The contraption shown here was part of a 1950 RCA test of the capabilities of UHF television. The truck, carrying an extension ladder, cruised the streets of Bridgeport, Connecticut, to test the signal being put out by its experimental UHF television station, KC2XAK.

Inside the station wagon was a TV receiver evaluating the quality of the picture being received from the antenna atop the ladder.

The article from which this picture is taken, the August 1950 issue of Popular Science, points out that cities such as Bridgeport faced challenges getting television. With only twelve VHF channels allocated, the stations in New York had already filled the quota. Bridgeport was too far away for good over-the-air reception, but too close to use the same channels in use in New York or the adjacent ones. The solution was seen in setting up a “slave” UHF station. KC2XAK was rebroadcasting the signal of WNBT in New York, to about 100 homes in Bridgeport that had been equipped with UHF converters. The video was received by the relay station from a microwave feed from the Empire State Building. The audio was simply received over the air for retransmission.

The article noted that reception by the test households was good, and that UHF offered a promising way to deliver television to smaller cities.

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Sixty years ago, this was the community television antenna in Ellensburg, Washington, located about 100 miles east of Seattle, with a mountain range in between. It consists of sixteen stacked yagis, half for channel 4, and half for channel 5.

The system was shown in the June 1955 issue of Radio-Electronics,
which reported that the people of Ellensburg were receiving nearly perfect pictures with the new antenna system. The two Seattle stations were KOMO-TV on channel 4, and KING-TV on channel 5.

The same issue lists KCTS as being on the air on channel 9 in Seattle. That noncommercial educational station had just gone on the air in December 1954.

More information about the antenna system can be found in the Ellensburg Daily Record, March 9, 1954.

Radio & Television News, March 1955.

This photo from 60 years ago shows someone doing a job that doesn’t exist any more, namely, TV repair. In particular, it shows Tempe, Arizona, TV serviceman Dick Ramos, owner of the three person company. In addition to himself, he employed an assistant who rode with him on the truck, and an office girl who staffed the shop downtown, taking phone calls and walk-in service requests. Ramos pointed out that it wasn’t necessary to hire a highly trained television repairman to staff the shop. “In a short time an intelligent office girl will know more about a television set than 95 per-cent of the customers she deals with.” Ramos contracted with a radio paging service to relay messages during the day, and he maintained an efficient operation. The truck contained a complete shop with a full array of test equipment, as well as a complete set of service bulletins.

I’ve shared previously about my deprived childhood. We didn’t have a color TV. We didn’t have a real fireplace–we had a carboard fireplace. I didn’t have a TV in my room. We didn’t even own a robot, which I was convinced that most more affluent families owned. Yes, it was horrible.

But before you express too much sympathy, I guess I had better ‘fess up. We had a built-in TV. That’s right, down in the basement rec room, we had a TV that was permanently built in to the wall. As far as I know, it came with the house. In a small locked room, which we called “the TV room,” for want of a better name, the chasis of the set was there in all of its glory, with a piece of twin-lead cut as an antenna.

I remember that the set was an Admiral, and I’ve been able to figure out that it was a 1958 model, designed to be built in. The set tuned VHF only, meaning that it couldn’t be used to watch the fleeting signals of our only UHF station, channel 17.

I was able to find out some information thanks to the apparent practice of the Miami News to simply run a company’s press release as news. The August 4, 1957, edition of that paper carries a story under the headline “Built-In TV Announced By Admiral,” which almost certainly describes the model that was embedded in our wall. The article/press release enthusiastically reports that Admiral’s television sales manager, Ross D. Siragusa, Jr., had just announced the set’s 110-degree angle picture tube, along with the slim chassis depth of only 16 inches, made it the first nationally advertised set suitable for built-in applications or custom cabinetry.

The article identifies our set as being Admiral model B121F1, and that it included the “Imperial 440 chassis.” I found the image of this set, identical to the one in our basement, in a furniture catalog, apparently from 1958.

Our TV even made Life Magazine. The April 7, 1958, issue carries an Admiral advertisement masquerading as an article, given away by the tiny word “ADVERTISEMENT” at the beginning. (We see that Admiral was able to quite successfully push the envelope when it came to publicity.) The “article” recounts the experiences of an Elgin, Illinois, milkman who found himself inspired by visiting the modern kitchens of the well-to-do residents of Elgin. He was very impressed by the built-in appliances in their homes. He came to the realization that he could duplicate the effect in his own kitchen on a milkman’s salary by using free-standing Admiral appliances with the “built-in look.”

In the picture shown here, we can see him being inspired in one of those upper-class kitchens. And sure enough, one of the luxuries enjoyed by those high-class Elgin residents was a built-in Admiral TV. They were so rich that they were able to incongruously put the $239 21-inch TV right in the kitchen.

Both renditions had the dual speakers mounted in a grill right above the set, just like ours.

Those of us who weren’t quite so well to do didn’t have a TV in the kitchen, much less a gigantic 21-inch model. We had to settle for having it in the basement, and we couldn’t even get the elusive Channel 17. But that stands to reason, since we didn’t even have our own robot like those rich folks in Elgin probably did.

Our built-in B121F1 appears to be identical to the T21E21 which came with cabinet. It also appears to be identical with the console shown in this ad.

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Here’s something I lusted after as a youngster: A battery operated TV! Fifty years ago, the February 1965 issue of Popular Science reviewed the available options, and proclaimed that all of the eight models tested performed so well that they can’t help but be popular. It noted that most of the portables with telescoping antennas outperformed home sets with outside antennas. They all had good picture and sound quality. They ranged in size from “the size of a desk dictionary” up to “as big as a bowling ball bag.” The article noted that models using rechargable batteries, which were good for about 50 charges, would work out to about 6 cents per viewing hour. Normal dry cell batteries would work out to about 40 cents an hour.

Screen sizes ranges from four inches up to nine. The article noted that the four-inch models were useful only for one person viewing, but the nine-inch models would accomodate a group. All of the sets could also be powered with household AC current, and many came with the plug to watch in the car on 12 volts.

But alas, for an impecunious youngster, the prices were all well out of reach, ranging from $149.95 up to $199.95.

Note:  If you’re looking for a modern battery operated or 12 volt TV, please visit the guide on my website.

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