrance to the Hudson Tube station, an imposing change booth employee eyed me suspiciously, sensing it was not my intent to pay for my next ride on their system. He granted my impassioned plea for a free ride. The sight of a crying boy must have softened his heart. My sob story had worked. While racing down the stairs headed for the subway ride back to Hoboken, my heart pounded with joy. I’m comin' home, Ma!

Fortunately, my family treated me sympathetically upon my return. They were happy to have me back, scared and broken hearted. The lesson learned that day remains with me to this day. Never stop to buy a hot dog until AFTER you have reached your destination.

This experience did not dampen my enthusiasm for baseball. Mel Ott remained my favorite player, and the Giants my favorite team, even though my allegiance had cost me two bucks.

Artie Shaw and his band, (1940)

I’ve enjoyed music my entire life. As a kid, it was the nightly hit parade from 6:15 to 7:00 on our big Stromberg-Carlson radio. Those were the days in the late 40s when people like Frank Sinatra, Peggy Lee, and Jo Stafford could record hits.

Elvis came by in the mid 50s and although I was never a big fan, I did like the artists who were inspired by him like Jerry Lee Lewis and Charlie Gracie.

By the late 50s into the mid 60s it was Dion, Freddy Cannon, Gene Pitney, Sam Cooke, some great black groups and flashes in the pan like Chubby Checker and “The Twist”.

Then it was the “British Invasion” with The Beatles, The Stones, and countless other groups until disco, electronic music, and a few other genres came by in the 90s including alternative rock which is now my current favorite pop music. If I’m in the car, I will have 103.9 welded on unless there is a ball game. At home it will be Channel 918 on Music Choice through Cox.

As much as I like those tunes through all the changes during the years, I never lose touch with the big band sounds that dominated through the 1930s and 1940s with guys like Harry James, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, The Dorsey Brothers, and many others.

Those guys were great and were a big part of the war effort in the 1940s with their style of “swing.” In those days you had to be in shape to swing or “jitterbug.” There was plenty of touching your partner then. Watch some musicals like “Stage Door Canteen” (1943) to get an idea what it was like. Those clowns on “Dancing with the Stars” wouldn’t have a chance in those days!

As entertaining and successful as James, Miller, and the rest of the guys were, I was fascinated with Artie Shaw. Artie was born in 1910 and lived until 2004 dying at 94 from the effects of diabetes. He was a complicated guy and even while his music made him as much as $60,000 a week, he would grow impatient with his gigs and look for new adventures in music and other fields.

Artie Shaw and his Band in "Second Chorus" with Fred Astaire (1940)

He was very popular with his 12 to 25 piece primarily brass bands but he wanted to explore other sounds like classical jazz and the use of strings. It annoyed Shaw that when his band appeared nobody cared about innovations. All they called for was his theme, “Begin the Beguine”.

He once described himself as a “very difficult man”. From 1932 until 1985 he was married eight times with three of the marriages being to Ava Gardner, Lana Turner, and Evelyn Keyes, three beauties of the day.

One of Shaw’s most fascinating songs to me is his 1940 recording of “Gloomy Sunday.” Being a sullen guy from time to time, he does a great job on this one with band singer Pauline Byrne. The song is also known as the “Hungarian suicide song” as the writer of it in 1933 eventually committed suicide. Some urban legends claim that many radio stations were prohibited from playing it because of suicide worries. Many also think it was the Depression that caused the suicides more than “Gloomy Sunday”. It didn’t help that the last line was “My heart and I have decided to end it all.”

Here is a link to “Gloomy Sunday”. It is true to the style of the day when the female band singer (Byrne) would come in after the first couple of bars from the band. I even found a YouTube showing someone putting the playing arm on the 78 rpm record from 1940. Some of you have probably never seen those.

It’s a sad song running 3:30 but is fascinating as a contrast to Artie Shaw’s normal dance band tunes.

Are reusable bags safe?

Doug MacEachern of the Republic had an interesting Quick Hit the other day in the paper where he mentioned that plastic grocery sacks may not be causing as much harm to the environment as the cotton and canvas reusable bags that are so popular now. He mentioned a British government study which shows that plastic may cause up to 170 times less harm and the number is higher if you wash the reusable bags.
Reusable bag from Trader Joe's.

That’s interesting information so I checked it out further. I found a column by Jonah Goldberg in a USA Today from April 4th where he states that a new study by the Environmental Agency of England says that plastic bags have a smaller carbon footprint than the reusable plastic or cotton “satchels” as well as paper disposable bags. It goes on to say that you'd have to reuse a cotton bag at least 131 times to equal the low carbon footprint of a simple plastic bag. If you reuse a plastic bag — as a wastebasket liner perhaps — they pull even further away as the greenest technology.

