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The arrival of our first television in 1955 remains one of my happiest childhood memories. My frugal parents were among the last people in the neighborhood to buy one, so for a while, the Edmonsons’ living room up the street became our community theater.

Neighborhood children crowded around their set each night to watch programs such as Boston Blackie or Lassie. Mrs. Edmonson sometimes made popcorn, though at least one child could usually be counted on to scatter it across her rug. She may have been as relieved as we were delighted when other families finally began buying televisions of their own.

One fall afternoon, I returned from school to find our new $219 Philco being delivered. The enormous console looked nearly as big as our refrigerator. My father had arranged for a tall antenna tower to be installed in the side yard, sparing us from putting equipment on the roof or rabbit ears on the set.

The deliveryman connected the television to the tower, plugged it in and switched it on. There was Captain Video, appearing right on schedule at 4 p.m.

With the two channels we could receive, my world suddenly seemed much larger. I imagined wearing the beautiful dresses Loretta Young displayed when she swept into view at the start of her show. I wondered whether I could be as funny as Betty White on Life with Elizabeth. I had no desire to land in Lucy’s predicaments and anger Ricky, though her troubles made us laugh.

The television also created a weekly family struggle. My father claimed Saturday nights for boxing, while my mother and I sat bored as he dozed in his chair. I would creep toward the set and turn the dial to something we preferred, often Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music-Makers. I especially loved the opening, with bubbles filling the screen as Welk polkaed.

But changing channels produced a loud click that inevitably awakened Dad.

“What are you doing? I was watching that,” he would protest.

With a sigh, I turned the dial back to the fights.

Eventually, we discovered programs everyone enjoyed, including Gunsmoke, Have Gun—Will Travel and Dragnet, with Joe Friday’s famous insistence on getting the facts.

Both stations stopped broadcasting at midnight. After the national anthem played over images of the American flag, the screen shifted to a test pattern and then dissolved into snow.

Today’s viewers have sophisticated programs and seemingly endless choices. But nothing can replace the excitement of that giant Philco flickering to life and bringing a much bigger world into our home.