Apart from the television that first appeared in the window of our local hardware store: about 1952 or 53, my first experience of television as a viewer, was not a happy one. We were boarders at school, and when it was first switched on everyone seemed agog. And in the days that followed they were still in a trance; everyone that is except myself. The first program that we saw was in the afternoon, and clearly meant for mothers at home. It was about making jam; and almost on instinct, and not withstanding this birds-eye view of other peoples lives, I knew that I was not remotely interested in making jam. Now that in itself would not have been a problem, except, that if the television was on, all of us, without exception, were required to watch it. Well, when my mother visited the school and the nuns complained about my obduracy, my mother, to her credit, told them, that she thought it a very strange rule that people had to watch television whether or not they were interested in it. And to the nuns credit, no sooner had my mother gone away, than the decision was taken that watching television, as a social activity, should be optional.
Looking back now they were innocent times, even if the headmistress, (a pragmatic and good woman), expressed some mild concern when she discovered that the boys were watching "Emergency, Ward 10." I think it was because babies were born there, or might be born there, with lots of implied meaning in camera shots that were a good deal less than explicit. And now that I could decide for myself, I knew what I liked: "Highway Patrol", with its American brand of humour: where a distraught woman having witnessed a crime would, while in full flow, be interrupted by a slick talking America cop with the phrase: "Just give us the facts Mam!" And Gunsmoke, with James Arness as Marshall Matt Dillon, whose sidekick, (deputy sheriff) Chester, I could mimic to a tee. And for pure horror, there was Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
And we had a projector at school, with one of the nuns in charge, on which, from time to time we saw films such as, "The Song of Bernadette" and "Great Expectations", with its outrageously willful Miss Havisham. And as much as these wholesome films have stayed in my mid, so too has the occasion on which the projector was first switched on. Fearful that it might explode, the nuns had us say a prayer before it got going. Now I know that it is easy to laugh, as I am tempted to do, but what has to be remembered is, that technology as we know it today, was nothing like as prevalent in the lives of the general public in the 1950s.
In those days, television, that often didn't start until the early evening, was in black and white. And there were only two channels. And broadcasting on the BBC, at least, was preceded by a "test card". So if you couldn't wait, you could gaup at the test card. The best known of these was, and still is, the young girl with her blackboard, her pet faces, and with knots and crosses on the board. And when television became commonplace in the home, a curious viewing habit emerged. In the evenings it was watched in the dark. Undoubtedly in people's consciousness, this was the thing to do, after all, you wouldn't sit in the cinema with the lights on. So in the early 1960's, it was possible to walk along the street and see as you passed, televisions, glowing in the darkness; a ritualistic form of behaviour that disturbed me every bit as much as compulsory television at school. For it seemed that it was evidence of the ease with which people follow the crowd. As individuals, they didn't seem capable of breaking the mould, let alone of considering the individual who might prefer to have the light on, so that they could do other things.
So in my approach to innovation in those early years, I was out on a limb, and it must have been in more ways than one, or two. For, when one of my younger brothers remarked to an aunt, that he didn't understand, (on an issue that escapes me), why I had to be different from everyone else, my aunt, (with whom I must have shared some characteristics), had an answer. "It isn't sufficient for Cormac to do something because everyone else is doing it" she told him, "he has to be personally persuaded of its value."
Now over a lifetime I am not sure that that much has changed. If you follow my blogs, (and while I accept that it is a many sided argument), you will know that I am deeply skeptical about the value of the many forms of instant communication that we have today, for now that communication is easy, there seems to be more trivia than ever before. Perhaps in time, we will find a new level, when there is a better balance between the serious and the superficial, and the extent to which these new means of communication are, or are not used. In the meantime, I will go on resisting Twitter: the friendly face that in my e-mail box asks: "Cormac what are you doing right now?"
And this being out on a limb, was put into sharp focus on our recent holiday in Sardinia, when, towards the end of the tour, a note was passed around the bus asking people to contribute to collective gratuities for the coach driver and our tour guide. Instinctively I was against the idea of being reduced to anonymity. If I was going to give a gift, I wanted it to be personal between me and the recipient. But I had other reasons for believing, that however well intentioned, the proposal was misguided. Left to themselves, people were free to make a personal and private decision as to what they did or did not want to do. But once the gift-giving became the property of the collective, they were deprived of that freedom. Instead, they had to identify themselves publicly, either for or against the proposition. Undoubtedly some people were happy to go along with the idea. But it is not unreasonable to suggest, that some, who would have preferred to make a private and more personal contribution, will have gone along with the collective, as they say, "rather than make a fuss." And then there was the rest of us, (very much, I believe, in the minority,) who choose not to join with the collective. Ironically, and discretely, I was approached by two members of this group, wanting to know if I would be willing to make the presentations when the time came. It was a compliment to have been asked, but of course I had to explain, (for they were unaware,) that as I hadn't contributed to the collective present giving, it would be inappropriate for me to present the gifts. An incident which helps to make another useful point, that, being out on a limb in these circumstances, was not a pleasant experience.
Well last night when looking for football on the television, I chanced upon the late evening news. It was an item on the terrible situation in Sudan. It focused on the makeshift camps: on the squalor in which people have to live, and on the desperation of these same people who would rather live in these circumstances than amidst the fighting in Dafur. And on their hope, against all odds, that they might somehow escape from Sudan altogether. As I saw the pictures of babies being weighed, and heard of their slim chance of clinging to life, I thought, - we should sell our house and give the money to these people - Of course, and for all kinds of complicated reasons, we won't sell our house. But I am glad that the television was there - to confront me with the issue.
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© Cormac McCloskey
Note: This blog, "Off The Cuff", was first published on Windows Live Spaces, by me, on 4th November 2009
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