It is hard to leave the television set this morning, with all of the news of the Boston bombers, their attempt to escape, and now at around 10:00 a.m., the police officers' work in trying to apprehend the second of the two brothers who have wreaked havoc on Boston, Watertown, and the MIT campus.
Anything I would write about what happened in Boston at this point will be old news in two hours, so let's just give it a rest for a moment today and go to a different time -- to sleep, perchance to dream.
People sometimes mistakenly look at the 1950s as an idyllic time in America. On the surface it would seem so, but we all know now that it was really not so very perfect. Still, I know our front door was unlocked all night and almost nothing ever happened in Fairview Park, Ohio that made the news.
On Sunday morning after church, the first thing we did was put on the TV and change the channel to the Gene Carroll Show. This locally produced and live show was hosted by Gene Carroll. The piano player was Gene's wife. They had a few props -- an umbrella and a lamppost. And they had all of Cleveland's attention because it was very popular. They had auditions every week for the show on Sunday; they had a small group of "regulars" who performed each week, and who participated in the finale of the show -- the production number.
I can remember some of the acts. Where else but on the Gene Carroll show could a kid taking acrobatics (as they called it back then) get television time? The singing was pretty rough sometimes, and between our laughs, the other reaction was cringing for the poor kid who showed up that Sunday. Really, in so many ways it was like American Idol. Gene Carroll was a man way ahead of his time.
By the time I wasn't watching the show anymore, my nephew and his friends had become regular watchers. They had names for all of the regulars, like "sweaty lip." They would call each other on the phone and watch the show together. A newer friend of mine, Sue, who lives right here in CF, shares my enthusiasm for the Gene Carroll Show. At a few Lions Club social events, Sue and I have had a ball asking people at our table about whether they watched the Gene Carroll Show. If the person lived in northeastern Ohio back in the day, they always remember, and it starts a great conversation. Everyone remembers a different contestant, a different regular.
One regular was Andrea Carroll. Carroll was not her real name; it was Gene Carroll's last name that she took for her "stage" name. People still look for her on the internet and they won't be disappointed. She lives on the west coast and is a psychologist. Apparently, she still has fond memories of the show, although it never launched her to stardom.
Well, now it is 11:44 a.m., and they are still looking for Suspect #2, a Chechan immigrant. Our little trip down memory lane is over for now, and reality looms large. We'll lose the quality of life that we've led when we forget to cherish the little things that are still jewels in our lives, when we forget that the vast majority of us are decent people, and when we modify what we do because of some cowardly people.
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