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Lon Cheney and Jon Kyle’s Brain

I grew up in that time period when television was still a luxury. I still remember the small, black and white sets where the “vertical hold” was a critical adjustment. A slight deviation on the setting and the picture would roll up or down and drive my father whacky as he’d scramble to adjust it as he missed Bobby Lane’s long pass to Jim Doran as his Lions beat the Cleveland Browns on the way to the NFL championship in 57. My dad used to tune the TV with his right hand; he’d slap the side of the box until the screen finally held still for another minute or two.

It was a magic period in the land of television as the studios experimented with equipment, techniques, scripts and even shows broadcast in color.  Not many people could afford the color sets, but the color wasn’t too hot anyway so it was no big deal. It was a time when many of the shows were broadcast live.

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A Dirty Word

What happened to the Art of Compromise? Has it fallen on hard times, sucked under by the quicksand of obsolescence much like magazines, newspapers and, to hear Amazon tell it, books? “Compromise” has become a dirty, ugly word. If we can’t have everything we want when we want it, we don’t want anything. And all of this time I thought half of a biscuit was better than no biscuit given that half would stave off hunger until you could scrounge up a meal.

Perhaps compromise should be the jumping off place, the first step on the path to agreement instead of the last. The car mired in the mud stays mired in the mud until people work together to free it and send it on its way to its destination. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t take the first step. Sitting on one’s fear-mongering butt spewing idiotic non-factual comments at the top of one’s lungs only irritates the throat and elevates the blood pressure.

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