by Peter Loewer

The Curmudgeon fell upon hard times down at the General Store. Folks had taken most of his pronouncements — albeit with the traditional grain of organic salt — exactly as they were fed to them. But when it came to his recent take on the sacred cow of commercial TV, notably his dissection of “Fox so-called News,” after just a few hours of viewing, voices at the store began to raise in protest.

“Certainly,” said Breadman, as he tried in vain with some Scotch tape to repair a broken segment of cellophane on a box of chocolate donuts, “there is more to TV than one evening of viewing at your sister’s house?”

“Heck,” said Cityfella, “even I watch commercial television.” It should be noted he said nothing more.

“And,” said the local antenna expert who after an absence of twenty years appeared about a year ago, older but certainly wiser, was looking for an aerial brace in a large box of old TV equipment because his business of installing UHF antennas had picked up with the general increase of rates for cable and the downturn in the economy.

“There are a lot of TVs out there, he added, “and not all those owners are completely wrong?”

“How about it?” asked Storekeep.

“Well, I did have the opportunity to watch some Educational TV last week since my brother-in-law was busy tuning his snow-mobile engine, and I’m afraid that in my humble opinion it fares no better than the other.”

“Oh, come now!”

“Huh?”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yep,” Curmudgeon replied to all. “I saw a stupid show on keeping track of wandering kangaroos in Sydney Australia (kind of like flocks of deer without jumping legs) — obviously more fun than hauling a possum up a pole; a rerun if installing wet bars on a gardening show six months out of season; a rerun of an old Lawrence Welk Show; and a fundraiser (one of hundreds) to expand service perhaps over to the Tennessee line.”

He paused for effect.

“And yet, there was one that warmed the cockles of my heart.”

“What?” they all demanded in unison.

“A Saturday afternoon showing of ‘Tarzan, the Ape Man.’ It was wonderful. Johnny Weissmuller was Tarzan, Maureen O’Sullivan was Jane and the story involved their initial meeting and how they fell in love. It was only black and white and some of the acting a bit wooden, but the jungle was real — and full of animals and — of course — Cheetah, the chimp.”

“Heavens above,” said Breadman, “I think Cheetah just died a few weeks ago — always thought that bananas were great for the system.”

“You asked me,” said the Curmudgeon, “and for one thing that movie has something that many lack today and that’s consistency — a lot more than offered by the web or the net. I grew up on those movies and perhaps the Janes changed and our Johnny did get a bit heavier in the late 40s forcing him to wear more clothes and finally starring as a uniformed “Jungle Jim” but all throughout there was Cheetah, the greatest actor of them all.

“In every film he warned of danger, helped Jane escape, was a pal to their son Boy, and ate those insecticide-free bananas — that chimp had guts!”

Breadman left.

“I didn’t grow up with hair long one year and short the next, or one rock group eclipsing another every six months, or color shots of automobile accidents and wars during the dinner hour, or an inflation rate that continues to be hidden, or those medical ads featuring couples in outdoor bath tubs. All through the end of The Great Depression and on to the war years I had Tarzan, Jane, and Boy and, I admit, a simple-minded but nevertheless fine education in morality.”

“And now you’re stuck with it,” said Storekeep.

“I wonder who’s stuck with what,” said Curmudgeon.