My recent column on the demise of the B-western stars brought immediate responses from Don Dale and Bill Farthing, sharing their memories of the old westerns.

Don Dale sent this note: “Hello Bob, Here I am again responding to one of your columns that rekindled tons of memories. I could go on for a lifetime about the Saturday westerns, particularly at the Tennessee Theatre. When I was a pre-teen, my father and his partner had their accounting office on the second floor, just adjacent to the upstairs balcony.

“Almost every Saturday, my brother, Glenn, and I went to the usual double-features and sat in the balcony for free, usually while Dad worked, watching Johnny Mack Brown, Whip Wilson, Lash LaRue, Tim Holt, Hopalong Cassidy movies and on and on. Popcorn was 10 cents. They had an occasional stage show with a cowboy star.

“My most vivid memory is going to see Lash LaRue on stage between a double feature. While Glenn and I were watching the first movie, unbeknown to us, LaRue came through the balcony door behind us and started down the steps where painting equipment was sitting from some touch-up work. He tripped over a ladder and went tumbling down the fortunately carpeted stairs, uttering a few unexpected but expressive remarks as he picked himself up. It was a real eye-opener for us.

“I used to love the cliffhanger serials that accompanied the westerns as well. My all-time favorite was “King of the Rocketmen” — perhaps you remember that one. He wore a silver helmet and turned knobs on the chest of his uniform to soar off — just like Superman. Man, those were the days. As usual, I could go on.”

Bill Farthing offered these words: “I enjoy so much your articles in the Johnson City Press.  Today was especially great because I too grew up in the theatre every Saturday watching what I have always viewed as true heroes – the silver screen cowboys.

“My theatre experience was in the Appalachian Theatre in Boone when my brother and I would walk every Saturday and between us pay 34 cents to watch the cowboys, most of the time twice and when there was a double feature we could see both of them twice, forgetting that it was getting very close to supper time.

“I hope I can find a copy of the book you referred to in your article.  It is sad that all of the cowboys are gone but one. But in addition to the wonderful memories you brought back to me, add Johnny Mack Brown, Rex Allen and Whip Wilson, along with a whole bevy of horses. 

“One of the highlights growing up was to see Hopalong Cassidy in person in Boone.  About fifteen years ago while working at Lees-McRae College I traveled with the clogging team and we always joined in the clogging competition at the NC State Fair. One year in a tent right next to the performance tent there was in person Lash LaRue. 

“Talk about memories.  I have a CD by Rex Allen, Jr. in which Rex Allen, Sr., before his death, did a narration on one of the songs “The Last of the Silver Screen Cowboys.”  One line in that narration indicates that the cowboys have died out, but memories don’t die.  They certainly haven’t for me and, like you said, all of them had a deep influence on me because right always won.  Thank you again for stirring these memories again and I look forward to your next column.”

I received several inquiries as to where Bobby Copeland’s book “B-Western Boot Hill” can be purchased. Most local bookstores could likely order it for you. Also, I found several sources listed on the Internet.  

As a huge fan of old cowboy flicks, I regularly attended the Liberty and Tennessee theatres as a young boy. The films were low budget productions, but most were anything but second rate; they made a profound impact on the youth of my generation.  

Bill Durham sent me two good Internet resources on the subject: Boyd Magers’ “Western Clippings” and Chuck Anderson’s “The Old Corral.” He also gave me a DVD movie, “Song of the Drifter,” by cowboy singing star, Jimmy Wakely, my favorite western crooner. In one scene, Jimmy offers his horse, “Lucky,” a drink from a wooden pail and then proceeds to swig from the same bucket. (Don’t try this at home.) Wakely made 28 westerns for Monogram Pictures between 1944 and 1949.

I acquired my fondness for Wakely’s singing in 1950 after my grandmother, Ethel Carroll, bought me a 78-rpm record containing two songs, “When a Speck in the Sky is a Bluebird” and “On the Strings of my Lonesome Guitar.” I now possess a fairly large collection of Wakely songs, many having been copied from breakable old dusty discs.

