The miracle of live broadcasts, now and 65 years ago

Sixty-five years ago, I sat on the floor of the living room at my Aunt Norene 's house and watched, amazed, the fuzzy black-and-white images on the television screen.

It was early -- very early -- in the morning, and we were watching the live broadcast of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation.

That was one of the summers I stayed with my Uncle Carl and Aunt Norene while my mother pursued enough credits at Flat River Junior College to qualify for teaching credentials in what then were numerous one-room schools scattered through the Ozarks over yonder.

The coronation was the first-ever major international live broadcast. The signal was delivered via trans-ocean cable. There were no communication satellites in 1953. There weren't a lot of things then that we take for granted these days.

Think about the past weekend consumed by a royal wedding of the queen's grandson and his American (now British) bride. I recorded the entire CBS coverage of the event on my Charter digital video recorder, which meant I could watch the hoopla any time I wanted and as often as I wanted.

I also could have watched the wedding day unfold in real time with crystal-clear TV images. Or I could have watched the royal wedding on my iPad or my iPhone. So many choices.

There were, indeed, parts of the ceremony I watched more than once. There was the young cellist who stunned both the congregation in St. George's Chapel and the international audience estimated to be as high as a billion viewers. I watched that bit several times -- and probably will again. And I watched the wedding sermon, delivered by the Most Rev. Michael Curry, presiding bishop of the Episcopal church, the U.S. branch of the Anglican communion. I knew he was a dynamic preacher, having watched the live streaming of the ceremony installing him as presiding bishop at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. I was not disappointed on either occasion.

Back at my Aunt Norene's living room in 1953, we sat amazed by the history being made: first international live TV broadcast. We could see what was happening at the exact same time as viewers in Britain and the attendees in Westminster Abbey.

The rest of my aunt's family had the option of getting up in the predawn hours to watch but chose sleep over broadcast history.

Occasionally, the snowy picture on the TV set would fuzz out entirely. In a few seconds the image would return, and there was the young queen with a huge crown on her head. We were beyond wowed -- not by the crown, but by the fact that we were seeing the coronation unfold live, in living black and white.

I thought of that magic morning and my Aunt Norene many times during Saturday's wedding coverage. We both would agree, were she still with us, that what we were seeing was amazing. We could see Prince Harry scratching his nose. What was he thinking? That a billion viewers might not notice?

We saw the queen's dour expression that never seemed to change. Weddings are supposed to be joyous events, right? I guess the queen has seen enough wedding vows broken to make her cautious about young love and the good intentions of all who swear before God they will honor one another until death breaks the bond.

On the other hand, I know the queen is past 90. Even though I have a few years to go before I hit that milestone, I already am quite familiar with some of the aches of aging. Maybe the queen's sciatica was acting up. Maybe we should be glad she showed up at all. And there was Prince Phillip just days, literally, after hip-replacement surgery, walking without a cane -- or a limp. You go, Phillip, age 96.

Aunt Norene would have loved Saturday's blanket coverage of events leading up to the royal wedding and the actual event itself. I know I did.

It's hard to explain why Americans in general are so fascinated by royalty and their lives. But we are. And modern communications give us up-close seats for all their public -- and some private -- lives.

Long live the queen. Long live the duke and duchess of Sussex. Long live merry old England and its countless royals.

What's next? Oh, that's right. They start having babies. And we will hang on with fascination for nine months at a time.

What do you think, Aunt Norene? Pretty impressive, right?

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.