Too Close to the Falls Read Online Free PDF Page A

had something to do with a dog with a stiff neck. I thought maybe it was a doghouse that plugged in for warmth. She looked alarmed, and then I had another brainwave. I quickly explained to her my new hypothesis, that really you could tell from the name
tell-a-vision
it was like my stereoscopic Viewmaster that I held up to the light, placing round discs in a slot and advancing each picture by pushing a lever. My favourite was Hansel and Gretel; the gingerbread house sparkled when I held the Viewmaster close to my father’s desk light.
    After unfolding their tool kits, which gracefully parted into cascading trays, they fiddled with the box for hours, one man behind the set with tools and one in front yelling odd phrases like “more horizontal!” They finally packed up and left, and there I was alone in a dark room looking at an Indian in full war headdress in the centre of concentric circles. The Indian obviously felt uncomfortable in my house. He never faced forward but always remained in profile, facing the door, clearly longing to leave. I watched him for a very long time, yet the Indian never moved, nor did he ever turn to look at me. I wanted to leave the room but felt rude abandoning him in
my
house and not entertaining him in any way. Finally, reluctantly, I began speaking to him. Althoughhe didn’t answer directly he listened, much as I imagined a brother or sister might have, if we could have played together.

    As the weeks went by and I had already spent hours on my own with the Indian, I began to understand that RCA Victor was indeed something that had altered my life. Clearly I was not alone in finding RCA Victor a mesmerizing phenomenon, for everyone who approached the house, including the milk, dry-cleaning, and grocery deliverymen, made excuses to come in and catch a live moment of the spectacle before them. My favourite visitor was Alexander Hamilton, who drove the bakery truck. (Of course, much was made of his historical lineage, particularly in the Lewiston Centennial Parade when all the men from the town grew beards and wore bowler hats; our own baker, Alexander, dressed in period costume, led the parade in an open Packard convertible next to a woman from Lewiston whose real name was Martha Washington.) Alex arrived every day during
The Guiding Light
and, needing an excuse to sit down, would suggest that I try his sticky buns to make sure they weren’t stale as we were the last stop on his route. He even brought a Milkbone for Willie, our dog. Friends of my parents from the village of Lewiston, as well as mere acquaintances who ran farms way out the Ridge Road, came pouring into our living room to pay homage to the talking heads on RCA Victor.
    Some evenings we had guests who arrived moments before the Indian left and John Cameron Swayzee came on. John was far different from the Indian in that he actually talked to me and shared his love of favourite products with me. I began to knowhim quite well, and much to the amazement of my parents’ friends, I was able to predict what he would say and when he would hold up the Camel cigarettes. He often chatted to me about what was going on in the world. He, like my father, was an Eisenhower fan, and showed me lots of pictures of the president and his wife, Mamie. Whenever he showed the Eisenhower snapshots, I held up my “I-like-Ike” button and my mother’s white gloves that had the same slogan stamped all over them in tiny red, white, and blue letters.
    I was aware that my mother called John’s chats “news,” while other people who talked to me on RCA Victor, such as Milton Berle, Ed Sullivan, and Roy Rogers, were called “programs.” I didn’t get the distinction. It was all news to me. Mother was completely uninvolved with RCA Victor, and clearly confused because she said things like “Do you believe that Lucy and Desi are married in
real
life?”
    My favourites were cowboy programs of any variety.