The Transistor: Who Could Resist Her?

Every era has its cool stuff. Today kids have smartphones that do things we didn�t even dream of in 1963. That�s when I wanted a cool little device called a transistor radio.

Miniature enough to fit into a jacket pocket, this �50s innovation let you take pop music or St. Louis Cardinals broadcasts anywhere. It was one more accounterment of cool that a kid with a thin veneer of confidence could use to try to close the gap between his fantasy girlfriend across a crowded classroom and a (gulp!) real one.

J.C. Penney had the one I wanted, silver and gray with a kind of mesh grill and a dark leather case that snapped shut. It also included an ear piece and cord for private listening.

But my parents said $15 was �more than we can afford right now.� Mom said, �Let�s talk to your grandmother. I know she wants to get you something nice that you really want for your birthday.�

When I asked Grandma, she said, �We�ll see.�

So I was hopeful.

Grandma was a great seamstress. She worked back in the sewing room at DeLaynes doing alterations, which she also did for family and others. I noticed one day that her money jar had more quarters and half dollars than usual, and even a few dollar bills. Grandma didn�t drive, so on my birthday we rode the city bus � Cape still had them then � to downtown. She gave me a handful of bills from her purse and some change. The bills smelled like the inside of her purse, like perfume, I guessed. She said after buying batteries, I could keep what was left and get a soda, a candy bar, maybe baseball cards.

Back on the bus I let Grandma listen to music with the ear piece. It was one of the happiest birthdays I ever had.

That night was a school night, so I went to bed at 9 o�clock, like I was supposed to. Secretly, I put my transistor under my pillow, muffled just enough for only me to hear. Pretending to sleep, I heard the sounds (and, somehow, the sights) of a late-night Dodger Stadium drift into my ear from 1,600 miles away. Young Cardinals pitcher Ray Washburn took a no-hitter into the seventh inning, but by then I had slipped away into California dreamin�.

The next morning I learned he had lost the no-hitter, but the Cardinals won. That night I fell asleep early, but the next night I willed myself to stay awake long enough to hear the Dodgers fans� ovation for pinch-hitter Stan Musial, who in his final season connected for a home run, the crack of the bat audible even through my pillow, bringing the fans to their feet � and me, as well. I played it off like I was getting a drink of water.

Our house was small, and the TV was just beyond the bedroom door. My transistor blocked out the scary �Twilight Zone� music that otherwise would creep through the wall into the dark bedroom that my two younger brothers and I shared. (I let them listen at times so they wouldn�t tell on me for breaking bedtime rules.)

Sometimes I�d tune in WLS with its strong signal out of Chicago. At 10 p.m., DJ Art Roberts would play, in reverse order, the top three most-requested songs in the Chicagoland area, as voted by listeners� phone calls. One night the top three were �Sugar Shack,� �South Street� and �Louie Louie.�

But the next night everything changed. At 10 o�clock I heard (and felt) a crash of thunder. Thunder that kept on rumbling � in rhythmic melody and harmony. I couldn�t believe what was coming through my little radio. This was a new kind of rock �n� roll, dense yet intricate, with dramatic beginnings and endings. They were called The Beatles, and soon they had all three spots, with �All My Loving,� �I Saw Her Standing There� and �I Want to Hold Your Hand.� The Beatles dominated the radio for months, and then years.

So thanks then to a cool little radio, one that brought me DJ Art Roberts coming in behind the silicone smooth promo: �Double-u-EL-es...Chi-cago.� Thanks to The Beatles and Cardinals voices Harry Caray, who signed off with �So long everybody,� and Jack Buck, who wrapped up the scoreboard show with, �Thanks for your time this time. Until next time, so long.�

And, of course, thank you, Grandma. And so long.