I was born in prehistoric times, well back in the B.C. . . . Before Cable.
Until I was almost 11, television in Baton Rouge, La., was a matter of two channels, 2 and 9. When we used to have a big outside antenna, it was double the pleasure -- then, we also could get 4 and 6 out of New Orleans.
You had your NBC, and then you had your CBS, for the most part. WBRZ (2) and WAFB (9) duked it out to see who'd carry the best of the comparatively anemic ABC lineup in the capital city.
That's the way television was, Sept. 16, 1971. Two channels, no VCRs, no cable, no educational TV (which was what people who had it called public TV back then). No Internet, because we had no home computers.
AND IT WAS OK, if that was all you knew.
Whatever did we do with ourselves, relatively all alone with our thoughts in a relatively un-media-saturated world?
Well, for one thing, we all had a lot more in common -- parents and kids, young and old, rich and poor, hippie and square. Let me rephrase that. We all had a lot more of a common frame of reference.
You couldn't avoid it. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn't help but have somewhat broad horizons and wide exposure to lots of everything when the wide world of television got crammed into Channel 2 and Channel 9.
2 AND 9. 9 or 2. No 33 yet. And certainly no 27 or 44. The whole wide world on 9 and 2.
I know all the cultural references of my parents' generation, despite the yawning "generation gap" that otherwise divided us. I know Fibber McGee and Molly, and I know to never, ever open their closet door.
But only the Shadow knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.
And maybe that's because I couldn't "infinite choice" myself out of communion with all those unlike myself. Maybe I owe it all to 2 or 9. And 9 and 2.
But not 33.
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