Back in his college days, Dad was an editor of The Alembic student literary magazine at Providence College.

In his senior year, as editor-in-chief, he wrote the occasional opinion piece. It’s been so interesting to read what he and the other editors thought about back then, 70 years ago.

The following is from January 1951, a big year for the fledgling television industry. Along with advances in technology, shows such as the Hallmark Hall of Fame, Dragnet, and I Love Lucy debuted that year. Dad and his well-dressed editorial staff gave voice to their thoughts:

From the Scriptorium: Editorial

When the brave new World of Television bravely crashed through the front door of the American home and planted itself firmly in the most imposing corner of the living-room, another “that without which you simply cannot afford to be” was added to our already over-padded repertoire of labor-, time-, money-, and thought-saving gadgets. Intellectuals roared protests. Pseudo-intellectuals howled. Educators turned soulful eyes to Dewey and wept. Child-guidance experts considered the whole thing objectively, then locked themselves in consultation rooms and flipped a coin. The rest of the nation read the press accounts and magazine articles pro and con, nodded sagely, and switched on their sets.

The television industry, needless to say, hailed their modern Cyclops as the greatest boon to mankind since the discovery of the wheel. Granting all of its potentialities, we might be inclined to agree; but judging by its present entertainment, educational, and advertising output, television is about as valuable to the human race today as a pneumatic spaghetti-press in Tibet.

The most that can be said for the field of TV entertainment is that it will probably improve someday …

Sports coverage is by far the best, even though the cameras have an uncanny ability either to go dead or to be wandering aimlessly over the audience whenever a crucial score is made or a fighter lands his Sunday punch. Variety shows, which are many and poor, consist mostly in tired old comedians doing tired old acts which someone should have had the decency to strangle long ago, and female singers whose main intention, apparently, is to utilize the klieg lights in order to give a tan to as much of themselves as the law will allow.

Educationally speaking, our chief criticism centers around the fact that TV has overlooked a fertile field, namely, the field of education. This, however, does not mean that the TV audience is languishing in total ignorance. If one is really interested he can look below the surface and discover that teeth should be brushed with a circular motion, that proper people drink their beer from a Pilsener, and the atmospheric conditions sometimes interfere with good reception.

Not until the field of TV advertising has been considered can we fully appreciate the true worth of this, the twentieth century’s gift to posterity. Five years ago no one would have believed that advertising could become any more nerve-wracking than it than it was at that time, what with jingles and the like. But this was before TV. By means of extreme diligence and costly research, the agencies have come up with a series of commercials which, for sheer maddening power, is unparalleled in the history of the world. The basic philosophical tenet behind all of this seems to stem from the doctrine of repetition …

In other words, if you hit a man on the head with a hammer often enough he’s liable to resent it and take the hammer away from you.

Perhaps the best example of this sort of advertising occurs in cigarette commercials. Usually they begin with a blank screen and soft music. Suddenly out of nowhere appears a tiny black spot. The spot (a pack of cigarettes, naturally) grows and grows and the music gets louder and louder until, with a final leap it practically breaks through the screen and grabs the viewer by the throat. Then a voice breaks in and threatens the public with dire consequences unless it immediately changes brands and smokes the only cigarette worthy of the name. This systematic process of mass terrorization is repeated daily, including Sundays, several times an hour. We think it a tribute to the American people that they have been able to stand up under such merciless pummeling.

On a somewhat less bombastic plane are the electric-refrigerator sellers:

Their little gems of rhetorical and photographic art commence with a scene showing the product and a model wearing clothes that no kitchen has ever seen. The model is smiling demurely. The refrigerator just stands and looks bored. And now the time has come for her to go to work. She crosses quickly to the refrigerator, opens the door, and smiles triumphantly, as if she had expected the darned thing to fall off. Then, revealed for all to see, is the interior of the richest, biggest. newest, brightest, and finest refrigerator on earth. The audience lets out a well-cued gasp, and the national viewing public is treated to the sight of shelves: rows of shelves. A few more moments of pleading and cajoling brings the charming interlude to a close.

We have watched this type of commercial for several years, but we have not given up hope: someday that door is going to stick.

If TV continues much longer at its present pace, a day will come when the tormented masses will ride from their easy-chairs, seize the nearest book, and hurl it unerringly through the eye of this squat tyrant. For a time there will be cries of treason; the television industry will raise itself to its full height, utter a few imprecations, and re-convert to radio productions; Hopalong Cassidy will be reduced to rustling Bar-20 cattle to keep up the payments on his Rolls. But within a few weeks a great calm will settle over the nation, and people will begin to wonder why they ever gave up Bridge.

~ Harold E. Vayo, January 1951

My parents didn’t make television a priority. In a letter to her fiancé while in college, Mom wrote: Let’s not have a television. Let’s read books and listen to music – and nature – instead!

Eventually, they succumbed. But there was never more than one TV in the house.

The first opera ever commissioned for television premiered on Christmas Eve, 1951. The hauntingly beautiful music and story of Amahl and the Night Visitors are as much a tradition for our family as A Christmas Carol.

Several versions are available online:

Years later, Mom and Dad enjoyed watching reruns of M*A*S*H and BBC programming before bedtime. My brother Bill eventually introduced Dad to a voice-activated remote control, a far cry from the push-button “ka-chunk! ka-chunk!” set we had back in the ’60s.

I heard my father’s voice on the phone nearly every day for years. Thinking ahead to the inevitable, I’d mentioned the possibility of recording him telling stories to use on this blog. He was still in the “let me think about it” phase when he passed away back in April.

I do have a few old voicemails, though, so I can hear his good-natured chuckle once again:

“Editorial” © 1951 Harold E. Vayo, Jr. All rights reserved.

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