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 Donny & Marie became a TV variety-show staple, the Osmonds had their own Saturday morning cartoon. The Osmonds aired on ABC in 1972 and followed Alan, Wayne, Merrill, Jay, Donny, and Jimmy as they traveled the world, sang songs, and got into animated adventures.
It was very much a product of its time, when pop groups could become cartoons and Saturday mornings were packed with music, mystery, comedy, and cereal commercials. For Osmond fans, it was another way to see the brothers, even if it only lasted one season.
Thumbelina was introduced by Ideal in 1961 and quickly became one of those baby dolls that stood out because she actually moved. The original was a wind-up doll, and once wound, she would wiggle and squirm like a real baby, making her feel more lifelike than many dolls of the time.
Thumbelina stayed popular through the 1960s and into the 1970s, with different sizes and versions along the way. Then in 1992, the name was brought back with Tyco’s Twinkling Thumbelina, but that version was updated for its time as a battery-operated doll rather than the original wind-up style.
For many, though, the classic 1960s Thumbelina is the one they remember best — the baby doll that moved just enough to make a child believe she was almost real.
With four other brothers to keep busy, Mom and Dad scored big with all of us when they brought home the Carry-All Action Playsets by Marx. These kept us entertained, and probably more importantly, quiet for hours.
You had to be careful with the pivot joints and mounting points, but other than that, these playsets could take a lot of abuse. I had Fort Apache, and one of my younger brothers had the Fighting Knights set.
Surprisingly, my Marine sergeant dad did not get us the Army Men set, but it did not matter much. No matter which one you had, these Carry-All playsets brought hours and hours of fun.
T.H.E. Cat was a 1966–67 NBC action series starring Robert Loggia as Thomas Hewitt Edward Cat, a former circus aerialist and cat burglar who now worked as a bodyguard.
The show fit right into the mid-’60s wave of stylish spy and crime shows like The Man from U.N.C.L.E., I Spy, Batman, and The Green Hornet, but it had a darker, jazzier feel. Cat used stealth, acrobatics, and street smarts instead of gadgets, operating out of a nightclub called Casa del Gato.
NBC aired it Friday nights after The Man from U.N.C.L.E., hoping to keep that cool adventure audience watching. It only lasted 26 episodes, but for those who remember it, T.H.E. Cat remains one of those sharp, moody little shows that felt different from the usual TV heroes of the time.
or a lot of early TV kids, Howdy Doody was not just a show. It was part of the daily routine.
The Howdy Doody Show first aired on NBC on December 27, 1947, and stayed on the air until September 24, 1960. That is almost 13 years, which was an amazing run for early television. It started as a regular afternoon children’s show, later became a weekday favorite, and by 1956 moved mainly to Saturday mornings until the final broadcast.
The show was hosted by Buffalo Bob Smith, who would ask, “Say kids, what time is it?” and the Peanut Gallery would yell back, “It’s Howdy Doody Time!” For kids watching at home, that was the signal that it was time to visit Doodyville.
The cast had Howdy Doody, Buffalo Bob, Clarabell the Clown, Phineas T. Bluster, Dilly Dally, Flub-a-Dub, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, and Chief Thunderthud. Clarabell became one of the most remembered characters because he did not speak for most of the show, using horns and pantomime instead.
The final episode became famous because Clarabell finally spoke. After years of silence, he looked into the camera and said, “Goodbye, kids.” For many viewers, that was the end of an era. TIME later called that kind of farewell important because most early TV shows simply disappeared without much of a real goodbye.
Howdy Doody did come back years later with The New Howdy Doody Show, a syndicated revival in 1976, but it did not last long and never had the same hold on kids that the original did.
What do you remember most from Howdy Doody? Was it Clarabell, Buffalo Bob, the Peanut Gallery, the theme song, Flub-a-Dub, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, or maybe some toy or lunchbox you had from the show?
Clarabell speaks is from the final episode of The Howdy Doody Show, which aired on Saturday, September 24, 1960, on NBC. The episode was called “Clarabell’s Big Surprise,” and for kids who grew up with Howdy, Buffalo Bob, and the Peanut Gallery, it really was the end of an era.
What still surprises people is that the final show was in color. Color TV was still not common in most homes, so many viewers probably saw it in black and white. But NBC was already using certain shows to show off color television, and Howdy Doody was one of those early programs that helped introduce it.
The big moment came at the end. Clarabell the Clown, who had spent years communicating with horns and gestures, finally spoke. As the show ended, he looked into the camera and said, “Goodbye, kids.” That quiet little line became one of the most remembered farewells in early television.
It was reported and remembered as Clarabell’s big surprise because nobody expected the silent clown to finally talk. For a generation of children, it was not just the end of a show. It felt like saying goodbye to part of childhood.