Some time ago, Mack Houston mailed me a copy of Bobby Copeland’s “B-Western Boot Hill – A Final Tribute to the Cowboys and Cowgirls Who Rode the Saturday Matinee Movie Range.” Sadly, most of the western heroes who once galloped across the big theatre screens in downtown Johnson City are deceased and residing in a “Boot Hill.” The lone exception (as of this writing) is 89-year-old Monte Hale (“Shoot low; they might be crawlin’”).

The book chronicles the people who helped make B-westerns a reality – cowboy stars, sidekicks, favorite heroines and supporting actors. The compilation also includes those actors who starred in serials (“Don’t miss the next exciting chapter of … at this theatre next week”).

Copeland’s paperback book provides newspaper reports of the passing of 66 “shoot-em-up” heroes; Gene Autry, Charles Starrett, Hopalong Cassidy, Johnny Mack Brown, Rod Cameron, Sunset Carson, “Wild” Bill Elliott, Allan “Rocky” Lane, Lash LaRue, Tex Ritter, Roy Rogers, Charles Starrett and Bob Steele were among them.

Another section documents 23 deceased sidekicks, the likes of Pat Brady (Rogers), Smiley Burnette (Autry), Pat Buttram (Autry), Andy Devine (Hickok) and three who appeared with numerous cowboys – Gabby Hayes, Fuzzy Knight and Al “Fuzzy” St. John.

Not to be excluded were 47 leading ladies, the most recognizable being Gail Davis (later guest starred on the Andy Griffith Show), Patsy Montana (yodeler, member of the National Barn Dance) and Linda Stirling (remembered for her “The Tiger Woman” cliffhanger serial).

“Boot Hill” also provides honorable mention to 60 B-western contributors such as songsters Johnny Bond (guitarist, country songwriter), Spade Cooley (western swing fiddler, singer, band leader), Bob Nolan (Canadian born singer, songwriter, member of the Sons of the Pioneers), Foy Willing (singer, teamed with the Riders of the Purple Sage) and Bob Wills (“King of Western Swing”).

The book likewise credits several desperados whose weekly dastardly deeds provided the good guys with someone to pursue. Every Saturday matinee idol probably “killed” bad hombre, Roy Barcroft, a dozen times, but after “dying” in one flick, he amazingly appeared in good health in the next one. I was surprised to see his name in “Boot Hill.”

Most of those who masterfully orchestrated the B-western films of yesteryear are now buried “on the lone prairie,” but they still firmly reside in the memories of us hard-core cowboy devotees. As Roy Rogers would say: “Happy trails to you until we meet again.”  

I received a letter from Lynn Williams, former chief engineer at radio station WBEJ in Elizabethton, saying he fondly remembers their remote broadcasts from atop Elizabethton’s Dutch Maid Drive-In on Elk Avenue.

“As engineer,” said Lynn, “I took care of the nuts and bolts of the operation, but was not averse to donning another hat, such as the ‘Musical Penthouse’ production. This was a creation of Bill Hale, a ‘ball of fire’ program director and future station manager. In 1956, I agreed to operate the studio equipment at night during the on-location program.”

According to Lynn, WBEJ transmitted Monday through Saturday nights from 7 pm until sign-off at midnight. The engineer recalled several announcers from that era: Curley White, Jim Berry, Ed Howze, E. Lee “Leaping Lee” Brown, Larry Hinkle and Harold “Hap” Henley Ziggy Ziggy Higgenbottom. Hap was the well-liked host of “Hap’s House in Session.”

The Dutch Maid penthouse, a four-foot by six-foot enclosure above the eatery, had plate glass windows on four sides, allowing outside patrons to observe the announcer. A bright florescent light fixture was mounted on the ceiling, making the disc jockey even more visible from below. The transmitting booth contained only the necessary equipment to play records over the air.

Climbing to the broadcast penthouse was no easy task. The announcer had to unsteadily scamper up the backside of the building, while carefully hanging onto the guttering and downspouts. This dicey inconvenience was deliberate; it kept people from going up to the booth and disturbing the deejay or falling off the roof.

