I read an essay recently called Crossroads By Harriet May Savitz Bradley Beach. Radio days Posted by the Asbury Park Press (of New Jersey). I thought I’d share it…
There are radios in every room of my house. I like old fashioned ones with two knobs — one to turn it on and choose the volume, the other to select the station. I do not need more than that.
One radio is in the kitchen, one in my bedroom, one in the guest room, one in the living room. Many times they are all working, so that when I walk from room to room, my radio friends travel with me. Those who live inside my radio become my company. Though I cannot see them as they speak, I imagine their faces, their expressions. I do not wish to know more about them than what I hear from their voices. While invisible, they can become what I wish them to be. Some might be very unattractive to the eye, but I do not realize this and often hope I will not discover them on television when the mystery will disappear. It is the voice that intrigues me, reaching out as if I am the only listener.
There is something intimate about listening to a radio. I do not feel that way about my television set. Rather, I feel I am just one of the gang, a fleck among the masses. In fact, it makes me feel quite expendable, as if there are 1,000 to replace me if I turn off the set. Television does not encourage my imagination. But the radio encourages me to be in partnership with it. Together, we can shape the program. However it is delivered to me, I have the opportunity to create the people behind the voices whatever way I wish. It is in my power to embellish them with youth or strength or beauty.
The radio has always offered my imagination the opportunity to soar. I grew up shuddering when listening to “The Shadow.” We would cut short a Sunday afternoon ride to return home for a radio show — it was that important to the family, even more important than getting ice cream. My father had a favorite ice cream shop one hour away and we would drive there on Sundays. But often he would ask the time and then say, “We’d better hurry up if you want to hear “The Shadow.’ ” Of course, we all knew he wanted to hear it also. There was just one radio those many years ago, a large one in the center of the living room. And only one program available at a time. So there had to be a lot of give and take and negotiating. “The Shadow” always received a unanimous vote.
Later in life, when an illness confined me to bed, it would be the radio that would rescue me, save me from boredom and isolation.
But now it is so much better. I have many radios and many stations. There are fewer people in my immediate life to enjoy them with me, but my radios do not care how many are listening. They are undemanding and they do not need me to sit still while listening to them. I can do the dishes, clean the house, attend to chores or close my eyes while they speak to me. They are quite content to offer me the news, talk, music and sometimes drama. I do not need to sit in a chair and stare with full attention. We are like an old couple who are quite content to share as many hours as possible with each other in full understanding.
Sometimes at night, when I cannot sleep, I reach out in the dark and turn the dial to a favorite radio station. The room is no longer silent, the hours no longer lonely. The night loses its bleakness as I am swept away by the creativity coming from the radio.
It plays for me as if I am the only one.
