Think About It. I Don’t Get It. Like lunatic twins fresh from the funny farm, Wade and Monte mostly maintained a semblance of sanity on WJOT’s Morning Jam. On Family of the Corn, a feature at the time, Wade, the youngest of my offspring, mentioned a Jiffy Pop television commercial with Harry Blackstone Jr. While my boyhood friend has been gone for 19 years, the treat you heat ’til it explodes is still available. In the studio the pause was painful as the telling fell on deaf ears, an additional hardship for his fast-thinking, fast-talking, blind side-kick. You see, The World’s Second Greatest Magician’s father was truly The World’s Greatest Magician.
Before air was cooled in theatres and opera houses of the lingering 30’s, two long railroad cars would arrive about the time school was out for the summer in Colon, Michigan. Excited locals would watch as a tired troupe of performers, “lovely” assistants, stage hands and equipment exited. This was the closest thing to what we’d heard about when the “circus came to town” in places we’d never been.
Exotic animals which had disappeared in tiny towns and great cities worldwide, suddenly reappeared. We watched as camels and ponies paraded up the hill to the barn on “Blackstone’s Island”. Poultry and (Surprise!) rabbits were carted less ceremoniously, ‘ though not with less care, to be sheltered and retrained along with on-stage humans for a new show next fall. All these people, gear and excitement would be part of a small village previously populated by about 500. If you really want to know how much excitement there was, you might ask Billy Watson. He might even tell you. Of course it’s Bill now. For the famous “Monk” Watson’s well-travelled son, a former telephone company Washington lobbyist, maybe even Mr. Watson would be advised. Sadly from this digital distance I can’t see a glimmer of recognition in your eyes or hint of fleeting memory as I retell these glorious tales.
Wade’s stunned surprise is the first of many as he tries to tell a joke or share thoughts with younger friends. Oh, how I recall that first pain of seeing the blankness in the eyes and wondering if I should try to explain the irony or humor in my repartee’. By the way, in the day, light banter was called gay repartee’ for its pleasant euphony, but that went the way of Gay Paris (Pa-ree) and the Gay Divorcee’. And how could I forget the truly amazing Gay Blackstone, the perfect partner for Harry Blackstone, Jr.
Almost twenty years ago, I packed up and travelled east from California to share radio with then 33 year old broadcast entrepreneur, Wade Weaver. He was suddenly shocked to notice that he was half as old as his “old” man. And now, even when he waxes eloquent of famous people in memorable situations, he has already seen the steady stare that accompanies I Don’t Get It. Think About It.
Bonus picture of Harry B., Harry Jr. at 5 and Wade’s dad with then dark well-parted hair.