Saturday mornings have belonged to kids since the earliest days of television. And the King of Saturday morning was Howdy Doody. _SJ
My television debut was in 1954 at the age of seven on The Howdy Doody Show. It was the fruition of my then life-long ambition. The experience had a profound effect on me.
So excited was I to be in Doodyville (a suburb of New York City) that I forgot to wave from the Peanut Gallery to my fans back in Baltimore. Family, friends, and neighbors gathered in my grandparents' living room for the great occasion didn't notice my lapse. To them I could do no wrong. I was the cutest, most talented, and smartest peanut in the shell. Everyone was sure Buffalo Bob would 'discover' me. I was the Great Jewish Hope, little girl division. Up until then, most female child stars were blondes, except for Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. But she was growing up fast and another, younger brunette was needed. One who could ride horses like Liz and tap dance like Shirley Temple, both. That's where I came in.
Turns out I didn't get to demonstrate my shuffle-ball-chain or my sidesaddle on the show, but while there I acquired a new skill. Apparently, I did an uncanny impression of Sandy the Witch, one of Doodyville's minor residents. Never as well known as corrupt Mayor Phillias T. Bluster, or Dilly Dally or the Flub-a-dub, Sandy had a distinctive witchy voice. I can still imitate her today, though it helps no one remembers what she sounded like, including me.
My own memories of the show itself are sketchy, except for amazement at how much bigger Howdy was in person than on TV: he was my size! And when I looked into those earnest blue glass eyes, I lost my heart and forgave him for not returning my affection and not making me a star.
Thus began my life-long propensity for falling in love with unattainable men. Rhett Butler, Franz Liszt, Howdy. A fictional character, a dead man, a puppet.
Unfortunately, I haven't changed. My current love interest is all three.
Damn you, Doody!
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