Do you remember Howdy Doody? Was it Clarabell’s horn, the seltzer bottle, Buffalo Bob, the Peanut Gallery, Princess Summerfall Winterspring, Chief Thunderthud, Flub-a-Dub, or maybe a Howdy Doody toy or lunchbox?
The 1978 Miller Lite commercial with Billy Martin and George Steinbrenner worked because it was barely a joke. It was almost real life.
The ad played off Miller Lite’s famous “Tastes Great / Less Filling” campaign. Steinbrenner and Martin are sitting together, acting like they are finally getting along, until they start arguing over whether the beer’s best feature is the taste or that it is less filling. Then Steinbrenner gives the line everyone expected: “Billy, you’re fired.” Martin’s answer: “Not again.”
That was the whole joke. Everyone watching knew Steinbrenner and Martin had one of the strangest boss-manager relationships in sports. Martin was fiery, emotional, and a winner. Steinbrenner loved that until he didn’t. Then he would fire him, cool off, and eventually bring him back.
Their Yankees relationship was truly on again, off again. Martin managed the Yankees five different times, and each stint seemed to come with drama. He won a World Series with them in 1977, but by 1978 the tension with Steinbrenner and Reggie Jackson was boiling over. Martin left the team that summer after his famous “one’s a born liar, and the other’s convicted” remark.
That is what made the commercial so funny. It was not just two celebrities doing a beer ad. It was Steinbrenner and Billy Martin making fun of the exact thing everyone already knew about them.
Looking back, it is one of those commercials that could only have worked at that exact moment. The Yankees were huge, Miller Lite ads were everywhere, and Steinbrenner firing Billy Martin had practically become a running gag before running gags were a thing.
I’m not sure how many people still remember the original “John… Marsha…” bit from Stan Freberg’s spoof of old radio soap operas, but I sure remember it living on long after that. Even into the 1960s, I remember TV shows and my parents still making fun of that overly dramatic back-and-forth.
The gag was simple: a man and a woman saying nothing but each other’s names, over and over, each time with a different dramatic emotion. “John…” “Marsha…” It was romantic, shocked, heartbroken, breathless, and ridiculous all at once. That was the whole joke. Freberg was poking fun at how serious radio soap operas could make even the smallest moment sound.
Part of the reason it may have stuck around so long was the Snowdrift shortening commercial seen here. The animated ad used the same kind of “John and Marsha” style, which helped keep the bit alive for people who may never have heard the original record.
It became one of those old pop-culture references that parents, comedians, cartoons, and commercials could all tap into. All someone had to do was say “John…” in that dramatic voice, and someone else could answer “Marsha…” and the joke was instantly understood.
Since I made two posts today about The Man from U.N.C.L.E., I thought it only made sense to close the day with Disney’s The Monkey’s Uncle. No, not The Monkees the band, and not Napoleon Solo’s U.N.C.L.E., but a 1965 Disney comedy starring Annette Funicello and Tommy Kirk.
The movie was a sequel to The Misadventures of Merlin Jones, with Kirk playing the young college genius Merlin Jones and Annette playing Jennifer. The title comes from the old saying “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” and in the movie there is even a chimpanzee named Stanley mixed into the story. It is pure mid-60s Disney: college kids, inventions, a silly plot, and just enough teen appeal to make it feel current.
The strangest and best part is the opening. Somehow Disney got the actual Beach Boys to appear with Annette and sing the title song. The song was written by Richard and Robert Sherman, the same songwriting brothers behind many Disney classics, and D23 notes that the film featured Annette and the Beach Boys performing the title tune.
That is what makes the clip so perfectly 1965. You have wholesome Disney, former Mouseketeer Annette Funicello, the Beach Boys’ surf harmonies, and a goofy song built around a monkey joke. It is the kind of combination that sounds made up now, but back then it made perfect sense. Disney wanted the youth audience, Annette was already tied to the beach-movie crowd, and the Beach Boys gave it that instant teenage radio sound.
So after a day of U.N.C.L.E., here is the other “uncle”: not a spy agency, just Annette, Disney, a chimp, and the Beach Boys somehow making “monkey’s uncle” sound like a surf-rock hit.
Some toy commercials age gracefully. Others come back years later and make you wonder how nobody in the room stopped and said, “Maybe we should rethink that name.”
Ball Buster was a real 1970s tabletop game from Mego, the same company many of us remember for action figures. The game itself was pretty simple. Players had plastic balls mounted on springy stems, and the object was to knock your opponent’s pieces out.
Of course, what people remember now is not really the strategy. It is the name. The commercial leaned right into it, making the whole thing sound far more questionable than a family game probably should have. Today, it plays more like a comedy sketch than a toy ad.
But that was also part of the 1970s. Toy companies were trying anything to stand out. Strange names, loud commercials, plastic pieces flying around, and announcers treating every game like it was the most exciting thing ever invented.
Ball Buster may not have become a household classic, but it definitely became one of those “wait, that was real?” games. And yes, it was real.