A gold painted galvanized water bucket was used to accumulate song requests. It was routinely lowered and raised by the announcer to collect song titles from diners. A large wooden box contained 100 45-rpm records, representing the top hits of the day. These unbreakable vinyl platters had to be returned to the studio each night lest the sun’s heat ruin them the next day.

Williams further commented: “The brightness of the penthouse attracted oodles of flying bugs, forcing the announcers to make a choice – keep the door closed to keep out bugs and endure the heat or open it and let in cooler air and bugs.

“The station scheduled a 30-minute break at precisely 10 pm. I gave the news, sports and weather from the main studios. This allowed the deejay to ‘shinny’ down the drainpipe, visit with fans and get something to eat. Occasionally, he was late returning to the booth, prompting me to segue records until he arrived back at his post. This gave the illusion to listeners that the music was coming from the Dutch Maid. I occasionally chatted over the air with the remote disc jockey, but I was incognito known only as “Prof,” preferring to remain in the background.”

Lynn occasionally invited high school students into the studio through the unlocked door to play some of the ‘break time’ records. He taught them to operate the equipment and even helped a few obtain a license to work in radio. Fifty years later, he still recalls some of their names: Jim Luther, Don Swanner, Doug Greer and Bob Coffman.

The Dutch Maid remote continued intermittently until its demise in 1964. Lynn concluded his letter by saying: “It was a great time and it is too bad that it all came to an end. Sadly, most of the people I worked with at WBEJ are no longer living.” Like so many pleasurable things in life, they so quickly and quietly slip into yesteryear never to return. 

My introduction to the fascinating 3-D world of View Master occurred in 1948 when a friend of mine acquired one and showed it to me. This six-year-old boy was immediately awestruck and had to have one. 

Sawyer’s, Inc. manufactured the black bakelite viewer that utilized single 3.5 inch round cards, each containing 14 mini Kodachrome images that produced seven different stereo views. The user inserted one card at a time into the top of the viewer so that the first view number was displayed in the small information window that also contained a brief description of the scene.

Two “V” notches on the card helped align the reel in the viewer for the initial view. The person then looked in it while facing a bright light to examine the 3-D image. Pressing down a lever on the right side rotated the card to the next scene.

Between 1939 and 1950, View Master reels were sold individually, but by the early 1950s, several cards were bunched together and marketed in packets based on subject categories. For instance, reels 251-253 became the Carlsbad Caverns series. View-Masters were quite novel for the time, being an extension of popular stereoscopes that graced people’s parlors between 1858 and 1920. The new devices offered seven high-quality three-dimensional color views on each reel instead of a single one-dimension card.

Later, the company offered consumers viewers with built-in lights, talking reels and even a projector for watching the images on a screen without, of course, the 3-D effect. My preference was the small viewers. Credit for the novelty goes to William Gruber, who in 1939 teamed up with Harold Graves to form the View Master Company, which was introduced to the public in the early 1940’s. Although today aimed primarily at youngsters, View Master began its commercial life targeting people of all ages.

A multiplicity of subject matter ranging from nursery rhymes to domestic and foreign travel to movie stars was introduced. The company placed these words on each reel: “Seven More Wonders of the World.”

 I, being a child, preferred the FT (Fairy Tales) Series, which were introduced between 1946 and 1948. Each reel came in a sleeve along with a small foldout story booklet that gave a complete description of each view. Although the scenes were crudely animated, the detail and 3-D affects in the scenes were quite impressive. The FT series included: “Little Red Riding Hood,” “Hansel & Gretel,” “Jack and The Beanstalk,” “Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs,” “Cinderella and The Glass Slipper,” “Goldilocks and The Three Bears,” “The Three Little Pigs,” “Little Black Sambo” and “The Ugly Duckling.”

