online community focused on sharing and reminiscing about video, audio, and images that stir our memories of the past – old television, theme songs, commercials, print advertisements, the sights and sounds you remember
Before LED light strips and remotes, we had to do it the old-school way in the 1970s. If you wanted to make your room look cool, you went with black lights, lava lamps, strobe lights, flicker lights, and if you were really lucky, a color organ. This old Spiegel catalog page is a great reminder of just how different mood lighting was back then.
For me, it was number 7, the Listen-Light, also known as a color organ. You plugged it in, played your music, and the lights changed with the sound. Back then, that felt futuristic. Today it seems simple compared to all the LED lighting options out there, but in the 70s this stuff was magic. Which lights did you own?
Did she ever call your name? Oh, the simple joys of Romper Room. That Magic Mirror had every kid sitting at home waiting, hoping Miss Nancy would say their name before the show ended. And if she did, you felt like you had just made national television from the living room floor.
I told you my father was a Marine, so we grew up in Virginia or North Carolina so we watched Miss Nancy on WBAL. But I never realized back then that there wasn’t just one “Miss Nancy.” Romper Room was franchised and syndicated, meaning different cities often had their own local hostesses using the same basic format.
The original Romper Room began in Baltimore in the early 1950s and was created by Bert and Nancy Claster, with Nancy Claster becoming the first well-known “Miss Nancy.” It was aimed at preschool children and felt like a TV nursery school, with songs, games, stories, manners, and those famous lessons about being a “Do Bee” instead of a “Don’t Bee.”
And then came the part we all remember: “Romper, bomper, stomper boo…” Miss Nancy would look through the Magic Mirror and start naming children she supposedly saw watching at home. We knew she probably couldn’t really see us, but at that age you weren’t taking chances. You sat there quietly, behaved like a Do Bee, and waited for your name.
That is what made the show work. She treated the camera like another child in the room, so the kids watching at home felt included too. It was simple television: a teacher, a few children, a Jack-in-the-box, a magic mirror, and lessons about being polite.
No explosions, no superheroes, no fast cuts (ok, maybe a clown in the Jack-in-the-box). Just Miss Nancy asking if we had fun at play.
And yes, I still remember waiting for my name. Did she ever call yours?
It still wasn’t as bad as when Dad turned on Lawrence Welk, but Hee Haw always felt like the country cousin of Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In. It had the same quick jokes, blackout skits, silly one-liners, and regular cast bits, just with more overalls, cornfields, banjos, and country music stars dropping by.
The show first aired in 1969, right around the same era when Laugh-In was still the cool, fast-moving comedy show everyone was talking about. Hee Haw took that same rapid-fire style and gave it a country spin, and somehow it stuck around for years. Even if you weren’t a big country music fan, you probably remember the corny jokes, the haystacks, the “salute” segments, and someone in the house laughing at lines that made the rest of us groan. And who can forget Grandpa?
Back in our day, we had breakfast with clowns, and somehow nobody thought that was strange.
Post Sugar Rice Krinkles was one of those cereals that could only come from that golden age of Saturday morning television, when cereal companies put sugar right in the name and then sent a clown on TV to tell us it was part of a good breakfast. The cereal itself was a sweetened crisp rice cereal from Post, but the real memory-jogger was Krinkles the Clown, who showed up in those early commercials with that classic 1950s “fun for kids, slightly terrifying for adults” energy.
Looking back now, it is funny how normal that all seemed. We had clowns selling cereal, puppets selling chocolate, cartoon animals selling everything else, and we just sat there in our pajamas eating it all up before the cartoons came on. Sugar Rice Krinkles may be long gone, but it sits right in that strange and wonderful cereal aisle of our memories, back when breakfast was sweet, the commercials were catchy, and apparently clowns were welcome at the table.
Super Friends was one of those Saturday morning cartoons that made DC superheroes feel like they all lived in the same neighborhood. It first aired on ABC in 1973 and was produced by Hanna-Barbera, bringing together Superman, Batman and Robin, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and later other heroes from the Justice League world.
The show was definitely made for kids, so the action was toned way down compared to the comic books. Instead of darker superhero stories, you got teamwork, moral lessons, danger, science-fiction plots, and everybody meeting at the famous Hall of Justice. Early on, the show even had kid sidekicks Wendy, Marvin, and Wonder Dog, before later seasons brought in the much better-remembered Wonder Twins, Zan and Jayna, with their monkey Gleek.
For a lot of us, the best-remembered version is probably Challenge of the Superfriends from 1978. That’s the one that gave us the Legion of Doom, led by Lex Luthor, with villains like Cheetah, Riddler, Bizarro, Scarecrow, Captain Cold, Black Manta, and Solomon Grundy. Their creepy swamp headquarters, the Hall of Doom, was almost as memorable as the heroes themselves.