Goldberg also notes that “as other studies have shown, those trendy reusable bags provide a wonderful breeding ground for E coli and other bacteria. That is, unless you wash them regularly. But if you do that, as my American Enterprise Institute colleague Ken Green notes, all that bleach, soap and hot water expand their carbon footprint as well.”

More evidence of reusable bags being a source for disease also comes from the U of A: “Studies completed by University of Arizona professor Charles Gerba found that 97% of consumers using reusable grocery bags never wash or clean them. When paired with his findings on the bacteria count of the average grocery cart, neglecting to properly and routinely wash these bags opens your family up to a host of nasties including E. coli, coliforms, salmonella and a range of other bacteria and mold. According to Professor Gerba, reusing your shopping bags again and again without washing them is akin to “wearing the same underwear everyday”.

In 1979-1980 I was a distributor for Mobile Chemical in Kansas City and our most important new product then was the plastic grocery sack which we were selling in an effort to replace the large paper “barrel” sack of that time. From a cost standpoint, it was an easy sell. From a technological view it was more difficult. The checkers and sackers hated them because they were “different” and it wasn’t uncommon for me to install a store in the morning and have the bags discontinued by evening.

Eventually all my accounts came aboard and the rest is history as one can tell from any supermarket you enter. In recent years, plastic bags have had their share of criticism but with the evidence coming in about reusable bags, maybe they aren’t so bad after all. Regardless, they were fun to sell and have saved the grocery industry millions in supply costs.

Let's talk food

This month the AFMA Commentary with Phil Hawkes has some good food news as it does about every month. I’ve found that even if I don’t like the suggestions, I enjoy what is said about them.

What would you consider your favorite food combinations? Some are obvious like bacon and eggs but one I’ve always enjoyed is vinegar and salt over home grown tomatoes. I’m talking about summer tomatoes that you buy out of the garden at a farm stand in the country. Winter tomatoes, or “hot house” tomatoes as we used to call them, don’t make the grade.

Another great combination from my youth was to dunk sugar cookies into a cup of hot chocolate on a wintry Cincinnati morning in the 1950s before starting the long walk to school.

Other obvious choices would include Oreos and a glass of ice cold milk, mashed potatoes and gravy, chips and salsa, and cheese and crackers, especially if the cheese is the Longhorn I used to sell at Carl’s Deli in the mid 1960s. I haven’t found a cheese yet that compares.

Here are some unusual combinations you may or may not enjoy:

Carrots and sugar. It’s a French taste and I’m half French-Canadian so maybe that is why I like carrots and sugar. The sugar makes a nice sweet glaze on cooked carrots.

Coffee and salt. When I was in the Air Force, I worked in offices that had those big 24 cup coffee pots and whenever someone made coffee they put a dash of salt in the grounds. It was supposed to bring out a bit more of the coffee flavor but I never noticed any difference. As a sidebar, the Lieutenant Colonel I worked for used to use fresh coffee grounds like snuff and put a little between his cheek and gum. Yikes!

Tomatoes and sugar. I like good tomatoes about any old way. I’ve had them with sugar, salt, and vinegar and they taste great all three ways.

Tomatoes and their foliage. When cooking with tomatoes, it is recommended to throw the stems into the pot with the tomatoes. When through cooking, fish out the stems and you find a much stronger tomato presence in your food.

Potatoes and nutmeg. Add a dash of nutmeg to any potato recipe and you should notice a more enriched taste of the potato.

Strawberries and pepper. This one sounds a bit strange but it is recommended that you grind some fresh peppercorns onto strawberries to add more flavor. I’ve never tried it but if you do, I would recommend doing a test berry first just in case. We’re in the strawberry season now so you may want to give this a try.

1958 and now

I have some old Cincinnati Reds baseball team yearbooks from my younger days growing up in that city. I was looking through one of them today from 1958 and, although it is 53 years old, there are some interesting items there that offer a good look at the contrasts of life then and now.

There is an ad for the new 1958 Ford Thunderbird advertising that is “all swoop and no sway.” Those of you familiar with T-Birds know that ’58 was the year they enlarged it into an ugly 4 seater thus ending the three great model years of 1955, ‘56, and ’57. That also was the year the Edsel was introduced so it wasn’t a good year for Ford.

There is an ad for Weidemann’s Beer, a popular local brand at that time. It asks me if I am “beer hungry.” Of course, who isn’t? On the next page is a half page ad for Lucky Strike cigarettes boldly telling me that “LUCKIES TASTE BETTER!” No surgeon general warnings in those days. As they used to tell us in basic training: “Light ‘em up!”