Like so many other nursery rhymes and fairy tales, they were a bit graphic as noted in the captions for Hansel and Gretel: 1. “Stepmother Plots To Lose Children in the Woods,” 2. “Hansel Drops Breadcrumbs Trail,” 3. “Hansel and Gretel Lost in Dark Forest,” 4. “Hansel and Gretel Led to Candy House,” 5. “Hansel Is Caged by Witch,” 6. “Gretel Pushes Witch into Oven” and 7. “Duck Carries Hansel and Gretel to Father.”

This was enough to give any normal child nightmares. Even the scenes were displayed in gory detail. For instance, the Little Red Riding Hood card showed the dead wolf’s carcass being drug into the woods by a rescuing woodman.

My love for View Masters continues to this day when I occasionally retrieve my old viewer and worn-out collection of cards and spend some quality time with my old favorite fairy tale characters, briefly returning to my peaceful world of yesteryear for a few minutes of sheer contentment.  

I recall a delightful Saturday morning children’s program over WJHL radio from about 1951 to 1953 titled “The Adventures of Princess Pet.” The sponsor was Pet Dairy Products, a Johnson City based business that began operation in 1929 at 106 S. Boone Street. The company produced 111 delightful 15-minute episodes.

I attribute my attraction for the radio series to my fondness for Brown Mules, vanilla ice cream bars coated with chocolate, and Brown Bears, solid chocolate ice milk bars. Both were produced on a splinterless wooden stick. I favored the stubborn hybrid work animal over the shaggy carnivorous mammal but eagerly wolfed down both. The frozen delights each cost a nickel – half of my weekly allowance. 

In addition to the weekly radio programs, the company published two 36-page, eight-chapter, color/b&w booklets titled “The Adventures of Princess Pet,” Volumes 1 and 2. Each volume contained a list of the “Royal Commands of Princess Pet” to her youthful listening audience, offering one per month such as always tell the truth, bring home a good report card, keep your room neat, look both ways before crossing a street; and regularly attend Sunday School.

An introductory page presented a short synopsis of the plot: “This is the story of some of the strange and wonderful things that happen in the beautiful Kingdom of Prince Pet in the Land of the Ice Cream Star. Nearby lies the Black Forest, a wicked, wicked place. The ruler of the forest is the Wicked Duke, who many years ago placed a curse upon the forest because Princess Pet’s mother, the Queen, refused to become his bride. If even the tiniest shadow of Black Forest falls upon you, you become enchanted.”

The most dazzling sketch in Vol. 1 was a full color page offering a panoramic view of Ice Cream Star. The text offered a colorful description of the frozen fantasyland: “Layers of soft, filmy clouds floated and sparkled in the warm sunlight. Everywhere around them were lakes of rich, fresh cream, rivers of bubbling chocolate and mound after mound of cherries, nuts, pineapples, peaches, coconuts and strawberries.”

The tiny elf-like workers, dressed in bright jackets, were “hustling and working everywhere – churning and turning, hopping and chopping, icing and slicing – making delicious Pet Ice Cream.”

Vol. 1 concluded in a “they lived happily ever after” fashion: “From high up in the sky over the castle, the Ice Cream Star looked down and smiled a special smile, for it was plain to see, Goodness would live forever in the Kingdom of Princess Pet.” Storylines from the series include “A Dragon Has Been Slain,” “Ice Cream Star Seeks Yellow Forest,” “Evil Duke Plans to Get the Golden Thread,” “Pet Brown Mule and Pet Brown Bear are Hiding” and “The Princess Dreams of Prince Gallant.”

The plot for Volume 2 entails Brown Bear and Brown Mule helping Princess Pet when some evil characters try to harm her. On one page, her majesty bestows membership in her Regal Court upon a little boy.

Youngsters like me eagerly tuned their Bakelite radios to the next broadcast each Saturday morning, at the sound of the clanging bottles, to follow the antics of Ms. Pet and her fantasized court. Situations always seemed to turn out right for the good guys and wrong for the evil ones, a condition all children fervently demanded.

If you have even a hint of memory of this long-ago radio program, please drop me a note and share it with me. 

