In 1952, the Korean War was dragging on, the Cold War was raging, McCarthyism was at its height, Kitty Wells was singing �If You�ve Got the Money, Honey, I�ve Got the Time,� the number one song in the country, and most importantly, Gannaway Mitchell bought the first television in Winfield.
I�m sure that all of Winfield�s residents had heard of the marvelous invention, but Winfield hadn�t yet heard that the depression was over. Money was as tight as Sunday shoes, and putting food on the table was most everybody�s concern, but somehow Gannaway had found the money for a twenty-one inch, round screen, Philco television. The day he brought it home, a crowd had gathered early. In fact, Daddy said it was the biggest crowd he�d seen in Winfield since 1945 when a Cotton Belt troop train with Audie Murphy on board had stopped briefly to take on water and pick up the mail.
When Gannaway drove in and brought his �50 Mercury to a stop, a hush fell over the crowd. People pushed forward for a better look as he and his wife Jane removed the television from the back seat of the car and shuffled gingerly into the house. To the amazement of the crowd, they closed the door behind them without inviting anyone in to witness the installation. The throng remained intact, however, except for Mama who went home long enough to check her pinto beans cooking on the stove. She made me promise to fill her in on any details she might miss.
By the time Mama returned, the crowd had turned a bit surly as neighbors milled about, expressing their discontent that Gannaway and Jane had treated them like strangers. Suddenly, the front door opened and with a magnanimous sweep of their arms, they allowed the grumbling crowd inside.
Pushing and shoving, I made my way to the front of the group. There on the screen was the darndest picture I�d ever seen. It was an Indian�s head with all sorts of lines and designs surrounding it. �God Almighty, Bill, look at that!� I whispered to my brother.
�That�s called a test pattern, Dumb Butt; I read about it in my science book at school,� Bill replied.
Gannaway turned the channel button and fuzzy pictures began taking shape. I thought it was kinda strange that everywhere we turned it was snowing, considering that it was late June, but Bill who seemed to know just about everything explained that it was called interference. He said the picture would clear up once Gannaway put up the antenna outside.
It wouldn�t be long before TV antennas began appearing at half the houses in Winfield. We even talked Daddy into buying our first TV. Since that day I have witnessed the advent of color TV with screens almost as big as those at drive-in movies. I have witnessed on TV the death of a president in Dallas, the first men stepping on the moon, the crumbling of the Berlin Wall, and at least two wars that came nightly into everybody�s living room. I�ve watched quality TV and trash, tragedy and triumph, heart transplants and heartbreak, but everything pales in comparison to that summer day in Gannaway�s living room when that fuzzy Indian�s head suddenly appeared from nowhere and mesmerized everyone in the room.
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