Looking back, Super Friends could be corny, stiff, and sometimes unintentionally funny, but that was also part of its charm. For a whole generation, this was the first time we saw Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and the rest of the gang teaming up every Saturday morning. Before the big movies, before the modern animated Justice League shows, this was our superhero universe.
Nothing gave me more fun and joy as a child than playing in the backyard with my Buddy L trucks.
The early Buddy L trucks were made from heavy pressed steel, which made them feel like real construction equipment shrunk down for a kid. The brand started with the Moline Pressed Steel Company in East Moline, Illinois, founded by Fred Lundahl, whose company originally made automobile and truck parts before moving into toys in the early 1920s.
The name Buddy L came from Lundahl’s son, Arthur, whose nickname was “Buddy.” The story goes that Lundahl made a sturdy toy truck for his son using the same kind of steel his company worked with, and it turned into something much bigger. By 1921, Buddy L trucks were being produced as toys, and they quickly became known for being big, tough, and realistic. Over the decades, the brand changed hands several times. By the 1990s and early 2000s, Buddy L had been sold through different companies, and the original manufacturing era was over.
That is what made them so special. A Buddy L dump truck, fire truck, wrecker, steam shovel, or delivery truck did not just sit on a shelf. You took it outside. You loaded it with dirt, rocks, sticks, sand, and whatever else you could find. You built roads, dug holes, made construction sites, and probably scratched the heck out of the paint without caring one bit.
For a lot of us, Buddy L trucks were not just toys. They were backyard equipment. They had weight, they had metal, they had working parts, and they made you feel like you were running the whole job site. Long before video games gave kids virtual worlds to build, a Buddy L truck, a patch of dirt, and a little imagination were all we needed.
Looking back, that is probably why they are so collectible today. They remind people of a time when toys were built like the real thing, and when a kid could spend an entire afternoon outside with one truck and never be bored.
Oh, I can hear my mother singing along with Phyllis Diller on this one! Thanks to the viewer who requested this last week, it brought back a forgotten memory!
The Pruitts of Southampton was one of those 1960s sitcoms that had a wild setup and an even wilder star. It aired on ABC during the 1966-67 season and starred Phyllis Diller as Phyllis Pruitt, a supposedly rich Southampton widow trying to keep up appearances after the IRS discovers the family is actually broke. Instead of losing everything, she has to keep living like high society while secretly cutting corners and trying to hold the whole mansion together.
The show had a pretty impressive cast around her too, including Gypsy Rose Lee, Richard Deacon, Reginald Gardiner, and even Lisa Loring, who many of us remember as Wednesday from The Addams Family. Later in the season, the show was renamed The Phyllis Diller Show, but it still only lasted one season.
And yes, that catchy theme had a familiar name behind it: Vic Mizzy, the same composer who gave us The Addams Family theme. That probably explains why so many people remember the tune even if they barely remember the show itself. It was loud, silly, a little over-the-top, and totally Phyllis Diller. For a short-lived sitcom, it sure found a way to stick in people’s heads.
Another jingle to get stuck in your head! The Oscar Mayer wiener jingle was written by Richard D. Trentlage, a Chicago advertising jingle writer. He came up with “Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener…” in 1962 for an Oscar Mayer contest, and it became one of the most famous commercial jingles ever
If you grew up in the 60s, you remember it instantly: “Meet the Swinger… Polaroid Swinger…” That jingle didn’t just sell a camera, it stuck in your head for life.
Introduced in 1965, the Polaroid Swinger was designed to make photography easy and fun. It sold for $19.95 back then, which works out to about $190–$200 in 2026. With its simple “YES/NO” meter and instant photos, it made anyone feel like they knew what they were doing.
The commercials showed carefree young people at the beach and on bikes, capturing moments on the spot. A young Ali MacGraw even appeared before she was famous, helping give the campaign that youthful vibe.
And that jingle? Sung by Barry Manilow, with music by Mitch Leigh and lyrics by Phyllis Robinson, it became one of the most memorable ad tunes of the era.
Bottom line, the Swinger didn’t just sell a camera. It sold a feeling. And decades later, that tune is still stuck in our heads.
If you grew up flipping channels back in the late 60s, there’s a pretty good chance you landed on The Flying Nun at least once… and probably did a double take. I mean, a nun that could fly? Even as a kid, you knew this one was a little different. The show starred a very young Sally Field as Sister Bertrille, a small, light nun whose cornette—those big winged headpieces—would catch the wind just right and lift her right off the ground. And just like that, she was flying over the convent in Puerto Rico like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Now looking back, it was one of those shows that didn’t try too hard to explain itself, and honestly, that was part of the charm. It ran from 1967 to 1970, right in that era where TV was full of quirky, feel-good concepts. And believe it or not, Sally Field wasn’t exactly thrilled about the role at the time, but it ended up being the stepping stone that launched a pretty incredible career. For a lot of us, though, it’s just one of those “you had to be there” kind of shows—simple, a little goofy, and something the whole family could sit around and watch together.