My two previous J.J. Page Carnival articles prompted a note from Mrs. Shelby Davis: “My family once lived in the white house at the northwest corner of Watauga and Love Street. We moved there in 1946 when I was nine years old and lived there five years. The Page family house was diagonally behind ours on Highland. A spare lot adjoined our two houses.”

This relocation was shortly after Mr. Page died and about the time Mrs. Page took over the reins of the carnival from her husband during its waning four years. “Our house,” said Shelby, “overlooked three large white wooden storage buildings to the south between Love Street and the railroad tracks that served for years as the five-month winter headquarters for the Page Carnival. The Johnson City Foundry was adjacent to it to the west.”

Shelby said the east building on the Watauga Street side was the largest of the three and had two stories with the upper floor resembling a barn loft. The other two structures were smaller and occupied one floor. All three showed signs of deterioration. “The buildings had likely become a storage area for relics from the carnival’s glory days,” said Shelby. “There were things crammed everywhere in them, including a fairly large quantity of fabric, likely used to make decorations for the carnival. I also recall some old trucks parked around the property.

“Apparently, nothing of value was saved at this site because the Pages never locked the doors and no one was around to guard it. Since my brother and I were nosey,” quipped Shelby, “we often went over to the buildings to see what we could find. The middle building contained a lion locked up in a cage; I remember his large mane. There was also a bear chained and locked to a stake outside the east building along the left side. He wore a path around that stake as he went around and around it trying to escape.

“The west building had some laughing hyenas in cages and monkeys with long chains attached to stakes. Sometimes guests staying at our house would be startled late at night by strange animal sounds. Mom always warned us not to go around the bear because he was not inside a cage. The lion was caged so I guess she did not worry too much about him. These were the only animals I recall being stored there.”

Shelby recalled that a man came daily to feed the animals. She said he threw large chunks of meat into the lion’s cage. She and her brother hardly every saw anyone in the buildings except this person and occasionally some street people taking refuge there. The animals appeared to be reasonably cared for and fed, but she felt sorry for them because they apparently were unwanted remnants of the carnival days. They stayed confined on the property.

Shelby said that some of the more unusual items they found probably came from freak sideshows. There were numerous bizarre specimens contained in glass jars. The young pair once encountered what they believed to be Siamese twins inside of a wooden box. They were joined at their shoulders. Later, she became convinced that they were dummies made to look authentic. It was real enough looking to keep them away from it.

Dorothy Page Samier, Daughter of the Pages at Fountain Square, 1920s

Shelby concluded: “When we moved away from there in 1951, the three buildings were still standing but the animals had been removed by then.” When Shelby drives by that area today, she sees beyond a duck pond and an empty field and visualizes in her mind the electrifying J.J. Page Carnival. (Note: That area has since been cleared for ETSU student housing.)

Most area folks can sadly recall Sept. 1, 1981 when the Majestic Theatre closed its doors forever. The beautifully designed edifice, built in 1902, served the city well for 79 years with first-run motion pictures.

Pre-1928 movies were a far cry from those of today; the first ones sported black and white images that could be seen but not heard. Silent features consisted of several six to eight-minute reels that were alternately played on two projectors. This monotonous labor-intensive routine required projectionists to work hastily so as to avoid annoying film interruptions. Advanced technology soon permitted movies to fit onto one or two large reels.

An organist or pianist, positioned in front of the flickering screen, was often used to provide musical accompaniment. Inscribed words on the big screen kept the audience knowledgably of the action. The Majestic’s owners purchased a “Mighty Wurlitzer” theatre organ in 1926 at a cost of $20,000. Frank Wilson was the first organist.

In 1928, major cinematic improvements occurred with the introduction of sound, the first offering being the 1927 “talkie” movie, “The Jazz Singer,” starring noted “Mammy” singer and actor, Al Jolson. Sound tracks were recorded on large record discs. To synchronize sight and sound, the projectionist carefully keyed the record groove with the “start” frame on the film. Miscues were normal fare with film breakage and record skips, throwing movies out of sync.

In those days, film advertising on theatre “fronts,” as they were called, was the responsibility of the owners, thereby requiring a staff artist to create new ones each time the movie changed.

