Radio

 Back in the early ‘50s, we would pile into the family sedan and would drive from our big city home to my maternal grandparents’ very rural farm house, which boasted a kitchen pump that counted as indoor running water and a Rayburn stove that was responsible for keeping the entire home warm. There was a party line telephone that served as that generation’s facebook. And last, there was an outhouse. However, we children were too small to use it without adult assistance and at night were relegated to the potty under the bed.

The very formal parlor which, again, we could only enter when an adult was with us, contained the most magnificent radio that I had ever seen. It was almost two feet across and over a foot high. The frame was a very shiny mahogany color and the pale yellow screen lit up when the radio was turned on. Equally fascinating were the half dozen lines across its screen. We didn’t know what the letters or bands meant. My brothers and I nonetheless whispered to each other; Why wasn’t it on? What was it for? What were these extra letters? None of our friends had radios like this one. They all had radios like ours; an AM-FM that, when turned on, as every six year old knew, meant we would soon sing and dance along with the music. Radios were for fun. But this radio was different. We knew it was more important than ordinary radios because it sat on its own little table atop a hand crotched  doily.

Another adult mystery was the fact that this radio would sit silently all day long. It would be turned on very late at night, long after we had been sent to bed. But, we could see the adults and listen to their conversations through the floor grids. It was weird to us that they didn’t seem happy when it was turned on; everybody liked music, but this radio did not play music. We could hear the click when the radio was turned on. Then we could hear static noises, then voices in different languages as the tuner was moved across the screen, until my grandfather finally found the station they were looking for; the all important RAI - Italian radio broadcasting. 

At the time, of course, my brothers and I were too young to understand about international shortwave broadcasting or the reasons for the vigil that our families kept around the radio. Although WWII technically was over, we had family members who still lived in Italy and the adult fears that communism would take over Italy, as it had the other eastern European countries was their very real concern. They would listen intently to the news, then silently turn it off and find their way to their own beds. The next morning the commentary was of concerns that left no room for us in their conversations.

But the years went by, prosperity eventually returned to Europe and our remaining family members arrived on these shores. Our grandparents prospered and moved to a boring house with indoor plumbing, central heating, a refrigerator and a single line telephone. As we were growing older, our own lives took over in importance. I don’t know what happened to my grandparents’ magical mysterious magnificent radio but I wish I did. It was beautiful for so many reasons.