Another half page is for some hotels you may wish to stay in during your next trip to New York. How about the Hotel Times Square or the Knickerbocker? In 1958 you get a room at those places for $4 and up. A cup of coffee at Starbucks costs that much today.

One of the big time hotels in Cincinnati in 1958 was the Netherland Plaza. They had a cocktail lounge there called “The Gay Peacock.” Do we have to even imagine how a name like that would be interpreted today? For those too young to remember, the word “gay” used to have a lot different definition than it does now.

How about a complete steak dinner at Jack Stayin’s Charcoal Steak House for $3.75? The ad says it is “magnificently prepared” so it must be good.

Since these are ads from the Cincinnati Reds yearbook, I must mention the price to see a ball game in those days: Box seats, $2.00, general admission, $1.50, bleachers, .75.

It all sounds good but we must remember that incomes were a lot lower in 1958 so when the steakhouse finally raised their steak dinner price to $4 they probably caught hell for it.

Another interesting note from 1958 is where the ballplayers have their biographies. Each player’s ancestry is listed. For Pitcher Brooks Lawrence and other black players they are “Negro”. A pitcher named Johnny Klippstein is listed as “German-Scotch, English-Indian”. I doubt if such nomenclature would be available in the yearbooks of today. In 1958, it was still a big deal.

Another oddity is the addresses of the players during the off season are listed. If you wanted to go by and say “Hi” to Brooks Lawrence in 1958, all you had to do was stop by his home at 1817 Springmont Avenue in Springfield, Ohio.

With everyone’s paranoia about privacy today, it’s amazing how accessible ballplayers were then. But, since they didn’t make much money and had to work during the winter at regular jobs, maybe they didn’t consider themselves the celebrities that today’s players with their millions think they are.

Well, it’s time for me to stop by Jack Stayin’s for a complete chicken dinner for $2.00. Then, I’m heading to the Reds’ game to sit in a box seat for $2 and drink a couple of 25 cent Wiedemann’s. Let’s see, that’s $4.50 for the evening so I’ll have enough to buy a deck of Luckies for a quarter on the way home. It’s 1958 and life is good!

Born grocerymen: A. J. Bayless and Smitty

The two greatest grocers from the past to do business in the Phoenix area are Clyde “Smitty” Smith and A. J. Bayless. Both had great success but they also came from totally different backgrounds.

I’ve talked about Smitty in previous blogs (August 6, 2010, December 7, 2010). He was born in 1919 and grew up dirt poor in Iowa. He fell in love with the grocery business at an early age and through hard work built a chain of stores in Phoenix from 1960-1980 that eventually controlled 35% of the Phoenix market.

A.J. Bayless, center with derby.


A. J. Bayless’ rise through the grocery business took a different route. He was born into a family of grocers according to historian Jack August. His grandfather had owned a store in Tennessee and his father, J. B. Bayless, opened his first store in Phoenix at Van Buren and Grand in 1917.

By 1930, J.B. had opened 18 stores but was getting a bit long in the tooth so he decided to retire and sell off his holdings. Meanwhile, A. J. had spent his entire youth working in the stores so he knew every aspect of the business. When his father sold his stores, 21 year old A. J. Bayless opened a store of his own. Throughout the Depression and World War II, the Bayless chain continued to grow as A. J. had an uncanny sense of finding good locations. He saw the postwar suburbanization of Phoenix taking place so he put stores in new areas, especially in strip malls. In 1948 alone, he opened three stores using that philosophy.

It helped that Bayless was in tight with some developers who realized they could sell homes faster if a mall, especially a mall with a grocery store, was located near the newly built homes. A good example of this was West Plaza Shopping Center at 35th Avenue and Bethany Home which opened in 1959. That center had the largest Bayless store up to that time and it contributed to making West Plaza the second largest shopping center in Arizona behind only Park Central.

A. J. Bayless was riding a wave of success in the early 1960s when he began to experience medical problems. By 1962, he radically slowed his activity with the stores and in March of 1967 at age 58, he died. The A. J. Bayless chain had lost its leader and although it contained 47 stores, The Bayless family eventually sold off the stores to other chains or independent groups.

Many of you probably remember the layout of the Bayless Stores. Some were sold to Bashas’ and re-named “A. J.’s” There is one in particular in Carefree that I remember as a Bayless store. It is still operating as a Bashas' and I shop there often.

To summarize, Smitty and A. J. Bayless were both born grocery men who achieved success from different sides of the tracks. A. J. Died too soon at age 58. Smitty is long retired and living in Texas at age 91.