 The excitement of the first “talkie” motion picture to be shown at the Majestic Theatre can be sensed in a Sept. 13, 1928 Johnson City Chronicle article: “One of the most significant events in the history of motion pictures will occur next Monday, Sept. 17, when the Majestic Theatre introduces to the public of this section the marvels and wonders of this scientific age, Vitaphone and Movietone, pictures with a voice and soul.”

The article went on to state that Warner Brothers’ new technology was in its second year of existence and had been accepted at such leading cities as Philadelphia, Chicago, Boston, Atlanta, New York and Birmingham. The Majestic, affiliated with the Publix Theatres’ chain, was now ready to begin showing synchronized pictures.

The movie featured Al Jolson singing such songs as “Toot, Toot, Tootsie;” “Dirty Hands, Dirty Face;” Blue Skies;” and “Kol Nidre,” a Jewish prayer. Also included were the first talking news, Fox Movietone News, and other Vitaphone “shorts.” The Majestic Theatre owners expressed pride in being the first to announce the unique movie for East Tennessee, Southwest Virginia and Western North Carolina.

“The Jazz Singer” occupied the bill for the first part of the week and a new film, “Glorious Betsy,” played the second half. Matinee prices were 10 cents for children and 35 cents for adults. Showings after 6 p.m. were the same for children but 50 cents for adults.

 The newspaper article concluded with a message from theatre management: “The Majestic Theatre extends an invitation to the people of the outside cities and towns to avail themselves of this opportunity of seeing and hearing the latest and best pictures at all times in Johnson City, as Vitaphone and Movietone will become permanent policy at this Publix playhouse.” 

My April 2007 article, concerning the J.J. Page Carnival that visited Johnson City each April between about 1930 and 1949, prompted a letter from a reader: “My name is Charles Howell. I now own the J.J. Page home place just off Watauga Ave. where Mr. and Mrs. Page lived when they operated the carnival in the 30s and 40s.”

Charles said that he never attended any of the Page carnival shows because he was not born until several years after it ended its run.

I asked him if he knew much about this family. He responded: “J.J. and Minnie's only daughter, Dorothy Page Samier, lived in the house until age and health concerns forced her into a nursing home. She had two daughters both of whom left Johnson City in the late 70s.”   

Charles explained that a collection of carnival artifacts was left behind in his basement that included several costumes, a sideshow tent, old letters, photos and other related paraphernalia.  

Unfortunately, due to age, moisture, rodents and other harsh conditions, the fabric items were not salvageable. Howell sent me several photos that cover the carnival’s long colorful history: 

1- Minnie Page in the 1920s.

2- J.J. and Minnie Page.

3- $300 Unaka and City Bank check written July 16, 1926 to “Cash” against the Unaka and City National Bank: It contains a picture of the business that once operated from the tall building at E. Main and Spring streets, later becoming the site of the Hamilton National Bank.

4- A $25 personalized check from J.J. Page Exhibition reads “Modern Shows and Up-To-Date Rides” written to the “Red Store” dated Sept. 18, 1941: The financial institution on the check is “The Banking and Trust Company, Jonesboro, Tennessee.” Two retail grocery “Red Stores” were in business that year in Johnson City, one at 266 W. Market at W. Watauga and the other at 210 N. Roan.

5, 6- Two photos of the Page carnival: Can someone identify the location of these two pictures? One site was opposite Memorial Stadium near Tannery Knob and another one east on Main at Broadway within sight of Belle Ridge. 

7- Carnival Admission tickets: The cost was 26 cents per person. “Est. Price 22 cents – Federal Tax 4 cents.”

8- Advertising card containing the words: “J.J. Page Exhibition Shows – Better Class Amusements.”

9- Envelope from a letter written by a carnival worker in Augusta, GA and addressed to Mr. Page in Johnson City on Dec. 25, 1935: The writer first wishes the family a merry Christmas and a happy New Year and then informs his boss that he is out of groceries and wants enough money sent to buy paint because he says that he is “tired of laying around now.” 

