Joe Franklin was a television and radio personality who many cannot recall ever seeing or hearing on TV or radio. I wonder if his shows had ratings. Perhaps negative. He was never destination media.
And yet, as a sometimes sick kid who was home from grammar school in the 50s I remember seeing him on television, when the television worked. A television set in the 50s was full of tubes that burned out. They could sometimes be replaced by a repairman who came to the house. Tubes were sold in hardware stores, and you could get your tubes tested if you wanted to. Not your picture tube of course, because this was a mammoth cone buried in a piece of furniture that moms dusted and put pictures on top of. It was the 1950s version of a piano. A blown picture tube was the end of the world for the set.
Often, at least for our set, being that we had a second-hand everything, the set had to be taken to the "shop." This signified that the guts of the unit would be carted down the front stairs and disappear from the house for an unknown period of time. There was little worse in life at that time than to hear "the set has got to go back to the shop." Telling classmates this was your fate earned sympathy.
Until I read the obituary I was not aware that the channel I watched Joe on was Channel 7, and that the call letters then were WJZ-TV instead of ABC. I wasn't aware I was part of history, since Joe's show was the first show on the air for the that station to be broadcast in the afternoon. In those days, TV stations had hours of operation. They actually came on the air at certain times and
So, here I cam sitting cross-legged in front of the set, no doubt too close to the set, because there wasn't a kid in America who wasn't warned about sitting "too close to the set" and along comes Joe Franklin spinning nostalgic stories, with guests on I had no idea of who they were.
Maybe it was Joe's voice. There was a gentle patter to it. Maybe he was the first Mister Rogers. The show had a jaunty, old-time piano playing music for the opening theme. No matter, I watched Joe Franklin in the early days of television.
From what I could gather, he was always seemed to be talking about the past. Maybe this is where my penchant for nostalgia was developed.
An aspect of reading obituaries, particularly of old New Yorkers, is finding out what their parents did. The mothers were usually housewives, but certainly not always. The father's occupations however are always varied.
Joe's father was a "paper and twine dealer." This sounds like an occupation that could not provide enough money for a single living soul. Yet, at the family flower shop, I always placed orders with Janine Paper and Twine and saw their trucks deliver the rolls and reams of paper we used to wrap flowers for customers. It was a real job that made real money.
In reality, it is hard to believe that Joe Franklin was only 88 on his passing. I was once on the subway, perhaps 20 years ago with a friend and noticed a fellow seated who was carrying what looked like movie reel canisters that were marked "Joe Franklin Show." I muttered out loud to myself, and apparently loud enough for this person to hear me, "Joe Franklin! He's still around? "The guy started laughing himself.
Due to today's snowfall and where we live, I have no hardcopy of The New York Times to see what organizations might have acknowledged Mr. Franklin's passing. I'd like to think the Friars Club's Abbot has a sentiment posted.
Eighty-eight years sees a lot of changes in New York, and in the world. Now if the TV goes, we just throw it out.
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