I got up early on Saturdays to watch Roy and Dale and yeah, I watched The Mickey Mouse Club, Sky King, The Lone Ranger and whatever show that had the Peanut Gallery and absorbed like essential dna, all the commercials aimed at reprogramming my brain. One of the favorite moments in my life, to that time, was getting a red plastic cup that had Captain Midnight on it. Not sure how I sent off for it. Likely Mom did it for me by mailing in a box top or something. It took weeks, if not months to arrive and by the time it arrived, I'd forgotten I ordered it and bang! there it was. A cardboard box. Inside the magic conveyor with my name on it was a red plastic cup with an official Captain Midnight decal on the side. My imagination went wild. I used it as a gun (primal freudian motivation), a transponder to speak to the Captain long distance, an echo chamber and yes, even as a cup. Each meal I used it for its magical properties. I slept with it. It was my real time link with TV people. You saw them on the tube, yes but they were ephemeral. This cup was physical evidence of the existence of "tv people." National TV people. My link to them. That cup was magic. It must have been summer break.
I recently saw a Roy Rogers episode on cable. I also managed to come by a movie he made in the late 50s, early 60s. I guess I knew back then that Roy didn't kill people. He talked with them. Motivated them. Brought them home to meet Dale and get a meal. Convinced them to live a better life. It almost sounds like I'm kidding but no, Roy was not a typical tv cowboy. Don't get me wrong, he fist-fought with all kinds of villains. They jumped around and rolled around and struggled to stop them from doing bad but, in the end, he made friends with them. They were better off for it and while they may have had to stay in jail for a couple days, in the long run, they were ready to walk the straight and narrow. Sometimes he'd sing a song or two. Happy Trails to you. 'Til we see you again. I'm sorry but Roy was frickin' outstanding. He should have been King of the Cowboys.
My Dad and I used to try to keep count of how many people Marshall Dillon killed each week on Gunsmoke. It would have been nice to have one of those chrome clickers golfers use. Never fewer than one. Some weeks, two, some three or four. It was Chester's use of 9x recycled coffee grounds and Miss Kitty's lousy attitude that did it. That beauty spot might have been syphilitic. Doc was a sourpuss. The undertaker, constantly dragging more bodies down the street.
Dale sang along with Roy. Pat Brady, while something of a stuttering moron, could always bust a smile while he drove Clarabelle. The dark and the light. The world needs more Roy Rogers. I probably had one of his plastic cups. He deserved it.
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