The envelope and letter logo each contain the words: “J.J. Page Exhibition Shows; J.J. Page Owner & Manager; Consisting of Shows, Riding Devices, Concessions, Bands and Free Acts; Permanent Address and Winter Quarters, Johnson City, Tenn.”

10- Photo of two carnival cowboys addressed “To our friend, J.J. Page” from “Shot Gun and Jim.”

The last item that Charles sent was an undated article from “Modern Mechanix and Inventions” titled, “You Can’t Win – How Carnival Racketeers Rob the Public of Vast Sums in Carnival Games.” The publication humorously said that it is easier for a three-legged horse to win the Kentucky Derby than for a carnival goer to win a rigged carnival prize.

Charles further whetted my historical appetite with these remarks:  “I still have a couple of boxes full of J.J. Page items. When I get time, I will dig them out and send you more.” Needless to say, I am anxiously waiting. 

During the early 1950s, I hurried home after school each weekday afternoon to complete my homework and chores in time to watch “The Howdy Doody Show.” The opening theme song contained these memorable words: “It’s Howdy Doody Time, It’s Howdy Doody Time, Bob Smith and Howdy Do, Say Howdy Do to you.”

NBC affiliate WBTV television in Charlotte beamed Buffalo Bob’s popular television extravaganza into Johnson City television sets at about 5:30, aiming primarily at youngsters between the ages of 2 and 11.

I routinely found my way into the living room of our next-door neighbors, the Gaines Johnson family, to watch the antics of Mr. Doody and his colorful cast of zany Doodyville characters on their small fuzzy black and white TV screen. The program would later become the first network program to be broadcast in color. The show’s lineup included the voiceless Clarabell (Hornblower) the Clown, Chief (Kowabonga) Thunderthud, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, (Sea) Captain Scuttlebutt, the amalgamated Flub-a-Dub, Mayor Phineas T. Bluster and Dilly Dally (a carpenter).

Clarabell pantomimed his way through the show, honked his belt horn and squirted people in the face with a seltzer bottle. We kids loved it. Bob Keeshan, the show’s first Clarabell, later became TV’s “Captain Kangaroo.” Judy Tyler, a pretty brunette, portrayed the beloved Princess of the Tinka Tonka tribe, the role initially introduced as a puppet and later transformed into a real person. Smith prerecorded Howdy’s voice on 16-inch acetate discs. A station attendant manually stopped and started them on a turntable as conversation flip-flopped between the pair.

The guests’ viewing area, known as the Peanut Gallery, began with just 12 youngsters but soon expanded to almost 100. The few available tickets were in constant demand. Buffalo Bob Smith introduced the 11-stringed wooden Howdy Doody marionette, first on radio in 1947 and then on television in “Puppet Playhouse.” It was subsequently renamed “The Howdy Doody Show.” The freckled faced all-American mannequin was not seen until the third episode because his fabrication was not yet finished. Only his shy sounding voice could be heard emitting from a partially opened drawer.

Legal hassling brought a change in the puppet’s overall appearance, depicting him with red hair and 48 freckles (one for each state then). American Magazine endorsed the dangling dapper for President, proclaiming him “President of All the Kids in the U.S.” Howdy and Buffalo participated in such notable events as lighting New York’s Rockefeller Center Christmas tree and leading the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. The show’s bosses launched a massive marketing campaign that consisted of such items as drink glasses, comic books, T-shirts, lunchboxes, beanie caps and wind-up toys.

After a 13-year run, escalating production costs eroded the program’s profitability causing the show that began in 1947 to be cancelled in 1960 after 2543 episodes. The most heartrending moment on the air came just seconds before the final broadcast when the once-speechless Clarabell surprised his grieving viewing audience by saying in a choked up and almost inaudible voice, “Good-bye, kids.”

Efforts to launch “The New Howdy Doody Show” proved futile. With the once-noisy Peanut Gallery now deathly silent, the little freckle-faced former personality was officially laid to rest at DC’s Smithsonian Institute.